“’Ow hunfortunate!” muttered Billy Bradley, as he walked into the batter’s box.
Billy got a wide one and let it pass for a ball. Then came a swift inshoot that made him jump away, and once more Warren snapped the ball to Ware, who instantly returned it.
Bradley had remembered Dick’s cautioning words, and he was not fooled by this piece of business. The ball was a straight, swift one, and he met it with a resounding crack. Out on a line it went, but Roberts thrust up his bare right hand and gathered it in with a—spat!
It was swift and beautiful work, and the crowd had good cause to cheer heartily.
“’Orseshoes!” shouted Bradley, who had dropped his bat and started for first, only to stop suddenly when he witnessed the spectacular one-hand catch.
“Didn’t I tell you, girls!” laughed Bessie Dale.
“You told us,” admitted Doris. “But both of our boys hit your wizard of a pitcher.”
“They hit the ball, but they didn’t get safe hits. Safe hits count, you know.”
“Had that last one been six inches higher Bradley would have made two bases on it,” asserted Doris.
“Oh, yes, if, if!” said Bessie. “But if’s don’t count in this game.”[game.”]