“But you seem to forget that the freshman was up against a challenge. Pumper made some talk about pounding him all over the field.”
“Oh, Pumper’s great on making talk,” said Swett. “He doesn’t mean half he says.”
“But he’s sore now,” declared Keene, as Welch hurled his bat aside and walked toward the bench.
“Now take a lesson by that fellow,” muttered Cranch. “I’ve told him time after time that his temper spoiled his pitching. When things go wrong in a game he acts just as he’s acting now. A pitcher who permits himself to get wrathy never can do his best.”
“Well, we’ll see what Henderson can do to the freshie,” said Swett. “Old Hen ought to biff him some.”
Dick knew he was up against the crack batter of the varsity, and his first inclination was not to attempt to strike Henderson out. The first ball he delivered was straight over, and Carl smashed it out on a line.
“Clean hit!” cried Leyden.
“Oh, it’s different now! it’s different now!” shouted a voice. “The freshie will find he’s pitching against a real batter!”
“What fool said that?” snarled Welch, glaring around in search of the speaker.
Whoever it was, the fellow kept himself out of sight for the time being.