“Play ball!” called the umpire.
Southers pulled down the peak of his cap and stepped to the plate.
Captain Tad thumped his fist into his mitt. “Come on, George. Get this first one. On your toes, fellows. Let’s go.”
George Dixon wound up his long arms, then uncurled like a steel spring. There was a flash of white between the box and the catcher, a thump, and the umpire shouted:
“Strike one.”
The big game of the season was on.
In spite of that auspicious start, however, George Dixon did not strike the first man out. He managed to get two and two on him and then tried to sneak over the necessary third strike. But Southers saw it was a tempting offering and slammed it for a beautiful long fly which found safety in the hands of Wade Grenville out in right field.
“One down. That’s the way they all have to go to-day. Give ’em the gate. Get this guy now,” came the peppery coaching from all corners of the diamond as the ball was relayed in to Dixon and Wild, first baseman of the red and black team, selected his particular mace and stepped to the plate. He was a versatile batter, and as he stepped into position he shifted about and decided to bat left handed against Dixon.
“Left or right. It doesn’t make any difference to you, George, ol’ boy. Put the bee on this boy. Thatta boy.”