luckiest fluke that he, Fudge, had ever witnessed in a long and eventful life, the game went on.
Newton for the first time showed nerves. Haley, who was only an average batter at the best, was sent to first after five deliveries. The Clearfield cheering, momentarily stilled, broke forth with renewed vehemence. It was Bryan's turn at bat. Bryan stood disdainfully inert while two bad ones passed him, and then Springdale's relief pitcher, who had been warming up off and on for the last four innings, took the helm and Newton, who had pitched a remarkable game up to the eighth inning, retired to the bench.
The new twirler, Crowell, was a right-hander and was regarded as slightly better than Newton. He took his time about starting to work, but when he finally began he finished the performance neatly enough, causing Bryan to swing at two very poor offerings and then sneaking a fast one over for the third strike.
Springdale ought to have realized then and there that she was beaten. Everyone else did, and there ensued the beginning of an exodus from the stands. But those who were on their way out three minutes after the ninth inning began either scuttled back to their seats or sought places along the side of the field.
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