Fog and dampness covered the city of Chicago, next day, when the Catalpa nine, shivering in the chilly air, loitered the time away before the hour came for their little preliminary practice in the baseball grounds. Somebody said, while Captain Hiram was marshalling his men, that the day was a bad one for Catalpa. At this Larry laughed heartily. “As if,” he said, “the gloom of a foggy day was not just as ominous for the Chicago boys as for the Catalpas.”

“Oh they are used to it,” said Ben Burton, gruffly. Soon after, when the hour for play had arrived, Ben was nowhere to be found. Vainly they looked for him in various nooks and corners of the structure, and they were beginning to ask if he had not been spirited away when he hurried in, looking very flushed and red. When asked somewhat tartly by his captain where he had been, Ben made no answer but took up his bat and marched in with the rest.

“He has been visiting some of those confounded pool rooms, I’ll be bound,” whispered Sam Morrison, who cordially disliked and actively suspected the Catalpa shortstop. But there was no time for discussion. The nine now emerged into the arena.

The sky was brightening as the two nines met, and the crowds in the vast amphitheater, largely reinforced since yesterday, in consequence of the fame of the visiting nine being spread abroad, gave “The Cats” a cheery round of applause as they made their appearance at the entrance to the field. “Keep a stiff upper lip, Larry, old boy,” was Albert’s heartening injunction as the two friends parted at the doorways. Larry smiled brightly and his eye involuntarily sought the upper box from which he had seemed to draw so much inspiration, the day before. It was empty, and he felt a little pang of disappointment. The momentary feeling of depression was soon dissipated, however, for the serious work of the day was now to begin, and sentimentalities were out of place.

The Catalpas failed to win the toss, whereat Neddie Ellis gave a comical little groan of pain and whispered, facetiously, to Ben Burton, “Another evil sign, Bennie!”

“Yes,” replied Ben, gloomily, “the worst yet.”

He paid no attention to Neddie’s mocking laugh, but took his place on the players’ bench, as Larry Boyne took up his bat and advanced to the position in obedience to orders. For the scorer had shouted, “Larry Boyne to the bat, and Sam Morrison on deck!”

As Larry, with an elastic movement of his manly figure, placed himself squarely before Sam Morse, the Calumets’ pitcher, he said, “Give me one of your favorite high balls, and I’ll try to put it over that netting.” Morse, in his turn, squared himself and at once began to deliver a series of hot balls, but all of them too low for the Catalpa player to strike at. But he gave one ball at the desired height, however, and, to use the expression of “The Lily,” Larry “hit it squarely on the nose,” and placed a base hit to his credit. Sam Morrison profited by his example and put the ball safely in the left field. Neddie Ellis then came up, with a beaming smile on his face, and justified the expectations of the Catalpa delegation in the seats, now largely increased by new arrivals. He hit the ball a resounding thwack which was good for three bases, and sent in two runs, Larry and Morrison reaching the home plate with ease.

Charlie King was the first man to be put out; he hit the ball, which was a sharp one, to John Handy at third base, and that active young man mastered it in fine style and retired Charlie at first base. The hit, however, proved to be of value as it sent Neddie Ellis safely across the goal and was the means of tallying the third run for the visiting nine. Hart Stirling went out on a foul ball to Charlie Webb, and John Brubaker sent up a skyscraper which was captured by McWilliams in the left field. This ended the first half of the first inning, and, with light hearts and radiant faces, the Catalpas went to the field.

As Larry took his position at third base, he glanced furtively toward the draped box on the right of the grandstand. At that moment, a blue parasol was unfurled, for the sun now broke forth from the clouds and mist. One glance was all that he could spare, but it was enough. “She has come,” he said to his secret heart.

The Calumets, on the other hand, were coming in from the field with looks of consternation which did not escape the attention of the coldly critical young ladies in the upper box. Scanning them through her glass, Alice declared that they looked as if they were going to a funeral, and Deputy Sheriff Wheeler, far around on the other side of the enclosure, in the more democratic open seats, said very much the same thing.

“Never mind, boys,” said Captain Ayres, trying to instil a bit of courage into his men. “Perhaps that is a lively ball and we may bat it all over the field.”

