ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING
PAGE
[It was Larry Logan who fumed and implored....] Frontispiece
[Then the pistol popped and they were off]94
[Somewhere in that mêlée was the runner with the precious ball]152
[The bridge tender had half closed the second gate]168

THE PLAY THAT WON

When the knock came Ted was slumped on his spine in the Morris chair, the green-shaded lamp beside him and a magazine propped on his chest. It was Saturday night and study was not imperative, for which he was grateful. The baseball game with Prospect Hill in the afternoon had been a hard one, and the victory—for Warwick had won in the tenth—had left him rather tired, and he had passed up a lecture in the school auditorium in favor of rest and solitude at home. Which is why the knock on the door brought a sigh and a frown. Of course, he might remain silent, but the light shining through the transom would be a give-away, and the caller might be Trevor Corwin with his everlasting stamp album: Trev was a sensitive kid and easily hurt. So Ted laid down his magazine and said “Come in!” in no very enthusiastic tone. To his relief, the visitor was Hal Saunders.

“Hello, Bowman,” said Hal, glancing about the study. “George around?” His eyes sought the darkened bedroom as he closed the door behind him.

“Gone home over Sunday,” replied Ted.

“Gone home!” Hal’s tone held so much of dismay that Ted wondered.