stamping of feet of the anxious ones threatened to bring down the structures.
Tom measured his next man and sent in a neat little drop. But the batter was a veteran and got under it in time. He sent it well out into the field.
"Take it, Jerry! Take it!" cried the coach, for the horsehide seemed about to fall into the right fielder's hands. But he muffed it, and what a howl there was! George Stoddard, who had knocked it, kept on to second, for which he had to slide, but he was called safe. Then Tom was obliged to pass the next man to first, for he was an excellent hitter, while the one who followed him was not. But just then one of those "accidents" that are always cropping up in sport happened and the poor hitter made good, knocking a curious little twisting fly that the first baseman misjudged, and the run came in, again tieing the score. But no more Boxer players crossed home plate.
It was with a "do or die" expression on all the faces of the Randalls that they came to bat in the eleventh inning. The story of that game is college history now, and how Tom brought in a run after a magnificent hit that would have been a "homer" but for the fleetness of the opposing center fielder's feet is told to many a freshman. They could do no more, though, after getting one ahead.
It needed but a single run on the part of the
