sank. The next must be good. He placed his hands out and called imploringly:
"Right into the old mitt, Kewpie! Make it good!"
And Kewpie made it good, and, since it was good, unmistakably good, the Farview youth swung against it with all his might.
But he hit under it, and the ball went up and up in the sunlight almost straight above the plate. Cries arose from all sides, a confusing bedlam of warning, entreaty, command. Laurie dashed his mask behind him, stared upward into the blue, saw the gray sphere poised overhead, turned and stepped back, looked again, again retreated. He was under it now—almost. One step further toward the back-stop—
Then Nemesis took a hand, or sought to. Laurie's backward placed foot found the discarded mask. He strove to retain his balance but could not and fell backward to the ground. The mask described a curve and landed yards away. Laurie's feet flew heavenward. His hands were stretched wide. Then his startled gaze saw a new danger. Right above him was the ball, falling straight for his face. Nothing
