Joe Gamp, long, gangling and awkward, stood up to the plate.
“Get back a little!” sharply commanded O’Neill.
“What fuf-fuf-for?” innocently inquired Joe.
“I’ll show you what for!” grated O’Neill, as he sent a ball over with burning speed, keeping it so close that it barely missed the tall chap.
“Let him hit you,” cried Wiley. “You’ll never know it, and your funeral will occur to-morrow.”
Gamp seemed alarmed, for he stood off from the plate; but as O’Neill delivered the next ball, he stepped up to it.
Just as Joe had expected, the ball was over the outside corner.
Gamp hit it, having stepped near enough to reach it with ease.
O’Neill had tried to fool him, but, instead of that, he had fooled O’Neill.