“Whee!” he squealed, as the little sphere carromed off his bat and whizzed into the air. “I bet a squash that started the bark on her!”
Toots got a crack on the shins that upset him and made him howl with pain.
“Land ob wartermillions!” he wailed. “Nebber see no such mess as dis am! Dutchmans an’ Irish all mixed up in a stew! An’ ebry one ob um seems tryin’ teh git a crack at de nigger’s shins wif dem sticks! I’s gwan teh retellyate on some pussen bimer-by—yes, sar!”
Once Harry Rattleton was able to save Swiftwing’s side from a second and final defeat. An Indian struck and missed the ball, but Harry caught it with his bat, having struck almost at the same instant.
“Gear she hoes—I mean here she goes!” he yelled. “Can’t do it again over there! We’re going to do you up, after all!”
Finally three players on Whirling Bear’s side ran for a ball. Dunnerwust and Toots were two of them, and they both fell down, while an Indian fell on top of them.
Over the three sailed Bart Hodge, his bat poised and his teeth set. He reached the ball and kept it from striking the ground, but it glanced from his bat and went off sideways.
It went in a bad direction.
Whirling Bear tried to reach it, but failed, and it fell to the ground.
And now the sides were tied with the chances even for the final struggle.