Hardy nodded, cooling down somewhat.
“That is sensible talk,” he said. “I was afraid you had a bug in your nut. A fellow with a bug is N. G.”
Tom Thornton followed Jones. One strike was called on him, and then he cracked out a hot one, which the shortstop fumbled long enough to let the batter reach first.
Then, to the surprise of all, Joe Gamp took his place on the coaching line near first.
“I swear if he isn’t going to coach!” cried a voice. “Well, this will be a riot!”
“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” roared Gamp, slapping his thigh. “If this ain’t the gug-gug-gug-greatest pup-pup-pup-pup-pup-picnic I ever struck! Why, this is more fun than chasin’ a yallar cuc-cuc-caow all over a forty-acre pasture lot! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!”
That laugh was infectious, others caught it, and the crowd roared.
“Fun!” shouted Harry Rattleton, from a position on the coach line over by third. “It’s more fun than bodging dullets—I mean dodging bullets.”
Hodge was the third man to come to the bat.
Noon believed he knew Bart’s weakness, and he motioned for a slow drop.