The gallant captain took his place at the bat, and hit a line ball which was neatly captured by John Brubaker, who received a round of applause, and Ida Boardman waved at him her parasol, with the involuntary cry of “Good, John!” More fortunate than his captain was Sam Morse, the next at the bat. He solved the mysteries of Charlie King’s in-shoot and hit the ball over Hart Stirling’s head for one base. John Handy then handled the ashen stick and sent a slow ball to Ben Burton who fumbled it and allowed the striker to reach first base, even so far forgetting himself as to neglect to throw the ball to Stirling who stood ready and impatient at second base to head off Sam Morse. Stirling grew red in the face, clearly losing his temper, and, judging from the look he wore, the low murmur in which he gave a word to the shortstop was no pleasant one to hear.

The fourth man at the bat for the Calumets was Rob Peabody, who sent up a short fly which fell into the willing hands of the second baseman, making two out for the Calumets with two of the bases occupied, when Tom Shoff went to the batsman’s square.

“Ah, this is my Jonah!” said Charlie King, beckoning to the fielders to move backward, knowing Shoff’s ability as a batter. In this judgment Charlie was correct, for Shoff hit the first ball pitched, and sent it sailing into the right field, out of the reach of the anxious fielder there, and bringing in two runs and allowing Thomas himself to gain the third base in safety, greatly to the comfort of the Calumets who grinned among themselves as they saw all this from the bench.

Glenn Otto now took his turn at the bat, and it was evident that King was out of humor, as he sent the sphere with such vehemence that he nearly paralyzed big Bill Van Orman’s hands. In spite of the heavy gloves he wore, the unfortunate catcher’s hands began to swell until, as the Dean County deputy sheriff, from his distant post remarked, “They looked like canvassed hams.” But Otto calmly waited for a good ball and when he got it, he gently tapped it, sending it to left field for a single sending in, and Shoff made the score even at three and three. Jamie Kennedy finished the first inning by hitting a short fly to King. “Hurrah for the Calumets!” shouted some of the more excitable spectators. “Three cheers for Tom Shoff and Glenn Otto!” cried another, and the enthusiasm did not abate until these two complimented gentlemen turned themselves about and doffed their caps.

“I don’t think that that was very smart,” said Ida Boardman, with as much asperity as she was capable of showing. “Our boys have done much better playing than that without making any fuss about it.”

“Pretty good playing, though,” said Albert Heaton, as he darted out to send off a despatch to the anxious people in Catalpa.

“We could be worse off,” was Hiram Porter’s remark, who was preparing to face Morse’s curves. “Boys,” he continued, “we are on even terms and stand the same chance of winning that they do.”

“Provided we are as good players as they are,” put in Ben Burton, with a little laugh.

Porter hit a swift grounder to Handy who failed to master it in time to head off the swift base runner, who reached the first bag in safety. Ben Burton behaved as if he were afraid of injuring the ball and the result was that he was sent back to the players’ bench by hitting an easy ball to Glenn Otto. “The Lily” next essayed his skill and hit the sphere with all his great might, but Jamie Kennedy handled it finely and retired the striker at first base. Larry Boyne, whose turn came next, was hailed by the champions and friends of the Catalpas as the man who would put in a safe hit; but he was caught out by Peabody in the right field. In putting him out, Peabody made a brilliant running catch, the ball, apparently being certain to go over his head. The profound stillness of the arena was immediately broken by a ringing cheer saluting the successful catch.

The first striker in this inning for the Calumets was Charlie Webb, who was known as “the chance hitter,” but who invariably gave the ball, when he did hit it, such a tremendous blow that it whistled through the air as if it had been belched forth from a cannon. Charlie moistened his hands and swung his bat over his shoulder, as he strode up in front of Charlie King, calling in a big voice, “Now give me a high ball!” He hit the ball, hit it just where he aimed to hit it, and for a moment it was lost in the misty blue above. But Neddie Ellis, flying for the center field fence, gave the watchful spectators an inkling of the whereabouts of the vanished sphere. Charlie Webb, meanwhile, was clearing the bases at a tremendous gait, and, before the ball could be returned to the Diamond Field, he had crossed the home plate and had put his club in the lead. There was another rumble of applause from the sympathetic Chicago onlookers, and Alice Howell’s peachy cheek fairly paled. But she said not a word.

Now McWilliams hit a grounder to Larry Boyne who managed, by dint of a hard struggle, to get it to first base in good season, and Mac went out. Ayres, the gallant captain, met with the same fate in his turn, sending a fly to Larry; and Sam Morse ended the second inning by being fielded out at first base by Stirling. At this, there was a sigh of relief from the Catalpa section, and no audible cheer among the friends of the home club.

