“Who is this sedate youth?” inquired the sailor. “To me his classic countenance is strangely unfamiliar. I wonder if he will pass away in a trance, like his predecessor.”
Mike Grafter had turned on his son as Ready was declared out.
“What do you think of that, boy?” he demanded. “That fellow didn’t seem to know what he was standing up there for.”
“He did appear doped,” admitted Wallace; “but I think this one will wake up.”
He was right, for Morgan smashed the first ball delivered. It hummed along the ground in the direction of Wiley. The sailor leaped for it and it struck his hands, bouncing out. Like a cat springing on a mouse, Wiley pounced on the ball, caught it up and whistled it across the diamond in time to put Dade out at first.
“Too easy to get it the first time,” he said. “In order to show my superb style, I had to drop it and pick it up again. Bat them all to me. It’s the easiest way you can get out.”
Buck Badger, grim and sturdy, strode forth to the plate.
“A gent from the wild-and-woolly, unless I have been incorrectly informed,” said Wiley. “Whoop! Yi, yi, ye-ee! Yow! Notice the coyotelike melody of my voice. Give him a slow one.”
“About like this, eh?” said O’Neill, as he delivered a “dope” ball.
Badger had noted the speed of the pitcher, and he struck too soon.