“That’s a nibble; take a bite,” shouted a coacher.
Labelle stamped his spikes into the ground, and squared himself again, unruffled. Hoover leered at him vindictively. The crowd rooted.
CHAPTER XI
ON THE RAW EDGE
Two balls followed swiftly, the batter ignoring them both, although with every nerve taut.
“Got to put ’em over, Jocko,” called the coacher. “You can’t pull that little Canuck.”
Hoover handed up a “spitter,” and Labelle missed cleanly.
“He never could touch you,” chuckled the first baseman.
“You’ve got his measure,” declared the shortstop.
“Give him another in the same place,” urged the guardian of third.