For the next two innings it looked very much as though that one run would be enough to win the game, for Mason settled down and pitched air-tight ball and added four more strike-outs to his credit. Tom Haley was less spectacular, and yet got by without yielding a hit. He passed two batters and in the sixth Jensen got as far as third when Pete Robey fumbled Houghton’s liner. But there were no runs scored, and at the beginning of the seventh the score still stood 1 to 0 in the visitors’ favor, and Clearfield already tasted defeat. But the audience shouted that here was the “lucky seventh,” and those fortunate to have seats stood up and stretched cramped limbs, and everyone shouted.
In the first half of the seventh the clouds began to gather again over Clearfield’s head. Caspar Billings, first man up, beat out a weak hit and took second when Townsend sacrificed, Scott to Merrick. A moment later he reached third when Chase flied out to right field. Then House provided a half dozen attacks of heart disease when, with three balls and two strikes on him, he knocked fouls to nearly every point of the compass in his endeavor to secure a safe hit and score Caspar. But in the end Tom tricked him into a high fly that settled comfortably into Pete Robey’s glove, and again the sky cleared.
“If those boys don’t win a run this time,” said Mr. Brent, almost crossly, “I’ll be sorry I gave them the field.”
“You mean, dad, you’ll be sorry _I_ gave them the field,” corrected Morris, with a grin. Mr. Brent grunted.
“Why don’t they bat the ball?” he demanded. “Every time one of them gets on a base, the others leave him there. What they ought to do is to take a good bang at it and send it out there beyond those fellows.”
“That’s what they’re trying to do, papa,” replied Louise, “but the Point pitcher won’t let them. He’s a wonderful pitcher, isn’t he, Morris?”
“Pretty fair. He’ll get his before the game’s over, though. See if he doesn’t.”
“Get his what?” asked his father curiously.
“Get what’s coming to him,” laughed Morris. “I mean the Clearfield chaps will bat him. He can’t keep this pace up much longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got after him this inning.”
“Oh, I wish we might!” sighed Louise. “I wish they’d just—just _slam_ him!”