“Where are you coming?” inquired Jonesie anxiously, stepping in front of him.
“Throw it!” implored the third baseman. Rufe pushed Jonesie ungently aside and threw it. But the ball struck in front of the base and, although Joe Tyson made a heroic effort to stop it, went rolling on into left field, while Clint romped home into the outstretched arms of Jonesie. Up hurried Pitcher Proudfoot and Captain Carpenter and First Baseman Cook, each sputtering with wrath.
“Say, you—you——?” began Proudfoot, indicating Gus Peasley with a clenched fist.
“Put him back on third,” demanded Billy irately. “Jonesie got in Rufe’s way deliberately! If you can’t umpire decently——”
“This isn’t baseball, anyway,” declared Steve bitterly, still smarting from the incident of the throw that went by first. “It’s a farce!”
“Did you see what he did to me?” asked Jonesie in hurt tones. “He pushed me aside—violently! He said to me, ‘Look out!’ and I said, ‘Where are you coming?’ and then he distinctly pushed me! The umpire saw it, didn’t you, Gus? And you’re perfectly disgusted, aren’t you? Considering, Billy, that we are your—er—guests here to-day, I don’t think we should be pushed and shoved about! I really don’t! Anyway, not with violence, Billy!”
“Oh, cut it out! If you fellows want to play ball, why, play ball, but don’t try any baby tricks. This isn’t a—a circus!” And Billy eyed Jonesie and Umpire Peasley with distinct displeasure.
“Of course we want to play ball!” responded Jonesie indignantly. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? That’s what we practiced for all these days! Go on and play; we’re ready. We didn’t stop the game, did we? Honest, Billy, you surprise me, you do really!”
“Do they get that last run?” demanded Proudfoot truculently.
“Sure,” answered Gus. “The runner scored, didn’t he?”