other fellow is. Sock it for keeps." And the batsman nodded, to show that he understood.
Dave measured his distance with care, and sent the sphere in.
"Ball one!" called the umpire. "Too high."
Again the ball came in, but the batsman did not strike at it.
"Strike one!"
"Don't worry, Leeds, take your time," cautioned Plum.
Again the ball was delivered, and Leeds brought his bat around heavily. Up went the sphere into the air. It was a pop fly, and the first baseman caught it with ease.
The next player to the bat was Nat Poole. He had two balls called and then a strike. Then the ball came in swiftly. He struck once more—and missed it.
"Strike two!"
"Be careful," cautioned Gus Plum, who was the player "on deck."
"I know what I'm doing," growled the aristocratic youth.
Once again the sphere came in. Dave had signaled a slow drop. It was a tantalizing ball, and Poole made a wild pass at it.
"Strike three! Batter out!" called the umpire.
"Oh, pshaw!" muttered Nat Poole.
"I told you to be careful," was Plum's com-
