“That’s right!” chimed in some of his mates.
“Farson never raised his hand to him!” declared another lad, who had been standing near the umpire. “You’re a big coward to hit a chap smaller than you are!” he called tauntingly to Sam.
“Well, I’m not afraid to hit you!” cried the pitcher, who seemed to have lost control of himself. “And if you want anything you know how to get it.”
“Yes, and I’m willing to take it right now,” yelled the other, stepping up to Sam.
There might have been another fight then and there, for both lads were unreasonable with anger, but Darrell quickly stepped in between them.
“Look here!” burst out the Stars’ manager, in what he tried to make a good-natured and reasoning voice, “this has got to stop. We didn’t come here to fight, we came to play baseball and you trimmed us properly.”
“Then why don’t you fellows take your medicine?” demanded the home captain. “What right has he got to tackle our umpire?”
“No right at all,” admitted Darrell. “Sam was in the wrong and he’ll apologize. He probably thought the man was out.”
“And he was out!” exploded the unreasonable pitcher. “I’ll not apologize, either.”
“Wipe up the field with ’em!” came in murmurs from the home players. Several of the lads had grasped their bats.