“That fellow used to pitch on some nine, I’ll wager,” said Teeter in a whisper to Peaches.
“Yes, I heard something about him being a star on some small country team,” was the retort. “But let’s watch him.”
Joe threw. The ball left his hand with tremendous speed and, an instant later, had struck the head of the barrel with a resounding “ping!”
“In the centre! In the centre!” yelled Peaches with enthusiasm as he capered about.
“A mighty good shot!” complimented Teeter, doing his particular toe stunt.
“Not exactly in the centre,” admitted Joe. “Here goes for another.”
Once more he threw, and again the snowball hit the barrel head, close to the first, but not quite so near the middle.
“You can do better than that, Joe,” spoke Tom in a low voice.
“I’m going to try,” was all the thrower said.
Again his arm was swung around with the peculiar motion used by many good baseball pitchers. Again the snowball shot forward, whizzing through the air. Again came that resounding thud on the hollow barrel, this time louder than before.