Out on a line went the ball. Wiley made a wild leap into the air, but he could not reach it by two feet, at least.
“That’s the high sign!” cried the sailor. “My arm was too short. I’ll have to use my patent arm-stretching attachment to get those.”
“The fielders will have to use their leg-stretching attachment to get them,” laughed Dade Morgan, as he ran down to the coaching line. “Take second, Bart!”
Hodge obeyed, easily reaching second base before the ball could be fielded into the diamond.
“Now, Gamp—now!” urged Morgan. “It’s just as easy. O’Neill will have his troubles to-day.”
“I pelief you vos correctness, Dady!” cried Dunnerwurst, as he joined Morgan. “His troubles vill haf him to-day. Mofe dot pag avay from, Partley! Got a good sdart und make a roppery. You vos der pest ropper in der punch. Id peen easiness vor a pase to steal you.”
“These boys seem to bat some, Mr. Gowan,” observed Wallace Grafter. “If they ever get to bunching ’em on O’Neill they will put him to the stable.”
“One hit in an inning doesn’t count,” gurgled Gowan. “I’ve noticed that O’Neill knows how to scatter the hits.”
“Son,” said old man Grafter, “when it comes to baseball, you know a thing or two. I’m satisfied now that I have a chance for my money, and so I won’t kick if I lose it.”
“All right, dad,” smiled Wallace. “I’m thinking we’ll both win our bets.”