“Oh!” roared the crowd. “Where did he ever play ball?”
“None uf my pusiness!” squawked Hans, apparently very angry. “Shust you vait an hour und I vill knock der pall off der cover!”
Dick Merriwell had been serious enough, but now the comical Dutch youth proved too much for the boy, and he broke into a peal of laughter.
“Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed. “Oh, ha! ha! ha!”
“Maype you vill nod laugh so hardness britty quickness,” said Hans hotly. “Shust you pay attendance to my business und bitch der pall!”
Dick received the ball from Bart, but he could not recover from his amusement at once, and Morgan called for the umpire to make him pitch.
Thinking the umpire might call a ball on him again for delaying the game, Dick sent it over.
How it happened no one could tell, but Hans slashed at it and hit it fairly, driving it over the infield and away into the outfield.
“Yow!” whooped the Dutch boy, as he made his short legs twinkle. “Didn’d you told me so! I knewed vot der pall vould done to me!”