“You’ll get skinned, all right,” yelled Olcott. “Let the Dutchman hit it, old man! He’s easy!”
“Shut oop mit your mouth!” retorted Villum, turning angrily.
As he did so, Green unwound and the sphere came down like a bullet. Villum tried to strike, but overreached himself and fell forward, sitting on the plate.
“Vot der matter vos?” he inquired blankly. “Vhere vos der pall?”
“Get up or you’ll have another strike called,” said Olcott.
Villum scrambled to his feet. His actions disgusted the excited crowd, however, and a storm of objurgation began to rain upon him.
“Take him out! Send in a ball player!”
“Get the hook! Get the hook!”
“By Yimini, you shoot oop!” roared Villum, waving his bat at the grand stand. “How vos I to hear der pall coming vhen you vos making such a yelling?”
Green smiled and once more put the ball across while Villum was glaring at the crowd. He whirled around as the ball plunked home.