“You haven’t got but two runs.”
“That’s jes’ two more’n you’ve got.”
“Wait till this inning is over.”
“All right. I’m pretty good at waitin’. If you get a fellow as far as third I’ll give ye a new saddle.”
“The saddle is mine. I’ll stop for it on my way back t’ Benson.”
“An’ keep up th’ same waitin’ ye’ve been havin’, I guess.”
“Dan,” said Walter, as the two boys a few minutes later together walked out to the field, “the keenness of Si’s wit is almost too much for me. I don’t know but I’d better go out under the shade of that maple yonder and rest up.”
The young pitcher, however, neither responded nor acted as if he saw anything unusual in the boasting of the harness-maker. In a brief time the game was resumed.
Again the first batter to face Dan struck out. The second was hit with the ball, and a wild yell arose from the boy with a pitchfork, who was still standing near third base. “Now run, Zeb!” he shouted to the player, who was on first base ruefully rubbing his shoulder. “Never mind a little thing like that! ’Twon’t hurt long! I’ll risk ye! If ye get around home I’ll let ye ride back t’ Benson on my new saddle.”