When Roberts was again in position,[position,] Ware once more whistled a ball over, and a second time Obediah struck, missed, and threw his bat. This time it went spinning down toward third, and Macon made a comedy run to get out of the way.
“It’s a plot!” shouted Roberts. “He is trying to kill our team or maim us so we can’t play the game.”
“Drat that bat!” said Obediah. “This is the golldingedest, slipperyest thing I ever got holt of!”
Once more it was returned to him.
Ware was laughing. He regarded the fat boy with derision, fancying Obediah could not hit effectively unless by a blundering chance. This led the pitcher to use a swift straight ball, over the centre of the plate, and what followed caused him to come near collapsing, for this time Tubbs’ bat fell on the ball with a sharp report, and the liner that was driven out could not be caught by any one.
“Laff! Dern your picters—laff!” squealed Obed, as he wildly ran down to first, his short arms held out at an angle from his shoulders and his hands pawing at the air as if seeking to assist in propelling him along.
If any one fancied Obediah would be satisfied to stop at first he was mistaken, for the fat boy streaked on over the bag, darted promptly to the left, and made for second. Conway secured the ball and threw it swiftly to Crockett.
Crockett fancied he would have plenty of time to tag Tubbs, for he did not conceive that the fat boy would attempt to slide. Such an attempt, however, Tubbs made, and Crockett tagged him a moment too late, for Tubbs lay with his hand on the bag as he was touched with the ball.
Then the little Fardale crowd rose and cheered in earnest, shouting Obediah’s name.
Singleton had scored on the hit.