His comrades gathered around him, pawing and mauling him exultantly.
“That’s what you call hitting it a mile!” cried Bobby.
“A lallapaloozer!” shouted Fred, doing a war dance.
“A peach!”
“A pippin!”
“You’re all there, Mouser!” yelled Pee Wee.
Mouser grinned appreciatively at the medley of shouts that greeted him, and then retired to the bench, where he sat panting and happy.
Radford, the Somerset pitcher, pulled himself together and retired the next man on strikes, and Somerset came in for its turn at the bat.
“Go for ’em now, fellows!” shouted their supporters.
“Eat ’em up!”