“Laff! Dern your picters!” shrilled the fat boy indignantly. “Mebbe you will laff out t’other corner of your mouth pritty soon!”
Then, in a desperate endeavor to hit the first ball pitched, Obed swung with such violence that he was thrown off his feet, for he missed entirely. The bat flew out of his hands and sailed into the middle of the diamond, while he fell flat on his back, with a great grunt, as if the breath had been jarred from his body.
At this there was another shout of laughter.
“Pick up the poor little thing!” cried one.
“Hit it where you missed it, Fatty,” advised another.
“Look out for his bat!” shrieked a third. “He’ll kill somebody with it!”
“Ding your old ground!” squeaked Obediah, as he rolled over and awkwardly rose to his feet. “It ain’t solid nohow! It wiggles!”
Roberts gravely brought the bat to Tubbs, presenting it to him with a profound bow.
“You may not need it,” he said. “It may not do you any good, but here it is.”
“Oh, you think I won’t need it, do you?” piped the corpulent lad indignantly. “Well, I’ll show you!”