In the third inning, the Catalpas managed to gain some of their lost ground by making the single run necessary to put them even with their antagonists. Sam Morrison hit a sharp ball to Handy, who attempted to field it, but the sphere went through his hands and bounded over the foul line. Morrison was about to return to the home plate, thinking that the ball was “foul.” But Larry Boyne impetuously cried, “Hold your base!”

Instantly, the crowds were all excitement. Men and boys rose to their feet shouting “Foul!” “Foul!” All was confusion, and Mr. Heaton, Albert, and the young ladies in the upper box looked on speechlessly as the pandemonium raged below.

The umpire seemed dazed, and the hooters, who are ever present, yelled “Foul ball!” “Foul ball!” as if their noise would determine the question. Ben Burton, with an expression of mixed amazement and chagrin, watched Larry, who approached the puzzled umpire with Spalding’s official guidebook of baseball. The umpire glanced over the open page and his countenance cleared at once.

Bowing with cold politeness, he said, “You are right, Mr. Boyne. I am glad to see that you prairie players are well informed as to all the points in the national game.”

Larry acknowledged the compliment with a manly salutation and returned to the players’ bench. But the spectators would have no such result, and howled on vociferously. The umpire called the game and playing was stopped until silence was restored. When he could be heard, the umpire read the rule in a stentorian tone of voice, whereupon there was some grumbling, but the generous majority, seeing the justice of the position taken for the visitors, cheered “The Curly-headed Cat.” Larry acknowledged the dubious compliment. Alice Howell hid her blushing face behind her parasol, and the game went on.

But it was evident that this episode had shaken the Calumets a little, as the next two strikers secured their bases by errors. Ellis won his by a misplay by Glenn Otto, and King took his by an error on the part of Handy. This left the three bases occupied and nobody put out⁠—a capital chance for the Catalpas to get in some telling work. Stirling was retired at first base by Handy, but his being out allowed Sam Morrison to cross the marble plate in safety, by skillful base-running. John Brubaker hit a fly to Peabody in the right field; the latter captured the ball and also made a fine double play as Neddie Ellis tried to come home on it, forgetting the reputation which Peabody had won as a long thrower. And then the Catalpas again took the field.

“I tell you what, boys, it’s mighty tough work to beat these prairie roosters,” said the good-natured captain of the Calumets, as his associates took their seats once more on the players’ bench.

“If we could only once get a good lead on them,” remarked Jamie Kennedy, “I am sure they would be so badly demoralised that we should get away with them. But they don’t seem to scare worth a cent. They hold on like grim death.”

This conversation was brought to a close by the umpire shouting, “John Handy to the bat!” and John convinced the spectators, as the Dean County Sheriff remarked, that he was “not handy at batting,” for he was struck out; and Peabody, who followed, went out on a foul to Captain Porter. Tom Shoff then proved that he was not wholly “The Jonah” that Charlie King had feared him to be by merely going out on a long fly to left field. This ended the third inning, with the contestants neck and neck, each being credited with four runs.

As he took his position before the pitcher, Captain Hiram Porter expressed to his comrades his conviction that the Catalpas were to do some good work in that inning. He felt it “in his bones,” he said, whereat Ben Burton laughed contemptuously, and said to “The Lily,” who sat next him, that if the bones of Captain Hiram were to be the barometer of the game, the Catalpas would be in hard luck. He had no faith in the Porter family bones, he said.

But Hiram justified his faith in his own impressions by hitting with all his might the first ball pitched and thereby securing one base. Ben Burton, who followed him, also took one base, but this was through the error of Captain Ayres, who muffed a ball thrown to him by Jamie Kennedy. “The Lily” came next to the bat. He had previously made a small wager with Ben Burton that he would make a safe hit, and, in order to defeat Burton and at the same time benefit the club, he kept perfectly cool, waiting for his opportunity, refusing to strike at any of “Morse’s coaxers,” as the boys styled the Calumets’ pitcher’s work. When he got a ball waist-high over the plate, he hit it with sufficient power to fell an ox. The sphere traveled on a right line as though it were shot out of a cannon’s mouth, and gave “The Lily” two bases, at the same time sending Porter and Burton over the home plate and giving the Catalpas a lead of two runs.

