"Look," he urged eagerly. "Look at the pitcher of our home team. There, just crossing the diamond—it's a new inning."
"It's not the first baseball game you've brought us out to see, Corrie," observed Mr. Thomas Rose, setting his own goggles on his cap above the line of his reddish-gray hair. "Is it, my girl?"
His daughter laughed, shaking her small head in its crimson hood and glancing roguishly at her brother.
"Nor the twenty-first, papa," she amplified.
"Well, but I haven't brought you to see the game, but the pitcher," the boy protested. "He's a new one; you never saw him before. Look."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
Flavia Rose obediently turned her gaze toward the players, and upon the indicated man it halted, arrested.
"Oh!" she exclaimed under her breath, and sat still.