“He is the baseball wonder of the age!” Jack asserted, in his laughing way. “Up to date, I have regarded myself as it, but the laurels have been torn from my fair brow by a boy. I am green with jealousy.”
“You’re green, anyhow,” said Browning.
“There’s the man I bet with!” exclaimed Dick.
Hazen and Derring were sitting on the bleachers directly behind the visiting players’ bench.
“I hear he put up a large wad on the game,” said Jack. “I think he will lose his little roll to-day, all right, all right.”
As they approached the bench a singular figure rose from somewhere. It was Old Joe Crowfoot, wrapped in his dirty red blanket and smoking his black pipe.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, his eyes fastened on Dick. “Injun Heart him catch bullet next! Heap good playing!”
Then he sat on the bench beside Dick, of whom he was very proud, though he concealed his pride pretty well.
Ready selected a bat and advanced to the plate.
“Kindly accommodate me by giving me a straight one, Mr. Batch,” he urged. “You know I like you, and I won’t do a thing to you—if I get a chance.”