A broad smile adorned the countenance of “The Lily,” and, with cap in hand, he stood ready to fly to third base as soon as the ball was hit. But his ardent desires were not to be gratified; the next three men went out in “one-two-three” order, Larry Boyne on a fly to Glenn Otto, Sam Morrison on a grounder to Handy, and Neddie Ellis on strikes. Third base was the nearest Van Orman came to the home plate, much to his grief; and, as he adjusted his gloves for the next turn behind the bat, he muttered, “Well, I made that ball whistle, anyhow!” Buttoning his hand protectors, with a series of wrenches, he jerked out, “The next one⁠—that Bill hits⁠—will never be found.”

Glenn Otto was the first man at the base for the Calumets in the fourth inning; and he secured his base by Neddie Ellis’s muff of an easy ball, and Jamie Kennedy reached first base on called balls. Both of these men, however, were left waiting, as the three players who succeeded them at the bat failed to place the ball out of the reach of the Catalpas. Charlie Webb went out on a fly to Larry Boyne, and McWilliams hit an easy fly to Charlie King; then Darius Ayres was thrown out at first base by Larry Boyne. The inning ended without adding a run to the score of the home nine, but they kept at their work with the steadiness and coolness of men who had a high reputation as players and the consciousness of great strength to support them under adversity.

Elation reigned among the friends of the Catalpa nine. In the high box from which the fair delegation from Catalpa surveyed the field, Miss Alice expressed her complete satisfaction with the condition of affairs, although Miss Ida pretended to entertain feelings of distrust. “Why,” she said, “at the end of the fourth inning, yesterday, the Catalpas were three to the Calumets’ one⁠—just leading them two, as they are today. Do you suppose that the Catalpas will keep this up all through the game?”

“You are as much of a doubting Thomas as Ben Burton is, Ida,” answered Alice. “According to Mr. Boyne, Ben is croaking all the while. If the wish were father to the thought, he could not be more skeptical, it seems to me. Isn’t he perfectly horrid?”

But words could not be wasted now. The Catalpas went to the bat again, and every eye was riveted on the tall form of Charlie King, who, with his club on his shoulder, sauntered in leisurely and confident fashion to the square. He lifted the ball too high, however, and it was captured by Tom Shoff in the center field. Hart Stirling was deceived by a few sharp inward curves from the pitcher of the Calumets and retired to his seat without hitting a ball. John Brubaker hit the ball, but was thrown out from Otto to Ayres.

The Calumets now came in with a look of determination on their faces. “Steady, lads, steady!” said Captain Darius. “Wait for good balls; and, above all things, keep steady.”

Sam Morse, who was first at the bat, strictly obeyed orders and waited for what he considered a good ball. He struck an easy one to Ben Burton, but Ben muffed it, and Morse reached first base before the ball did. A dark cloud passed over the face of Captain Hiram as he anxiously stood at first base, and something like a cloud darkened Alice Howell’s fair cheek, far up above the brightly-lighted field, now illuminated by the afternoon sun.

A deep sigh went around among the Catalpa contingent in the open seats, as Stirling, having received a hot ball from Rob Peabody, failed to pick it up with his accustomed skill, and had the mortification of seeing the agile base runner get to the first bag in safety. It was clearly evident now that the Catalpas were a little nervous. “We have them rattled,” whispered the Calumets among themselves, as they sat expectantly on the players’ bench. Even Charlie King, who never lost his equipoise, appeared to have left some of his skill behind him, for he did not twirl the ball with that bewildering dexterity that had been, all along, the envy and the terror of the Calumets.

There was a woebegone expression on the faces of the Catalpa players⁠—save one, and that was Ben Burton, who wore a settled smile of derision. He seemed to be congratulating himself on the possible coming true of his prophecies. Any misplay on the part of the Catalpas was the signal for what Hart Stirling termed “one of Ben Burton’s contemptible laughs.”

Shoff again faced the pitching of Charlie King and the two players exchanged a grin, a half-defiant recognition of their friendly antagonism. Thomas repeated his hit of the first inning, sending the ball to the left field fence for three bases and sending in Morse, Handy and Peabody, and putting his club in the coveted position of a good lead. Next, Glenn Otto hit a lively grounder to Boyne who caught it safely and retired the base runner; but Tom Shoff went triumphantly home.

