The umpire was the physical director from the Young Men’s Christian Association, who caused some amusement by appearing with the upper part of his body attired in a striped blazer of black and yellow, which he kept carefully buttoned all during the game, thus giving the impression that there was nothing underneath!
Each team warmed up three pitchers, not a very difficult feat on such a day. Of the local twirlers, Tom and Toby looked in the pink of condition, but Pete Farrar had a fagged look about him. At a few minutes before the half-hour the diamond emptied and the players retired to the benches. Then the umpire walked to the plate, swept it with a broom, and looked toward the Amesville bench.
“All right, High School,” announced Mr. Talbot. “On the run, now! Pollock, you’ll start the game. Take it easy; we’ve got nine innings to go and this is some hot!”
The fielders trotted across the sun-smitten turf to their places, Sam Craig donned his mask, Tom walked to the mound, the first of the Petersburg batsmen stepped to the plate, and the umpire called, “Play ball!”
[CHAPTER XXIV]
PITCHER POLLOCK
It was hot! Tom’s head felt as though it was being slowly baked in spite of his cap as, getting the signal from Sam, he swung his arms up and sped a fast ball across in the groove. Behind him the cheerful voices of his team-mates made a spattering chorus.
“Here we go Tom! You’ve got his number, old man!”
“No one walks, Tom!”