“The little flurry is over, Pope,” cried Long Tom Hix. “We’ll take ’em in order now. Let the two kids cool their heels on the sacks.”
Tucker scarcely looked like a hitter as he stood at the plate twiddling his bat. He looked even less so when he missed Pope’s first ball by a foot. But a moment later he bumped an easy hit through the infield, and both Lozier and McGregor raced home.
“Oh, my, how easy!” whooped Tommy. “It’s pie! it’s pie! We’ll bat him out of the box.”
Chester Arlington had caught the fever. He followed with a stinging two-sacker, which carried Tucker to the pan.
The crowd was cheering and laughing; Bob Harrison was astounded and furious. The exasperated manager roared at Pope threateningly, and South-paw vowed to stop the “doings” right away.
He vowed in vain. Jones hit safely, and Arlington scored. Then young Joe emulated Arlington in hitting, and old Blessed added another tally.
“Come in here, Pope!” he thundered. “You’re on the bum! Go out there and stop this business, Brown!”
The collegians had batted the great south-paw twirler off the slab!