"Strike two!" called Blackstone.
Sam jerked the ball back with an underwrist toss of great perfection. Princeman drew himself up with smiling ease and posed a moment for the edification of the on-lookers. Sam Turner was the very first to detect the unbearable arrogance of that pose. Princeman eyed the batsman critically, mercilessly even, and delivered the third fatal plate-splitter.
Z-z-z-ing! The sphere slammed right out through Billy Westlake, who made a frantic grab for it. It bounded down between center and right field, and the players bumped shoulders in trying to stop it. It nestled among the bushes. The batsman tore around the bases. His colleagues tried to hold him at third, for the ball was streaking in that direction, but the batsman pawed straight on. The ball crossed the base before he did, but it bounded between the third sacker's feet, and score two was marked up for Hollis Creek, with nobody out!
With undiminished confidence, though somewhat annoyed, Princeman made a cute little knot of himself for the next batsman.
Spat! The ball landed in Sam's glove, two feet wide of the plate.
"Ball one!" called Blackstone.
Spat! In Sam's glove again, with the batsman jumping back to save his ribs.
"Ball two!" cried Blackstone.
Spat!
"Ball three."