“One, two, three!” yelled the crowd, confident now that it would see a real game of ball. A storm of applause greeted the Clippings as they walked in.
“Rotten fumble,” grunted McCarthy.
“Don’t you believe it!” cried Clancy, slapping his shoulder. “You retrieved it before it had a chance to work, Dan. Fine business!”
“You’re up first, Dan,” said Merry. “Now go in and repeat!”
McCarthy grinned happily, and strode out to the plate. He waited while Carson tossed over his warmers-up.
“This pie-eater’s pretty soft, Bully,” snarled Squint. “Let him hit. He ain’t worth fanning.”
The lanky chap opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, and stepped into the box. Carson eyed him a moment, and the bleachers fell silent in suspense.
“Speed fer him, Bully,” cried Fletcher. “He’s scared already.”
Carson nodded and wound up. The ball seemed to come with startling speed. In reality it was a slow fader, and it fooled McCarthy completely.
“Strike—uh—one!”