Dirk did not lengthen his grip; but when Lefty sought to repeat his trick, he was ready for it. As the whirling ball neared the plate, Dirk stepped back a pace and his levelled bat met the horsehide smartly. A clean single flew through the infield well inside the lines and through the fingers of Ken Haveland, who was covering the domain of shortstop. The few scattered spectators set up a quick shout of approval.
When the period of practice was over, Lefty announced that there would be a short game with a team of leaders the following afternoon; and the players strolled in twos and threes back to their tents to prepare for swim. Lefty, on his way to the lodge burdened with bats and other equipment, found Brick Ryan sitting on a bench under a huge black cherry tree at the gate.
“Why so thoughtful?” Lefty hailed him. “And by the way, where were you for batting practice? You slipped off without telling me.”
“I had an idea,” responded his friend grimly.
“I see—and it gave you a headache.”
“No, it gave somebody else an ache, but not in the head. I put a stop to all these shenanigans that have been raisin’ cain with my belongin’s—at least, I put a stop to them for a while, anyway. I sneaked up on Tent One durin’ battin’ practice. Not a soul was around, except that nasty little Toby brat from Tent Eight. Do you know, I caught him in the very act of dumpin’ a pail of water right on my bed!”
“No!”
“Yes. I spanked him, Lefty.”
“But what would he do that for? What’s he got against you?”
“Not a thing that I know of. It’s a mystery.”