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THE PURPLE PENNANT

was two and two. Again Pete connected and sent the ball crashing into the stand. Clayton's attempt to cut the corner resulted badly for him, for the umpire judged it a ball. Anxious coachers danced and shouted jubilantly.

"He's got to pitch now, Pete!" bawled Captain Jones. "It's got to be good! Here we go! On your toes, Breen! Touch all the bases, Harry! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yi——"

The last "Yip" was never finished, for just when Warner was in the middle of it bat and ball met with a crack and a number of things happened simultaneously. The ball went streaking across the infield, rising as it went, Breen scuttled to the plate, Lanny flew to third, Harry Bryan sped to second, Pete legged it desperately to first. Second-baseman made a wild attempt to reach the ball, but it passed well above his upstretched glove and kept on. Right- and center-fielders started in, hesitated, changed their minds and raced back. The spectators, on their feet to a boy—or girl—yelled madly as fielders and ball came nearer and nearer together far out beyond the running track in deep center. A brief moment of suspense during which the shouting died down to little more than a murmur and then the outcome was apparent and the yelling suddenly arose to

new heights. The fielders slowed down in the

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