The game was new to Isabelle but she concentrated fiercely upon Herbert Hunter’s orders. By happy accident when she came to bat, she shut her eyes, fanned the air, and knocked a home run. She sped around the bases like a “greased rabbit” as Herbert said. When it came to pitching, she did not star.
“But she’s got a loose arm; she could learn all right,” her champion remarked.
It was the proudest compliment of her life. The deserted “Idylls of the King” company came and sat at a safe distance and watched her, wide-eyed. Tommy Page rushed forward, shouting:
“Let me play, Herbert.”
“Aw, get out of here, kid. We don’t want any babies!” was the brief reply.
“Isabelle’s a baby!” howled Tommy.
Now Isabelle happened to be toying with a bat when Tommy made this disparaging remark threatening to topple her off the dizzy height she had attained. She saw red! She made an infuriated rush upon him, and brought the bat down on his offending head. Tommy crumpled up like a paper doll. There was an awful moment of silence.
“She’s killed him,” one of the boys whispered.
Herbert tried to stand Tommy up, but his legs folded under him and his head fell back, so they laid him down again. Isabelle stood, rooted to the ground. Her terror had frozen her.