“I thought you got it in the stomach,” said Bingham.
“Only a bird in a gilded cage,” Jack exclaimed, pointing to the big sophomore.
But the pitching of the new man was of a most terrific order, and Bingham loudly called for him to “ease ’em over.” The second ball the new man pitched was a foul tip, which the catcher misjudged, getting it just where Ready had received the batted ball.
Over on his back rolled Bingham, while the crowd whooped with joy and danced grotesquely in the gray morning twilight.
“Drag off the dead,” solemnly ordered the umpire.
Jack Ready rushed in, caught Bingham by the heels and started with him, dragging the big fellow along on his back. He succeeded in pulling Bingham for at least a rod before the fellow recovered enough to kick him off.
“Hey!” roared Ralph, as he sent Ready reeling. “What in thunder do you take me for, you jackass? Think I’m a dump-cart? Is that why you promptly harnessed yourself into the thills?”
“Excuse me!” chirped Jack, standing off and surveying the other with comical gravity. “I thought you were dead, and I was on the way to the dumping-grounds with you.”
“You’ll find I’m not dead!” snapped Bingham, as he got up and made a dive for Jack.