LITMIR.BIZ

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side, bounced back, and the shortstop got it. Fierce luck, eh?” And he cut a face that made many of the students standing by laugh outright.

      In the next inning the other side added two runs to their total. One of these runs was made by Sam, much to the youngest Rover’s satisfaction.

      “We’ve got you going!” he cried, to his brothers and the others. “Might as well give up.”

      “Huh! we haven’t started yet,” retorted Tom. He turned to William Philander Tubbs, who had strolled near. “Say, Tubby, old boy, lend me your green socks for luck, will you?”

      “Oh, Tom, please don’t ask me to – ah – lend those socks,” pleaded William Philander, innocently. “They are the only pair of that shade I have, and the young ladies say – ”

      “They can’t resist you when you have them on,” finished Tom. “All right, if you want me to lose the game, keep the socks,” and the fun-loving Rover put on a mournful look.

      “But, my dear Tom, how can my socks have anything to do with the game?” questioned the dude, helplessly.

      “Why, it’s a psychological phenomena, Tublets. Sort of an inter-mental telepathy, so to speak – a rhomboid compendium indexus, as it were. Of course you understand,” said Tom, soberly.

      “Why – ah – I don’t think I do, Tom,” stammered the dude. “But I can’t loan the socks, really I can’t!” And he backed away with all possible haste, while some of the students poked each other in the ribs and some laughed outright.

      “Now then, here is where we go at ’em, hammer and tongs!” cried Dick, as he walked to the plate. And he met the first ball pitched and lined a beautiful three-bagger to deep center.

      “Hurrah! That’s the way to do it!” yelled Tom. “Leg it, old man, leg it!”

      “We’ve struck our gait!” sang out another player. “Now, Tom, you’ve got to bring him home sure.”

      Tom was on the alert and after one strike managed to send the ball down into left field. Dick came home and the batter got to second, although it was a tight squeeze.

      Spud was up next, and this time his face wore a “do-or-die” look. He had two balls called on him, and then whack! his bat struck the ball and the horsehide went sailing far over the right fielder’s head.

      “Say, that’s a beaut!”

      “Come on in, Tom!”

      “Make it a two-bagger, Spud!”

      “You can get to third if you try!” yelled Dick, and Spud did try and landed in a cloud of dust on third base just a second before the ball got there.

      “Now then, Wilson, bring Spud in,” said Dick, to the next fellow at the bat.

      “Make it a homer and bring yourself in too, Wilson,” added Tom.

      “By chimminy! Make him two home runs while you are at it alretty!” cried Max Spangler, with a broad smile. Since arriving at Brill the German American lad had become quite a baseball “fan.”

      “Hi, there, you fellows!” came unexpectedly from the center fielder.

      “What’s the matter?” yelled back Frank Holden, stepping out of the pitcher’s box and turning around.

      “Something is wrong on the river.”

      “Wrong on the river?” queried several, in a chorus.

      “Yes. Don’t you hear the screaming?”

      “Time!” cried the umpire, and the game came to a stop.

      “Say, that is somebody screaming!” exclaimed Stanley. “Sounds like a girl’s voice.”

      “It’s from that excursion boat!” said another student. And as he spoke he pointed to a small river steamer, gaily decorated with flags and bunting, that had appeared around a bend of the stream.

      “Why, that’s the Thistle!” ejaculated Dick.

      “The Thistle?” repeated Sam. “Oh, Dick, that’s the steamer the girls from Hope were going to use for their picnic up the river!”

      “I know it.”

      “Do you suppose Grace and Nellie and Dora are on board?”

      “More than likely.”

      “What’s the trouble?”

      “They are yelling like Indians!” cried the center fielder. “Come on, something is wrong, sure!”

      On the instant the game of baseball was forgotten, and like a drove of wild horses the college boys raced down to the edge of the river, which at this point was over a quarter of a mile wide but quite shallow. As they did this they heard the steam whistle of the Thistle sound out loud and long.

      “That’s a call for assistance, that’s certain,” said Dick.

      “Oh, I hope the girls are safe!” murmured his youngest brother.

      “She’s on fire, that’s what’s the matter!” exclaimed Tom. “See the smoke coming from the cabin!”

      “Fire! fire! fire!” was the cry taken up on all sides. “The steamer is on fire!”

      “Why don’t they run to the dock?” asked one of the students.

      “Can’t – it isn’t deep enough,” was the reply. “They are going to dredge out the channel this summer.”

      “They are turning towards shore!” came, a second later, and then it could be seen that the Thistle had turned partly around. But the next instant the vessel ran into a mud shoal and there she stuck.

      “Come on, let us get out and help those who are on board!” cried Dick, and started on a run for the college boathouse, located two hundred yards further up the shore.

      The alarm was now general, and fully two score of students and several of the faculty, as well as some workmen, were running for the boathouse, to get out the rowboats and other craft usually housed there.

      “Stanley, how about your gasolene launch?” questioned Dick, as they raced along the river bank.

      “She’s all ready to use,” was the answer. “I had her out a little while early this morning.”

      “Then I’ll go out with you in that, if you say so.”

      “Sure,” was the ready response.

      “Want us?” queried Tom.

      “You and Sam better bring another boat,” answered Dick. “The more the better. The Thistle must have quite a crowd on board – if all the Hope students went on that picnic.”

      “Grace said about thirty girls were going,” replied Sam. “Oh, if they get burned – ”

      “They won’t wait for that – they’ll jump into the river first,” answered Tom soberly. For the time being all the fun was knocked out of him.

      While talking, the boys had been busy with the boats. Stanley’s gasolene launch was pushed out, and he and Dick leaped aboard, and the latter set the flywheel going. The engine was in good running order, and soon a steady put-put! sounded out, and the craft headed for the burning steamer. But, as quick as Dick and Stanley were in their movements, Tom and Sam were equally alert, and as the launch moved away Tom and his brother scrambled into a rowboat, oars in hand, and caught fast to the power craft with a boathook.

      “You can pull us as well as not,” said Tom.

      “Right you are,” answered Stanley. “And the quicker both boats get to that steamer the better.”

      As they drew closer to the Thistle they saw a volume of smoke roll up from the engine room. A barrel of oil had taken fire and the crew had found it impossible to subdue the conflagration. As yet the fire was only a small one, but there was no telling how soon it would spread, and the seminary girls on board were panic-stricken, more especially as the

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