“Time!” yelled the umpire.
Ladies in the stand screamed and one fainted.
Men rose up and shouted incoherently, while the crowd from the bleachers poured onto the field.
It seemed that the game would end in a free fight.
In the midst of the excitement Seymour Whittaker forced his way into the midst of the struggling, wrangling mass of men.
“Gentlemen!” he cried; “be reasonable! I’ve been watching this thing. I played ball myself once. I saw our catcher touch the batter’s stick! He did it twice and did it deliberately. The umpire may not have seen it. The batter warned our catcher. He had a right to be mad. Don’t break this game up in a free fight! You know I have wagered money on our boys. I believe they can win, but I want them to win honorably. Wolfers doesn’t need a catcher to help him by such tricks. He can pitch well enough to win without such aid. Let’s be square. Let those fellows settle their trouble after the game is over. We’re not rowdies here in Elkton. We want to see square baseball. This business will hurt the game. Go back and sit down, all of you.”
These words were enough, although other men now declared that they had seen Sprowl touch Bart’s bat. The crowd was quieted, and began to walk off to the bleachers.
Sprowl had been struck on the cheek, and Bart’s fist left a bad bruise there.
He swore he would get even with Hodge. His companions induced him to agree not to press the matter until after the game was finished.
Finally things quieted down and playing was resumed.