The St. Paul men muttered among themselves, and one of them told Trueman to sign the stranger if he could keep that work up.
St. Paul again went out in order, and the new pitcher once more ambled awkwardly out to his place. This time, however, instead of being greeted with howls of derision, he was given a round of applause, in recognition of which he touched the brim of his old hat, saying:
“That kinder makes me blush. I wisht they wouldn’t pound their hands at me that way.”
The first Minneapolis batter to face the stranger was anxious, but, after a ball was called, he succeeded in hitting for a clean single. The crowd shouted.
“It’s all over now,” said the man with the pale face. “They will fall on that farmer like a load of brick.”
“I think so,” nodded his dark companion. “His queer movements bothered them at first, but they won’t be troubled by them now.”
The pitcher seemed to get rattled, for he put a beauty over the plate, and the next hitter drove one to left field, though the ball fell so short that the runner on first could not reach third.
“Everybody hits him!” yelled the coachers. “Why, we’ll make a hundred right here!”
Although the jay grinned, he was very wild, and the next batter, being a good waiter, was given his first on balls.