“One, two, three,” counted Ready. “Mason is the next victim. Walk up and take your bitters, Hock.”
Mason frowned, for Ready’s airy manner always irritated him. Then he hit the first ball pitched, putting it into right field for one base.
“Good boy!” cried Ready. “But you’ll die there, Hocksie.”
This prophecy proved true, Starbright sending out a long fly that was captured by Gamp.
“Let’s quit fooling, fellows—let’s quit fooling,” urged Ready. “We may as well clinch the game now as any time. I’ll lead right off with a two-bagger.”
But his two-bagger proved simply a pretty fly into the hands of Dismal Jones, who was as sure as grim death in his fielding.
“Hard luck!” muttered Ready; “but it is also combined with poor judgment in hitting. I am not such a much. At least, I am beginning to fear so.”
Carson found one that suited him, and drove it far into the field. However, Gamp returned it to second in time to prevent him from taking more than one base.
Ready started coaching near first. Carson played off, fancying Morgan was on the point of delivering the ball, and then Dade suddenly whirled and threw to Starbright.
“Back!” yelled Ready.