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With every bound it went swifter, longer and higher, and it bounced clear over the shortstop's head. Lake chopped one in front of the plate, and it rebounded from the ground straight up so high that both runners were safe before it came down. Doran hit to the pitcher. The ball caromed his leg, scooted fiendishly at the second baseman, and tried to run up all over him like a tame squirrel.

Surely it was a hot game, and excitement was running high. Would Harvard be able to score the next time? That was the question everybody was asking. Yedding came to the bat in this inning, and Merriwell struck him out with ease, while not another man got a safe hit, although one got first on the shortstop's error.

Ash laughed at Henderson, taunted him, shook his bat at him and dared him to put one over. Henderson did not stand under fire. The ball he pitched had no steam. Ash cracked it square on the line into the shortstop's hands. The bleachers ceased yelling. Then Stringer strode grimly to the plate. It was a hundred to one, in that instance, that he would lose the ball.

In fact, the Army pitcher choked and shook so that Durville called to him in a quiet, anxious voice from shortstop's beat: "Anything wrong, ramrod?" None of the spectators heard this, but most of them saw Dick's short, vigorous shake of the head as he palmed the ball.

Willard's got the bases full that inning and for a time it seemed that they would tie the score, but Beeton popped a fly into shortstop's hands and their hopes were dashed. Durham started their half of the sixth with Carpenter up and that dependable youth slammed out a two-base hit at once. The flaunters of the red groaned dismally.