“Yes, you were! You were laughing at me and I won’t stand it. You worked and schemed to get me out of the nine so you could go in, and now you’re making fun of me, I won’t stand it, I tell you. You think you’re a pitcher! Well you’re not, and you’ll never be. I won’t be made fun of!” All the pent-up anger—unreasoning as it was,—all the hate that had been accumulating for weeks in Sam, burst out at once.
He made a spring for Joe, but the pitcher stepped back. Not in time, however, for he received a blow on the chest.
Now I am not defending Joe for what he did. I am only telling of what happened. Joe was a manly lad yet he had all the instincts and passions that normal lads have. When he was hit his first instinct was to hit back, and he did it in this case.
His left fist shot forward and clipped Sam on the chin. The blow was a staggering one and for a moment the former pitcher reeled. Then with a roar of rage he came back at Joe, and the pair were at it hammer and tongs.
“I’ll show you that you can’t come sneaking around here and steal my place!” blubbered Sam, as he aimed a blow at Joe’s face.
“I didn’t sneak!” retorted Joe, as he dodged the blow and got a right-hander near Sam’s solar plexus.
Both lads were evenly matched and the fight might have gone on for some time but for Sam’s rage which made him reckless. He left unguarded openings of which Joe took quick advantage, and finally, with a straight left, he sent Sam to the grass.
“I—I’ll fix you for that!” yelled the former pitcher as he rushed at Joe. It was easy to step aside and avoid the clumsy blow, and once more Sam went down. This time he did not get up so quickly, and there was a dazed look on his face.
“See here!” cried Joe, stepping over to him. “This has gone far enough. I didn’t want to fight, but you made me. I can beat you and you know it. If you don’t stop now I’ll knock you down every time you get up until you’ve had enough.”
It was brutal talk, perhaps, but it was well meant. For a moment Sam looked up at his antagonist. Then he murmured: