The boy addressed as Tommy grinned boyishly and turned to the youngsters who stood far afield, waiting for flies to be batted to them. “Get way out, you fellows,” he cried. “This fellow can hit ’em!”
The two fielders backed away and Tommy threw a fast ball to Don. The latter easily batted it out and one of the youngsters caught it triumphantly. Don handed the bat to Jim, who in turn cracked the ball out along the ground.
“Just one more, fellows,” begged Don, taking the bat from his brother’s hand. When the ball had been turned over to young Tommy he wound his arm up slowly and then pitched it with considerable force in Don’s direction.
“Hit that!” he cried.
It was traveling on a straight line and Don swung the bat around sharply. There was a singing crack as the wood met the ball, and the muddy spheroid sailed in a mounting curve up into the air. It passed high above the fielder’s head and made its way straight for the side window of a small house that stood on the edge of the field.
“Oh, boy!” shouted Jim. “Right through the window!”
His statement was correct. With a disconcerting crash the ball smashed the window to pieces.
Don dropped the bat and shoved his hands into his pocket. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed. “How is that for bad luck? Right through Professor Scott’s window!”
“I hope the professor wasn’t at home, and in that room,” said Jim. “Guess we had better go over and see about it.”
“Right you are,” nodded Don. “Thanks for the hits, kids. Come on, Jim.”