“I was first up and managed to get a scratch hit, beating the ball to first by about an inch. I had my instructions to wait for a sacrifice and I waited. But the next man was struck out. Then came a long fly into the left-fielder’s hands, but I managed to sneak down to second on the throw-in. There were two out and it looked as though there was going to be a third game to the series that year. The Yale stands were cheering incessantly and beating drums and having a high old time. The next man up was our first baseman. He was the slugging kind of a batter; if he hit the ball he made good, but he was easily fooled. Well, this time he wasn’t fooled. He cracked out a clean base hit over second and I started home. But there was a fine, swift throw to the plate and I had to go back to third—and I didn’t get there any too soon! And meanwhile the other fellow had got to second. And there we were; a man on third and a man on second, two runs needed to win, and the weakest batter on the team up! That was our pitcher. He was a bully pitcher, but, like nine pitchers out of ten, he couldn’t bat a little bit. I was feeling pretty sore when I saw him pick up his bat and start for the plate. But he didn’t get there, for the coach called him back, and suddenly there was a burst of cheering from the Harvard section. They were sending Mort Higgins in to bat for him.
“Well, that was all right, thought I, for Mort couldn’t do any worse than the man whose place he had taken. But I didn’t look for any luck, for the Yale pitcher was one of the best on the college diamond that year, and we had made only four hits off him in the whole game. I wondered whether I could make a sneak for the plate and tie the score. Mort struck at the first ball and missed it. He looked surprised, and the Yale crowd howled. Then he let the next one go by and the umpire called it a strike. My heart went down into my boots. Then Mort refused the next one. I can still remember the feeling of relief with which I heard the umpire say ‘Ball’! The Yale pitcher tied himself up again and unwound and the ball shot away. And then there was a nice, clean-sounding crack, and I was racing for the plate. The ball went whizzing by my head along the base line, but I didn’t stop to see whether it was going to be fair or foul. And neither did the man behind me. We put out for the plate like sixty, and we both made it ahead of the ball, which had struck about a foot inside the line. There were things doing in the Harvard section about that time, I tell you, fellows!”
“And did Mort get in, too?” asked some one eagerly. Mr. Ames laughed.
“No,” he answered, “Mort didn’t score. Catcher threw the ball back to second, and second ran half way over to first and met Mort coming along like a human windmill, waving his arms and pawing the earth.”
“And Harvard won?”
“Yes, four to three. We shut Yale out in her half of the inning. And that’s how Mort Higgins saved the day. Come on, fellows; we’ll have to hurry or we’ll be late for dinner.”
“Gee!” said one of the boys, as they scrambled to their feet and started up the path, “that was bully! I’d like to have been there, Mr. Ames!”
“Well, I was rather glad to be there myself,” answered the instructor with a reminiscent smile.
After dinner Hansel met Bert and Harry in front of Weeks, and the latter called to him to join them in a walk. Bert didn’t look as though he was especially pleased with Harry’s procedure; since their discussion of ethics the evening before, he had treated Hansel rather coldly. But Hansel went along, and presently Bert forgot his resentment and the three spent a very pleasant two hours along the bank of the lake. Naturally, the talk soon got around to the subject of football, and the team’s chances of success in the final contest of the year—that with Fairview—were discussed exhaustively. As though by tacit consent, both Bert and Hansel avoided a reopening of the controversy regarding Billy Cameron. On the way back to school, Harry Folsom let fall an allusion to the “raid,” and Hansel asked for information.
“Oh, you’ll know all about it in a day or two,” laughed the football manager. “It’s due to happen either to-morrow or Tuesday night. You want to get into your old clothes and be prepared for trouble in bunches.”