and accurate as ever; as in the football game he seemed to be growing stronger all the time.
In the eleventh inning Crowell for St. John’s was given his base on balls. A moment later he stole second base. Bell was watching him over his shoulder; suddenly he turned and threw the ball at Blanchard in the attempt to catch Crowell napping; but the throw went wild, the ball bounded out into centre field, and Crowell dashed on to third base.
St. John’s had roused themselves again to a pitch of intense enthusiasm; they were shouting incessantly. Fulton, their next batter, knocked a swift grounder to Keating, who picked it up cleanly, touched first base, and held Crowell on third. St. Timothy’s shouted at that; these weren’t the best of the St. John’s batters; perhaps after all Crowell would n’t have a chance to score.
That hope was ruined the next moment when Ramsay hit the ball just over Blanchard’s head. It was a miserable scratch little hit, the luckiest kind; and over such a wretched thing St. John’s were howling like mad!
