“Pup-pup-pup-put it right over!” came from Gamp.
“Hake nim mit it—I mean make him hit it!” spluttered Rattleton.
“Nobody walks,” rumbled Browning.
“Give us a little exercise, Frankie,” urged Ready.
“We’re longing for it,” piped up Dick.
Then Frank put it right over, and Joiler hit it a terrible rap, that sounded like the report of a small cannon.
“Get after that for exercise!” he cried, as he scooted for first.
“Home run!” howled the crowd, again rising in a body and staring after the ball.
The sphere was sailing toward deep center, and it seemed that it must pass high over the head of Gamp, who had started on a run the moment the hit came.