"That's it, Dave!"
"Three strikes. Batter out!"
Again a wild cheering went up. The ninth inning, and Dave had struck out two players. It was certainly good ball-playing.
"Dave plays like a veteran," was Oliver Wadsworth's comment. He was as much interested as the boys.
"Yes, and this takes me back to my college days," added Caspar Potts, with a smile.
The third batsman now came forward. He was a sure and heavy hitter, and the Rockville club depended upon him to make a single, if not a two-base hit. As he took his place he glared savagely at Dave.
"I suppose he'd like to eat me," thought the young pitcher. "Well, here goes at him," and in came the ball, exactly over the plate, but so quickly that it was in Roger's hands before the batter could make up his mind to strike.
"Strike one!"
"Good! Go at him, Dave!"
"Knock the cover off the ball, Barriwell!"
Again the ball came in—this time an out curve. Barriwell struck at—and missed it.
"Strike two!"
Dave braced himself for a final effort. He gave Roger the signal, started as if to throw in the ball with all force—and sent in something slow and
