It was the last half of the ninth inning in the annual baseball game between Tate and their historic adversary, Union State. The score, as the forty thousand spectators could read upon the board out in left field, was Union State 3, Tate 0. And two Tate batsmen were already out. Yet, as the followers of Good Old Tate gazed out upon the hard-fought diamond, there was still a little hope in their hearts. For three Red and White runners were on the bases, and none other than "Speedy" Lamb was striding to the plate, swinging three bats as he strode.
"Get hold of one, Lamb. Save the day for your alma mater," the coach begged the hardest hitter in the intercollegiate ranks as the latter was selecting his bat. "We're relying on you, 'Speedy.' It's for Good Old Tate," the manager of the team said hoarsely.
Now the noted slugger stood at the plate gracefully, confidently. The Union State pitcher, who had held the Tate batters in the hollow of his hand all through the game, now realized that he had an opponent worthy of his steel. He wound up with the utmost care. The Tate runners were poised at their bases, eager to be off at the crack of the bat. The white ball whizzed toward the plate. "Strike One!" the umpire yelled. "Speedy" Lamb permitted a confident smile to flood his face.
