“Oh, I’m not! You’re quite mistaken if you think I am. Only I don’t believe he is such a very superior boy, anyway. Even Chester says his success is mainly good luck.”
“Like other fellows,” observed June, “Chester says many things he doesn’t mean.”
At this point O’Rouke hit the ball and drove out a liner, which Obediah Tubbs failed to reach, although he jumped for it.
The batter was a swift runner, and he started instantly when the bat hit the ball. Getting such a good start, he crossed first and dashed for second.
Both Jolliby and Flint raced after the ball, but Jolliby’s legs carried him to it first. He caught it up and wheeled, seeing that O’Rouke was trying to stretch the hit into a two-bagger.
In the matter of throwing the lanky centre-fielder of the home team was a wonder. He now sent the ball on a dead line into the hands of Obediah Tubbs, who received it and jumped into the air as O’Rouke slid, spikes first, for the bag. The runner made the slide in that manner in order to drive Tubbs away; but the leap of the fat boy in the air permitted him to escape being spiked, and he came down with all his weight fairly on the sliding player.
Obediah’s bulk stopped O’Rouke as if the fellow had struck a stone wall. His foot was six inches from the bag, and Tubbs had fallen on him.
“Judgment!” cried the fat boy shrilly. “Dern my picter! He came near opening a seam in me that time! But, by Jim! I bet he won’t try to put his calks into me again!”
In truth the breath had been knocked out of O’Rouke, and he lay still for four or five seconds after Obed got up.
“The man is out!” was the umpire’s decision.