“W-w-what do you mean?” he managed to gasp.
“Play ball!” yelled the crowd impatiently.
Jared, his fright still on him, pitched. He made a wild fling. Rob trotted to first base. Merritt boomeranged to second.
Simon Jeffords got his base on balls, advancing Rob to second and Merritt to third. Everybody began to sit up and take renewed notice. A home run now would add four to the Scout score. Could they get it? Jared had shown that he could hold them down. Could he still keep up his gait?
And now out strolled Tubby Hopkins. He paused first to insert a huge chunk of chewing gum in his capacious cheek and then, not noticing in the least the laughter and joking that greeted his appearance, he lounged to his place, his jaws moving rhythmically.
“It’s up to you, Tubby. Bring home the bacon!” some one yelled.
“He’s got the bacon with him,” shouted some other humorist.
Jared fixed his eyes quizzically on Tubby.
“Like a bottle of anti-fat, kid?” he sneered; and then, “Oh, what I won’t do to you! How do you like ’em?”
Tubby stopped chewing an instant. His large eyes opened wide as if he had just heard Jared’s voice.