“He’ll steady down in a moment,” they said. “Just watch him.”
But in a moment McGovern and Bernsteine each moved up a sack on a weirdly wild pitch to Lisotte.
Hutchinson turned quickly to Ringling.
“Shake the kinks out of your arm, Ring,” he directed. “Hurry up about it.”
Oulds had called Locke, meeting him a few steps in front of the pan.
“What’s biting you now, son?” he growled, heedless of the howling Bancrofters, who were demanding that the umpire should keep the game going. “You’ve got the wabbles; I don’t believe you can see the rubber.”
He wondered at the look in Tom’s eyes. Locke moistened his dry lips.
“Yes, yes, Oulds,” he said huskily; “I’m all right now.”
“Well, you don’t look it,” retorted Hunchy. “Be you havin’ a fit, or what? You’ve got to stop heavin’ the ball as fast as you can git holt of it. Take your time, now. Don’t let Lisotte bunt; prob’ly he’ll try it. If they start scorin’, they’re li’ble to win the game right here.”
“I tell you I’m all right now,” declared Locke savagely. “Give me the ball.”