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"Where?" asked the dentist, peering anxiously and closely at him.

"Here," said Harold, pointing at his right cheek but forgetting and dropping his hand in a gesture of disgust as he ejaculated, "Darn it, Shocker struck out and the inning's over."

Dubiously the dentist started over again on his survey among the molars and bicuspids, concentrating on the right side of Harold's mouth. While he was thus preoccupied, the Consolidate's star messenger boy was able to his satisfaction to see the Detroit team in the first half of the ninth inning go out in order. Now it was the Yankees' last turn at bat, if the game were not to go to extra innings. The heavy hitters at the head of the batting order were striding to the plate. But, alas, the two first men to face the Tiger twirler succumbed on strikes. And it was the turn of the mighty Babe Ruth to do or die.

"Sock it, Babe!" and "Knock a homer!" came faintly up through the plate glass window to Harold from the dense throng in the street below. They were stretching their necks in a great show of excitement. Harold was almost beside himself with the tenseness of the situation. He clutched the arms of the professional easy chair in which he was sitting and had to be admonished several times to keep his mouth open wide.

And then, miracle of miracles, Babe hit the first ball pitched to him for a home run, and the Yankees had won, 2 to 1!

"Hoo-o-ray!" yelled Harold, leaping from the