"Hal's maul." (Literally' "Shut your mouth!")
"Me! Und I Couldn't lose dot game for ein dollar!" glared the prosperous German.
He stared after the departed second section, from the open windows of which fluttered or wildly waved many a banner; for few of the Gridley crowd had yet discovered that one of the most prized members of the team had been left behind.
Herr Schimmelpodt it was, who, a wealthy retired contractor, had found his second youth in his enthusiasm over the High School baseball nine the season before.
Though thrifty enough in most matters, the German had become a liberal contributor to the High School athletic fund, to the great dismay of his good wife, who feared that his new outdoor fads would yet land them both in the poorhouse.
"Vot you doing here, Bresgott?" demanded Herr Schimmelpodt, turning upon the young prisoner. "Vy you ain't by dot elefen? How dey going to vin bis you are behint left?"
"You have company in your misery, sir," said Officer Hemingway. "I'm awfully sorry to say that Dick Prescott can't see today's game, either. It's a whopping shame, but sometimes the law is powerless to do right."
"What foolishness are you talking mit, vonce alretty?" demanded
Herr Schimmelpodt, looking bewildered.
"I've just been arrested, on a false charge of assault," Dick stated quietly.
"You? Und you don't blay by der game yet' By der beard of Charlemagne," howled Herr Schimmelpodt excitedly, "ve see apoud dot!"