“Quit your kidding,” grinned Brennan, with a facetious poke in the ribs, and strolled back to the bench.
The gong rang, the field cleared, and the visiting team came to the bat. Larry, who had finished the season in a blaze of glory as the leading batsman of the National League came up to the plate, swinging three bats. He threw away two of them, tapped his heels for luck and grinned complacently at the Denver pitcher.
“Trot out the best you’ve got, kid,” he called, “and if you can put it over the plate I’ll murder it.”
CHAPTER X
BY A HAIR
The pitcher, a dark-skinned, rangy fellow, wound up deliberately and shot the ball over. It split the plate clean. Larry swung at it—and missed it by two inches.
He looked mildly surprised, but set it down to the luck of the game and squared himself for a second attempt. This time he figured on a curve, but the boxman out-guessed him with a slow one that floated up to the plate as big as a balloon.
Larry almost broke his back in reaching for it, but again fanned the air. The visiting players, who had looked on rather languidly, straightened up on the bench.