"Now that the status of the weather has been decided," remarked Mr. Barry, dryly, "we can compose ourselves to witness—a—well, I hope, a better game than it was our misfortune to see on the last occasion."
The high school crowd seemed to be in a state of unusual tension when the game began, and, as it progressed from inning to inning, they relieved their pent-up feelings by uproarious yells. Victor Collins' newly-purchased bugle ably assisted in producing noise.
Tony Tippen, as before, was the stumbling-block in the path of success. No matter how desperately the batters tried to land on his varied assortment of curves the result was the same. At the end of the fifth inning the score stood three to nothing in favor of the Stars.
"Great Scott, Bob, this is awful," murmured Tom Clifton, wiping his perspiring face, as they flocked out into the field. "The jinx certainly has us again. Honest, Bob, Tony sent in a slow ball that I thought, sure as shootin', I could knock a mile, and it didn't reach me until after I'd swung the stick."
"A fraction of a second counts," said Bob. "Don't get worried, Tom."
"Oh, I guess I'm no more worried than anybody else," grumbled Tom. "Just listen to Nat Wingate and Hackett bawling! The way those 'Pie-eaters' try to crow over our crowd certainly makes me weary."
"Batter up!" called the umpire.
"Enter Willie Singleton; exit 'Jack Frost,'" said Bob, his eyes on the new pitcher stepping into the box. "Hope to thunder he can keep down the hits."
Singleton, a businesslike lad whom nothing seemed to rattle, put all his energy and skill into the task.
Tony Tippen, however, found him for a two-base hit; Nat singled, and both made the circuit of the bases before the third out was recorded.