“Strike—one!” shouted the umpire, even as Snodgrass jumped back, pretending that he had to dodge, though he grinned at the same time.
CHAPTER XVI
MAKING A GOOD START
Through the grandstand and over the field a wave of enthusiasm went.
Ralph paid no attention to the various shouts that greeted his first delivery. He tried to see how he could work his wonderful “spit” ball next, and while Snodgrass struck he never came within inches of a hit.
Derisive cries began to be heard.
“Get Snodgrass his glasses!”
“Put him out to pasture; he’s outlived his usefulness!”
Trust the ingenuity of schoolboys to invent scores of cries calculated to unnerve the batter. But Snodgrass only grinned and waited, crouching there as though ready to annihilate the next ball that came along.
Ralph thought it policy to try a couple of outshoots, and as the batter failed to strike they were called balls. It was time now to take his measure again, and Snodgrass knew what was coming.
“Three strikes—batter is out!” followed a wicked sweep which the Bellport right fielder made at the erratic “spit” ball that Ralph handed up.