After this, “The Cats” seemed to regain something of their old vigor and spirit. A few words of warning, impressing on them the need of keeping cool, and reminding them that they now had everything to gain, and nothing to lose, were dropped by their captain, as they braced themselves for a good strong play. King neatly fooled Jamie Kennedy with his deceptive in-shoots and the batsman of the Calumets was called out on strikes. Charlie Webb was the last man at the bat in this inning, and he went out on a fly to Hart Stirling.

“That ends the fifth inning!” shouted the scorer. “Score, eight to six in favor of the Calumet club,” an announcement which was not very comforting to the gentlemen from Catalpa, whether they were in the Diamond Field or in the boxes. Al Heaton dashed his hat down over his eyes and went solemnly down to send a despatch which, a few minutes afterwards, was read in the streets of Catalpa with great consternation.

In the sixth inning, the Calumets played with the good luck that usually seems to follow a club which has the lead in the score. Perhaps it was their self-confidence, natural and fitting, that inspired them now. At any rate, they retired the Catalpa representatives of the national game without allowing one of them to reach the first base. Captain Porter was thrown out at the first base by Jamie Kennedy, Ben Burton went out on a fly to McWilliams, and “The Lily” hit an easy ground ball to John Handy, who made a lightning throw to first base in time to head off the deeply disappointed William.

But the Catalpa players showed that they were not out of heart, for their playing was remarkably strong in this part of the inning. Burton threw McWilliams out at first base; then Darius Ayres hit a liner to the left field which was very cleverly caught by Sam Morrison; and the inning was then brought to an end by Sam Morse who struck out; and the sentiment of the spectators was reflected by an irrepressible small boy who cried, “Now ‘The Cats’ will get a run!”

Larry Boyne, who went to the bat for the visiting club, was the fortunate man who was to make good the small boy’s prediction. He opened the inning in magnificent style by hitting the ball fairly and the flying sphere almost struck the left field foul line. It was “a tight squeeze,” as one of the Catalpa onlookers observed, and the umpire’s decision was invoked by the captain of the Calumets. The umpire justly gave the ball as fair, whereupon some of the baser sort in the amphitheater began to hoot and cry “Foul!” as if they would thus reverse the decision of the umpire. That gentleman coolly ordered the game to stop until the noise had ceased; there were counter cries of “Shame!” from some of the more orderly of the spectators, and then, quiet having been restored, the contest was resumed, Sam Morrison being at the bat.

Samuel went out on a fly to Ayres. While Neddie Ellis was at the bat, a passed ball allowed Larry to get around to third base. Neddie retired on a foul tip to Charlie Webb, and it looked as if the chances for the Catalpas to make a run were very slender indeed. But Charlie King came to the rescue. He hit a ball to Glenn Otto at shortstop, which, luckily for the Catalpas, went through his legs and allowed King to take his base and brought Larry Boyne to the home plate amidst the cheers of his many admirers. But Hart Stirling dashed the hopes of his comrades for this inning by sending up a fly to Jamie Kennedy at second base.

Alice Howell’s little hand was drumming nervously on the rail of her box, as she regarded in dejected silence the scene, when the Calumets came to the bat with a feeling of confidence readily manifest in their faces. But their opponents played a fine fielding game, and the home nine were presented with the figurative “goose egg” which had been so often referred to during the contest. Handy struck three times the unsubstantial air, and Peabody went out disastrously also on a fly to Hiram Porter. Shoff reached the first base on called balls, but only to be left there, as Jamie Kennedy failed to strike the ball after making three terrific lunges at it.

The Catalpas were still hopeful, but not sanguine. They had only one run to make in order to tie their competitors, and they went to work now with a will. They were not nearly so badly off as they might have been, was the cheery comment of Larry Boyne, as they went to the bat once more. But fate was against them, and they were retired in “one-two-three order,” as the Calumets played a winning game. John Brubaker hit a ball to Kennedy who sent it to first base in a manner that won the plaudits of the crowds intently watching the contest from the seats around the huge amphitheater. Captain Porter hit a fly to left field which was captured by McWilliams in wonderfully fine style, and Ben Burton struck out. The Calumets were very fortunate at the bat. In this inning they made another run and again placed themselves two runs in the lead. Kennedy made a base hit, and went to second base on a passed ball, and then reached third base on Burton’s error of Webb’s infield hit. Jamie finally scored on McWilliams’s out at first base. Next Darius Ayres hit a fly to Sam Morrison and was retired, and Morse ended the inning by striking out, leaving the score nine to seven in favor of the Calumets.

