A shout rose from the spectators.
“Pretty pitching!” cried Hodge approvingly.
Dick betrayed no sound of elation, nor did he notice the shouting crowd.
Hans Dunnerwurst came toddling out with a bat.
“You vill had to put der plate righdt ofer der pall, my poy,” he announced. “Der pad vons nefer hit at me. I haf an eye like an eagles. Yaw!”
Then he proceeded to swipe at the very first one, although it was so high that it seemed almost out of reach.
“What in the world have they got that chump on the team for?” angrily exclaimed the man with the dog. “He couldn’t knock a corner off a house if somebody threw it over the plate!”
“Here! here! what you doin’, Dutchy?” cried Ephraim Gallup. “Why don’t you let that kind go, you big, fat chump?”
“You vas a pig, vat chumps myseluf!” snorted Hans angrily. “Don’d you shooted off your mouth some more or I vill hit you in my eye! Dot’s vot vos der madder mit Hannah!”
The next ball was so low that it almost hit the plate, yet Hans seemed to shut his eyes and swipe at it wildly, missing it by about two feet.