“Get off, Jack,” called Hodge. “I’ll watch him. If he does the trick again, I’ll talk to him a bit.”
Sprowl looked at Bart and laughed.
“You wouldn’t frighten any one,” he said. “Why don’t you fellows play ball? Are you going to cry baby so early in the game?”
“That’s the talk!” roared the big man. “Make ’em play ball! Of course he can’t hit Wolfers, and he wants to work his way down to first somehow.”
Few among the spectators had seen Sprowl touch Jack’s bat, and therefore the crowd was opposed to him. Jeers and catcalls came from every side.
Ready was angry. For once in his life, he had quite lost control of his temper.
“If you keep it up,” he growled to Sprowl, “something will happen to you.”
Then he stepped off the plate and Wolfers snapped the ball over like a flash.
“Str-r-r-rike—kah three!” cried the umpire. “You’re out!”
How the crowd did laugh and jeer at Jack.