Petersburg had nearly an hour of practice before Amesville trotted out to claim the diamond, and by that time the audience had assembled and the stage was set. The umpire had been imported from Lima, and, since he had presumably never heard of either Amesville or Petersburg High School in his life, was credited with being about as impartial as an umpire could be. He was a small, rotund, business-like-looking chap who wore the regulation blue flannels and had a voice like a mild-mannered bull.
Amesville’s batting order was as follows: Smith, s.; Morris, cf.; Strobe, lf.; Hale, 3b.; Peddie, 2b.; Faulkner, 1b.; Cummings, rf.; Craig, c.; Pollock, p. Toby Williams hoped to get into the game before the curtain fell on the afternoon’s performance, and probably Carl Moran entertained a similar hope, but it was pretty certain that Tom would remain on the mound as long as the opponent showed its teeth. On the bench, when the Amesville players trotted out for the opening inning, remained Williams, Moran, Foley, Loomis, Speyer, Johnson, a capable hitter from the disbanded Scrubs, and Buster Healey. Buster was not in playing togs, however, and he viewed the world from behind a pair of horn spectacles with thick lenses that gave him the appearance of a wise owl. Manager Mifflin was there, too, with his battered score-book spread open on his knees, and so was Coach Talbot, in low-voiced conversation with Mr. John Hall, a privileged well-wisher of the team.
At half-past two to the second Mr. Reardon, the imported umpire, faced the stands in “big-league” fashion and announced the batteries in a voice that carried easily to the outfield fence: “Batthery for Amesville, Pollock and Craig! For Petthersburg, Calvert and Beale. Batther up!”
CHAPTER XXIV
BUNCHED HITS
“First man, Tom!”
Sam Craig pulled his mask down, looked over the field and then knelt behind the plate. Tom, his arms at his sides, watched, nodded, himself turned and viewed the fielders, and pulled his cap down a bit further over his eyes.
“Come on, Tom! Let’s have him!” called Gordon Smith.
“Here we go!” cried Hale.