Through all the game the stonecutters had whooped and cheered to their satisfaction. Although they were boisterous, they were not ungentlemanly in their language. Indeed, they were rather generous in their applause whenever Maplewood made a brilliant play. For all of that, they were intensely loyal, and, to the last one of them, were eager and anxious for Fairhaven to win.
At intervals the voice of Brick McLane could be heard above the others, but sometimes it was quite drowned.
High on the top of the bleachers, clinging to a post of the fence, was old Gideon Sniffmore, who occasionally waved his crooked cane in the air and shrieked until his face grew purple. All through the game he had remained standing there, apparently quite oblivious to his rheumatism, and once or twice, when he relinquished his hold on the post and flourished both arms in the air, he was in absolute danger of falling and breaking his neck.
“We’ve got um now, by codfish!” he shrieked as Owen Bold struck out a man.
This made the second man out.
There were two runners on the bases, one having reached first through an error and the other securing a pass to the initial bag on four balls.
“It’s all over!” roared Brick McLane as the next batter stepped out. “Fairhaven wins the first game!”
Then Bold shot a speedy one, shoulder high, across the inside corner of the plate.
The batter stepped back a bit and met the ball fairly. It was a terrific clout.
Chip Jolliby went flying over the low rail which served as centre-field fence and splashed into the frog pond in search of the ball. He had seen it strike, and his heart was in his mouth for fear he could not find it amid the tall grass and weeds.