O’Neill shot over a high inshoot that seemed to curve round Jack’s neck.
“Avast, there!” shouted Wiley. “Permit the ruddy-cheeked blossom to have a passing glimpse of it.”
The umpire pronounced it a strike.
“That was sizzling hot, Mat!” exclaimed the catcher. “It burned in the mitt. You have your speed with you to-day. I don’t think they can see the ball.”
Ready had nothing to say, which was quite unusual for him. He gripped his bat and waited for the next one.
It looked wide, but came in and passed over the outside corner of the plate.
“Two strikes!” cried the umpire.
Wiley did a hornpipe.
“It’s a shame, O’Neill!” he declared. “You should blush at your own perfidy. How can you do it? Don’t you see you have the poor boy shaking like a sheet in the wind! Just toss him one and let him strike at it.”