Buster heard this last remark.
“Thank you awfully for that kindness!” he remarked.
“One strike!” said the umpire.
“Hey, was that a baseball or a cannon ball that whizzed past?” demanded Buster, pretending to be greatly astonished when he heard the thud of the horsehide sphere in Clay’s old mitt.
And then he smote the very next ball that came spinning along, smote it with so much energy that it sailed away toward center field, with Tony Banghardt running like a wild broncho in the endeavor to get under.
Of course Shadduck was away at once, since there were already two out. Looking over his shoulder as he bolted like a frightened deer, he saw Banghardt make a gallant effort to spear the descending ball with extended hand; but he lacked a few inches of being in a position to accomplish this.
Bones came home and the batter managed to land on second, whereas another player might have reached third, while Lanky perched on third, unable to get home. Still, the crowd forgave Buster for his slow running and assured him he was all right.
It would have made no difference at any rate, for Tom Budd struck out, after he had knocked up four fouls and quite tired Buster with false starts.
One inning had been played. The score stood one to nothing, in favor of Columbia.
“Good boy! Do it some more, West!”