"Ford? We didn't know there was one," said Tom.

"Sure there is. About half a mile below here. It's where the river is shallow, and many's the time I've driven across before this bridge was built. The water's a leetle high now, but I guess your ark could make it. Will it go in water?"

"If it's not too deep, and there's good bottom," was the chauffeur's answer.

"Oh, it's good bottom, but, as I say, it's a trifle deep."

"Try it, anyhow," suggested Tom. "It's our only chance. Go ahead."

This was the sentiment of all, and the players getting into their seats again, which they had left to gaze at the river, the auto was backed up, and headed for the ford, the man with the buckboard going in advance to show the way.

As he had said, the water was rather high, and it seemed to swirl along dangerously fast. He would not venture in with his mule, but, after a look at it the chauffeur said he would try it.

"I'll be all right," he announced, "if the water doesn't come up high enough to short-circuit the batteries or the magneto."

"Let her go!" cried Tom.

Backing up, to get a good start down the slope that led to the ford, the chauffeur turned on full speed. Into the river went the big auto, with its heavy load. The water splashed up in a spray as the front wheels, with the big tires, struck the limpid surface. A moment later the entire machine was in the water, submerged to the hubs.

"It's all right! Go on! Go on!" urged the man with the mule. "It won't be much deeper than that."

"If it is we're done for," remarked the chauffeur in a low voice.

It was a perilous pa.s.sage, but the Randall nine was too anxious over the consequences of delay to mind that much. The man in charge of the auto was rather white-faced, but he gripped the steering wheel, and kept on high speed, though he throttled down the engine a trifle as he neared the middle of the river. The big machine careened dangerously, and several clung instinctively to the sides.

"Can you make it?" asked Mr. Leighton anxiously.

"I don't know," replied the chauffeur, as he peered at a bit of smooth water directly ahead. It looked to be deep, and he was contemplating turning to one side, though their guide had warned him to steer straight for the other side.

"Keep on! Keep on!" cried the man with the mule encouragingly. "Straight ahead, and you'll be safe!"

The chauffeur yanked the gasolene lever over the rachet, opening the throttle wider, and the car shot forward at increased speed. It swayed, and seemed about to topple over, righted itself, almost like a thing alive, and then, with a crunching of gravel, was out of the stream, and climbing the slope that led from the ford to the road.

"By Jove! I'm glad we're over that!" exclaimed Tom, with a sigh of relief. "Speed her up now, and get us to Boxer Hall!"

Half an hour later the players were on the diamond, being received by a crowd of their friends who had preceded them to the game earlier in the day, for the last game of the season was a gala affair, and the Randall lads usually came over to Boxer Hall early in the morning.

"Now for a battle to the death," said Tom grimly, as he led his men out to practice.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME

From grand stands and bleachers came cheers, yells, songs and cries of many kinds. There was a record-breaking crowd, every seat seeming to be filled when the two nines, in their natty uniforms, began their warming-up work. In the bleachers were many townspeople, both Randall and Boxer Hall adherents. It seemed as if the unprotected seats, shimmering in the hot sun, were composed of mats of straw hats, with colored bands for ornaments.

In the grand stands there was a conglomeration of many colors, formed by the hats of girls, and the gay banners they carried, the yellow and maroon of Randall mingling with the red and green of Boxer Hall, a combination lately adopted.

"Great crowd," commented Phil to Tom.

"Yes. But say, look at Langridge send 'em in!" for the rival pitcher was warming-up with Stoddard, his catcher.

"Ruth and Madge are here," went on Phil.

"Are they? I wonder if Miss Harrison will come?"

"Guess so. S'pose Sid will be on hand?"

"I doubt it. But come on, let's have a talk with Leighton and Kerr. They may want to say something."