“Small chances for our taking the championship this season,” was Ben Burton’s gleeful remark, as the Catalpas took their places on the bench.

“And you seem to be mightily tickled about it,” replied “The Lily,” with an angry glare in his eyes. “If I were as pleased as you seem to be at the drubbing we are likely to get from these chaps, I should expect to be fired out of the club for treachery.”

Van Orman did not stop to hear the reply which Burton, white with wrath, made to this taunt. Seizing his bat, he hurried to the square and faced the pitching of the redoubtable and confident Morse. He waited patiently for a good ball and finally received one. With all his might⁠—which was a great deal⁠—“The Lily” hit the sphere and sent it flying to the left field, where the lithe and agile McWilliams captured it, after a hard run which called forth an involuntary burst of applause from the rapt spectators.

“Hang it all! Just my luck!” muttered Van Orman, as, throwing down his bat, he returned to his seat.

But Larry Boyne, as cool and calm as a spring morning, came next, reassuring his friends and comrades by the mere poise of his handsome figure as he took his place in the batter’s square. Not a word had he said for the past half-hour, and it was plain to see that he keenly felt the defeat that now stared the Catalpas in the face. But he showed no white feather, bearing himself as if it were an everyday occurrence to find himself in so difficult a predicament. Two strikes were called on him in rapid succession; the third ball he struck at and missed and he was consequently retired for the first time during the day for having failed to hit the ball. The tide seemed to be irretrievably running against the visitors, and many of the less interested spectators began to make their way to the exits, saying as they went, that the game was over.

But a little diversion in favor of the Catalpas now took place. Sam Morrison made a long line hit to center field for three bases, and a slight glimmer of hope dawned in the breasts of the sons of Catalpa. The friendly champions of the club, bunched together in the seats, yelled themselves hoarse over this little turn in the game, encouraging their fellow-townsmen in the Diamond Field with all sorts of cheering cries and remarks. Alice Howell, red and white by turns, and sometimes not seeing the field for the unwonted moisture that gathered in her eyes, waved her handkerchief at the boys below, never trusting herself to say a word.

With breathless interest, Neddie Ellis was watched as he ran to the bat and squared himself for a decisive stroke of business. Even the umpire, carried away by the unwonted crisis, forgot everything but the trembling balance of the result of the game. He was brought to his senses by a shouting from the grandstand when he considered a ball was too low to be called a strike, although there were only a few persons who thought to the contrary. Neddie was made a little nervous, naturally enough, by the commotion and the stress of the exigency. He knew that there were some chances of winning now depending on his making a good hit. It was a critical point in the closely contested struggle. He made a desperate lunge at the ball, but Jamie Kennedy was at his post and before the hapless Neddie could realize what had happened, Kennedy had retired him at first base and the game was won for the Calumets.

Then a mighty shout went up from the throats of the assembled multitudes, for, although many had slipped out in time to avoid the press of the departing throngs, those who remained were sufficiently numerous and enthusiastic to create a vociferous uproar. In the midst of this, the two captains met in midfield and shook hands cordially with a few complimentary words from each, as their respective clubs gathered around. Then, the promiscuous cheering in the seats having subsided, the victors gave a rousing cheer, more or less inspired by their own exultant spirits, for their antagonists; and the Catalpas, nothing abashed by their defeat, returned the cheer with great heartiness.

“Meet us at Catalpa,” said Captain Hiram Porter to the captain of the Calumet club. “Meet us at Catalpa, and we will try hard to retrieve the ill fortune of this day.”

It had been agreed that the third and concluding game of the championship series should be played at Catalpa, in case the Calumets should win the second game. So, with a few hurried words relating to a friendly meeting of the captains of the two nines, on the morrow, the players dispersed from the field. This was what might have been read on the bulletin boards as they went along their homeward way:⁠—

Baseball Today

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9
Catalpas	3	0	1	2	0	0	1	0	0	7.
Caluments	3	1	0	0	4	0	0	1	0	9.

Runs earned, Catalpas, 4; Calumets, 2.

Base hits, Catalpas, 7; Calumets, 7.

Errors, Catalpas, 5; Calumets, 7.

Umpire, Mr. Mark B. Redmond.

Time of game, two hours and ten minutes.