“Glad you think so,” was the somewhat ungracious answer. “I guess I’ll do.” Mersfeld was anything but modest.
It was almost time for the game to be called. Just back of where Bill was watching his brother and Mersfeld, Whistle-Breeches was knocking grounders to Pete, who was to play shortstop. Some one threw in a ball from the outfield to one of the fungle batters. The sphere went wild, and came toward Whistle-Breeches.
“Look out!” yelled Pete, and Anderson raised his bat intending to stop the wildly-thrown horsehide. He hit it harder than he intended, and it was shunted off in the direction of Bill.
“Duck!” suddenly exclaimed Cap, who saw his brother’s danger, and instinctively Bill dodged. He turned to one side so quickly that he lost his balance, and the next moment he fell heavily, his head striking the ground with considerable force, while the ball landed some distance from him.
They all expected to see Bill jump to his feet with a laugh at his awkwardness, but to the surprise of all he remained lying there, still and quiet.
“Bill’s hurt!” cried Cap, making a dash toward him, while several other players came hurrying forward to see what was the matter.
CHAPTER XXXI
“PLAY BALL!”