The practice went on, the usual conferences took place between captain and captain, manager and manager. Boxer Hall, as the home team, had the privilege of batting last. Batting orders were submitted for inspection, and the umpire took several new b.a.l.l.s from his valise, and stripped from them the foil covering. With the exception of Pete Backus in place of Sid, the Randall team was the same that had played the 'varsity games all season, though the batting order was different, Holly Cross leading off, he having improved greatly in stick work. There was no change in the Boxer team, from when she had last played Tom's men.

The gong rang sharply. The buzzing talk and laughter on the grand stands ceased, as the umpire announced the batteries. There was a moment of consultation among the two nines, and then Stoddard, who was Boxer's captain that year, motioned to his players to take the field. He donned his mask and protector, and adjusted his big glove. Langridge, with a cynical smile on his face, walked to the pitcher's box. He threw four preliminary b.a.l.l.s to Stoddard, who then signified that he was ready.

"Play ball!" called the umpire, and Holly Cross stepped up to the plate.

Langridge "wound up" and sent in a swift one. Holly did not offer to strike at it.

"Strike wan!" howled the umpire, who was a bit Irish, throwing one arm up in the air. There was an indrawing of breath on the part of the Randall players.

"It was a mile outside," complained Tom.

"Hush!" cautioned Mr. Leighton.

Holly struck at the next one, and missed. The following was a foul, and this gave his friends some encouragement.

"Lambaste the next one!" yelled Bean Perkins from amid his throng of singers and shouters. But Holly struck out. Nor did any better luck attend Dan Woodhouse, who fanned. There was a wicked look in the eyes of Bricktop, as he walked to the plate, and perhaps for that reason Langridge walked him. He seemed to know he would have "easy fruit" in Pete Backus, who was taking Sid's place, and he did, for he easily struck him out, and Bricktop died on second, which he had stolen. No runs for Randall that inning.

It was not without a nervous tremor that Tom walked to the box, to see what he could do against Boxer. He wondered how his hand was going to stand the strain, though it seemed to have healed perfectly.

After exchanging the regulation number of practice b.a.l.l.s with Dutch Housenlager, Tom was ready for Ralling, who was first up at the bat for Boxer Hall.

Dutch signalled for a puzzling drop, and Tom delivered it, but Ralling took a quick step forward, and, before the curve "broke" he got his bat on it, and sent a pretty single just over Bricktop's head, though the plucky shortstop leaped high to get it. Ralling was safe on first.

McGherity fanned twice, but the third time he, too, found the ball, and rapped out a two bagger, bringing in Ralling, who had managed to steal to second, though Tom tried desperately to throw him out. Roy Conklin was up next, and struck out, and then came Arthur Flood's turn. How it happened Tom couldn't tell, but the ball twisted in his hands, and instead of an out curve it went over the plate straight, and at slow speed.

Flood hit it a mighty "poke" and away the horsehide spheroid sailed, well over the head of Holly Cross in center field. But Holly pluckily raced after it, and, though McGherity came in with a run, Flood found it expedient to linger on third. By this time all Boxer Hall was in a frenzy of delight, for they were two runs to the good, and only one out.

But there were two, a moment later, for Flood, taking chances, was caught napping on the third bag, and put out by a quick throw. George Stoddard fanned, and that ended the inning, with the score 2 to 0, in favor of Boxer Hall.

Randall could not score in the next inning though Tom knocked a two bagger. He stole third, and then had to stay there and watch the Jackson twins and Dutch Housenlager ingloriously fan the air. It was bitterness as of gall and wormwood, but Tom tried not to show it, as he took his place in the box for the ending of the second inning.

Things looked a little brighter when Pinkey Davenport laid down a little bingle, almost in front of Tom, who tossed it to Phil, on first, and there was one down, with scarcely an effort. Then Langridge sent a neat little fly to Pete, on second base, and Bert Hutchin fanned, making three out in such quick succession that the wild cheering of Boxer Hall was checked, and Bean Perkins and his cohorts had a chance to let loose.

"Now, Randall, do 'em up! Wallop 'em!" shouted a tall dignified man, accompanied by two pretty girls who sat well down in front on the center grand stand. "Eat 'em alive! Eat 'em alive!"