“Come on now, Art, it’s up to you.”
“Give him a fair chance, Joe, and he’ll knock the cover off!”
“Play ball!” snapped the umpire, and Joe, who had been exchanging the regulation practice balls with the catcher signalled that he was ready to deliver the first one of the game. The catcher called for a slow out, but Joe shook his head. He knew Art Church of old, and remembered that this player fairly “ate ’em up.” Joe gave the signal to Tom that he would send a swift in-shoot, and his chum nodded comprehendingly.
“Ball one!” yelled the umpire, and Joe could not restrain a start of surprise. True, Art had not swung at the horsehide, but it had easily clipped the plate, and, Joe thought, should have been called a strike. But he said nothing, and, delivering the same sort of a ball the next time, he had the satisfaction of deceiving the batter, who swung viciously at it.
“He’s only trying you out!” was shouted at Joe. “He’ll wallop the next one!”
But Art Church did not, and waiting in vain for what he considered a good ball, he struck at the next and missed, while the third strike was called on him without his getting a chance to move his bat.
“Oh, I guess the umpire isn’t against us after all,” thought Joe, as he threw the ball over to first while the next batter was coming up.
“How’s that?” yelled Tom in delight. “Guess there aren’t going to be any home runs for you Resolutes.”