Up popped the jay’s stuttering friend on the bleachers.
“I bub-bub-bub-bet any man tut-tut-tut-ten dollars that pup-pup-pup-pitcher carn’t sus-sus-sus-strike him out!” he yelled, wildly waving a roll of bills.
“Sit down!” cried twenty voices.
“I’ll sus-sus-sus-sit daown,” was the answer; “but you cuc-cuc-cuc-carn’t back me daown.”
“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” brayed the jay at the plate. “Ain’t no takers fer your money, Joe.”
Then Webber suddenly sent in a swift one, thinking to take the batter unawares.
Crack! the bat met the ball.
It did not seem that the jay swung on the ball at all. He simply gave a snap hit, but the ball went out on a line. Later, when the ball got past a fielder and went away down against center-field fence, from which it glanced to one side, the spectators realized that it had been hit “some.”
And the manner in which the strange pitcher sprinted round the bases brought the St. Paul crowd up yelling like madmen. Never before on that field had they seen such a speedy runner on bases. He seemed to pull his head down between his shoulders and fairly fly, his legs twinkling like the spokes of a swift-moving wheel. Over first and down to second he went. By that time the ball had rebounded from the fence, and the runner kept on to third. Before third was reached the fielder had the ball and was throwing it in to second.
“Whoa! whoa!” yelled the coacher at third, trying to stop the flying runner.