“Get dot pall under, Choe!” squawked Dunnerwurst. “Pick id oudt uf a cloudt! You can dood id!”
Frank was watching with no little anxiety. He knew Joe was a wonderful fielder, and he had seen him make some astonishing catches; but his judgment told him that the chances were decidedly against the long-legged chap.
Gamp knew it, too, and he was trying harder than he had ever tried before in all his life.
“I must get it!” he thought. “I will get it!”
Joe knew the game depended on his success. If he failed, the Elks would be the winners. His heart leaped into his throat. He seemed to find it necessary to set his teeth to keep it from leaping quite out of his mouth.
He saw the ball beginning to fall.
“I must get it! I will!” he repeated.
In his mind he saw what would follow failure. He saw the Elks triumphant, the crowd roaring with joy, his own friends dejected and downcast. He even saw himself walking in from the field, his head hanging, unable to look Frank in the face. He knew how Frank would take it; he knew he would be a good loser.
Across from right field came the wail of Dunnerwurst:
“Get dot pall under, Choe! You can dood id!”