“Dat’s der only way dey can get us out,” said Schepps. “Dis Lefty person looks to me like a lemon!”
Cap’n Wiley was philosophically cheerful. “Just a little lull in the tornado,” he said. “It’s due to strike again in a minute.”
Lefty looked the confident Schepps over, and then he gave him a queer drop that deceived him even worse than the swift hopper. The spectators, who had been worried a short time before, now expressed their approval; and when, a minute later, the southpaw whiffed the sandlotter, there was a sudden burst of handclapping and explosions of boisterous laughter from the delighted darkies.
“Wh-who’s dat man said lemon?” cried one. “Dat Lefty pusson sho’ handed him one dat time!”
“Is it possible,” said Cap’n Wiley, “that I’m going to be compelled to revise my dates regarding that wreck?” Then he roared at the Swede: “Get into the game, Oleson! It’s your watch on deck, and you want to come alive. The wrong ship’s being scuttled.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” responded Oleson. “Mebbe Ay do somethin’ when Ay get on the yob. Yust keep your eye on me.” Believing himself a hitter superior to the men who had touched Locke up so successfully at the beginning of the game, he strode confidently forth, for all of the failure of Schepps.
Sizing up the Swede, Lefty tested him with a curve, but Oleson betrayed no disposition to reach. A drop followed, and the batter fouled it. His style of swinging led the southpaw to fancy that he had a preference for drops, and therefore Locke wound the next one round his neck, puncturing his weakness. Not only did Oleson miss, but he swung in a manner that made it doubtful if he would drive the ball out of the infield if he happened to hit one of that kind.
“Hit it where you missed it!” implored Wiley. “Don’t let him bamboozle you with the chin wipers.” Then he turned on O’Reilley. “Cast off that mooring! Break your anchor loose and get under way! Man the halyards and crack on every stitch! You’ve got to make port when Ole stings the horsehide.”
In spite of himself, Lefty was compelled to laugh outright at the Marine Marvel’s coaching contortions. “Calm yourself, cap’n,” he advised. “The hurricane is over.”
“How can I calm myself when calamity threatens?” was the wild retort. “You are a base deceiver, Lefty. Such chicanery is shameful! I don’t know what chicanery means, but it seems to fit the offense.”