But in every inning thereafter the home team got at least one run, save only in the seventh. In their half of the sixth they got two, as I have said, and though the visitors got one in their half of the seventh, again making the score one in their favor, in the eighth our friends got three, while the visitors got only two. So that at the close of the eighth the score was: Excelsior, 10; Morningside 10.

"A tie! A tie!" cried hundreds of voices. Indeed it had pretty nearly been a tie game all the way through, and it might go to ten innings or more.

"We've got to beat 'em!" declared Captain Ward. "Joe, whitewash 'em this inning, and in the next we'll get the winning run."

"I'll do it!" confidently promised the young pitcher, and he did. He was tossing the ball according to his old form again, and not a man landed his stick on it during the first half of the ninth. Then, as the home team came up for their last whacks (except in the event of the score being a tie), they were wildly greeted by their schoolmates.

"One run to beat 'em! Only one!" yelled the crowd.

"I guess it's all up with us," remarked the visiting captain to his men, as they took the field. "They're bound to get that one."

"Not if I can help it!" exclaimed the pitcher fiercely.

And it looked as if he was going to make good his boast, for he struck out two men in quick order. And then up came Tom Davis.

"Swat it, Tom. Swat it!" was the general cry. "Bring in a home run!"

"Watch me," he answered grimly.

Two strikes were called on him, and two b.a.l.l.s. There was a nervous tension on everyone, for, unless Tom made good, the game would have to go another inning, when all sorts of possibilities might happen.

Ping!

That was the mighty sound of Tom's bat landing on the ball. Away sailed the horsehide--up and away, far over the head of the centre fielder, who raced madly after it.

"Go on! Go on!"

"Run, you swatter, run!"

"A homer! A homer!"

These cries greeted and encouraged Tom as he legged it for first base.

On and on he went, faster and faster, rounding the initial bag, going on to second and then to third. The centre fielder had the ball now, but he would have to relay it in. He threw as Tom left third.

"Come on! Come on!" yelled Joe, jumping up and down.

"If you don't bring in that run I'll never speak to you again!" shouted Ward.

The crowd was in a frenzy. Men and women were standing up on the seats, some jumping up and down, others yelling at the tops of their voices, and some pounding each other on the back in their excitement.

On and on ran Tom, but he was getting weary now. The second baseman had the ball and was swinging his arm back to hurl it home. But Tom was almost there now, and he slid over the plate a full two seconds ere the ball landed in the catcher's big mitt.

"Safe!" howled the umpire.

"And we win the game!" yelled Joe, as he raced over to Tom and slapped him on the back, an example followed by so many others that poor Tom nearly lost his breath. "You won the game for us, Tom!"

"Nonsense! If you hadn't held 'em down by your pitching, Joe, my run wouldn't have done any good."

"That's right!" cried the others, and it was so. Excelsior Hall had won the second of the big games with her ancient rival, though it was by the narrow margin of one run.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OVERTURNED STATUE

"Three cheers for the Excelsiors!" cried the visiting captain, swinging his hat around in the air as a signal to his crowd, after the excitement had somewhat calmed. "Three good cheers, boys! They beat us fair and square! Three big cheers!"

And how they rang out! And how also rang out the return cheers, which Joe and his mates rendered. Never had applause sounded sweeter in the ears of our hero, for it seemed that the school nine had now begun to live in better days, since the dismissal of Hiram and Luke.

Joe kept at his pitching practice, and he himself knew, even had others, including Tom, not told him, that he was doing well.

"You're better than when you pitched for the Silver Stars," said Tom, "and you were no slouch then."

"Yes, I think I _am_ more sure of myself," admitted Joe. "And I've got more speed and better curves." It was natural that he should have. He was growing taller and stronger that Summer, and he had most excellent practice. He had not given up the idea of becoming a professional pitcher, and everything he could do tended that way for him.

He had heard nothing more definite from home, but Mr. Matson said he was still trying to trace the stolen models and papers.

"I'll help you when vacation time comes," said Joe in a letter. "But I'm playing ball for all I'm worth now."

"Keep at it," his father wrote back.

There were many games played that season by Excelsior Hall--many more than the previous Summer--for Spring had now given place to warm weather. The school term was drawing to a close, but there were still many more games to play in the league series.

In succession Excelsior met and defeated Trinity, the Lakeview Preps.

and Woodside Hall. She was near the top of the list now, though Morningside was quite a way in advance. It looked as if eventually there would be a tie for first place between the old rivals--a tie for the possession of the Blue Banner, and if there was it meant a great final game. Joe looked forward to it with mingled fear and hope.

"How I hate him!" exclaimed Hiram to his crony, Luke, one day after a close game, when Joe's pitching had won again for Excelsior. "I wish I could get him out of the school, or off the nine, or something."

"Why don't you? I thought you and Sam Morton had some scheme."

"We thought so, too, but it fell through. But I've thought of something else, and if you and Sam will help me carry it out, I think we can put it all over that fresh guy."

"Sure, I'll help; what is it?"

"First we've got to get hold of something belonging to him--his knife, if it's got his name on; a letter addressed to him, that he's opened and read; a handkerchief with his name on; anything that would show he'd been in a certain place at a certain time."

"Suppose we do?"

"Leave the rest to Sam and me, if you can get us something."

"I'll do it!" promised Luke. "I'm on the same corridor with Joe now; I changed my room, you know. I shouldn't wonder but what I could sneak in and get something belonging to him."

"Do it, then. I've got a date with Sam, and I'll go see him. See if you can get something this afternoon or evening, and if you can we'll do it."

"I will," and the two plotters parted, the chief one to keep an appointment with Joe's enemy. Sam's hatred against our hero was increased because Sam was not allowed to pitch for his own team.