Almost before he could realize that Bunny and the rest had conceded his inability to help in this crisis, and had determined on the desperate expedient of a triple steal, the Belden pitcher was preparing for his last delivery. Nap watched the wind-up with set, fascinated eyes. It was like a snake coiling to strike.

Before the circling arm had completed its queer gyrations, each runner was in action. Nap saw the pitcher's smile freeze suddenly. Like a gun discharged at half-cock, the ball leaped from his hand and came whistling toward the batter. In that tick of a second before it reached the plate, Nap found himself.

He could not swing and hit it. To try that would be utterly futile. Moreover, Bi could never reach home before the catcher had clamped the ball on him. But there was one thing Nap could do. Gripping his bat loosely, he held it stiffly before him, squarely in the path of the pitch. Ball sogged against wood and bounced back into the diamond. At the sound of the impact, Nap raced for first.

Not till he had reached the base safely, and run beyond it and turned to the right to come back, did he know what had happened. The little bunt had proved so totally unexpected that the Belden players were caught flat-footed. Bi scored. The pitcher, scooping up the ball, shot it toward third, in an attempt to catch Bunny. It was a bad throw, low and to one side, and the guardian of that sack did well to cuff it as it passed, checking its momentum enough to stop it a dozen feet beyond the base line.

Without hesitating, Bunny followed Bi to the plate, scoring on his very heels. S. S. quick to take advantage of the break of luck, scampered to third. The runs were over, and there were still two on bases, with nobody out.

But here, unfortunately, Lakeville reached the hopeless end of its batting list. Bonfire popped up an easy foul. Prissler—well, Prissler fanned ignominiously, just as everybody expected he would. Prissler was no ball player. And Specs' best was a liner straight to the shortstop.

In spite of these minor mishaps, Nap sauntered out to center field with a song on his lips. Twice in that one inning, by tactics comparable to Napoleon's best strategy, he had helped the team. What was it the little Corsican had said after recapturing Italy? "A few more events"—yes, that was it—"a few more events like this campaign, and I shall perhaps go down to posterity." Nap crimsoned guilty at the inference; just the same, his chin shot out pugnaciously. Give him another chance, and he would wind up this ball game "with a clap of thunder."

But with that one big inning ended Nap's opportunities. Not another ball was batted to center field; not once, in the innings that followed, was Nap on base. It was hard to remain inactive, like—like being weighed down by a leaden mantle; but the memory of the trapped ball and the squeeze play was quite enough to warrant his remarking occasionally to himself, "This is my lucky day."

The score:

Innings123456789
Belden00
Lakeville02