“He’s going to pitch!”
There were shouts of laughter, and everybody felt that a good game had suddenly degenerated into a ridiculous exhibition.
The stranger ambled along awkwardly as he walked onto the diamond, his shoulders pitched forward, and his arms swinging in a queer way. That half-foolish grin remained on his face, but he did not seem at all disturbed by the shouts and laughter of the crowd.
“Jest give me a few seconds to limber my arm, Mr. Empire?” he asked.
The umpire nodded, and the stranger faced first base. He threw awkwardly, and did not seem to put much force into the throw.
“He’ll be pudding for our batters,” said a Minneapolis man. “Come, let’s get out.”
“Hold on,” said a dark-faced man at his side. “I have money bet on this game, and I want to make sure I’ll win.”
“You’re sure enough now,” said the other, who had a thin, pale face and a listless manner.
“I want to see him pitch a few.”
“Bet the first man gets a hit.”