“Don’t lose your temper,” he pleaded. “It was a strike, Bing, honest it was! Right over the middle——”
“You, too,” interrupted Bingham angrily. “You tried to queer me! I wasn’t looking at the ball——”
“What’s the row?” demanded Carpenter, pushing his way in to the agitated group. Bingham explained a trifle incoherently. Billy listened and took him by the arm.
“All right. Come on,” he said wearily. “You got caught, Bing. No use kicking. Hit it out, Rieger.”
And Rieger did hit it out. He sent a fine long fly into left field. Young Nash, hands in pockets, turned and watched it descend to earth some two hundred feet beyond him while the spectators laughed and howled with glee. It was George Wrenn who fielded the ball to second in time to hold Rieger at that bag. Jonesie, mask in hand, stepped authoritatively in front of the plate.
“Nash,” he called, “play back another foot or two!”
Joe Tyson went to first to coach and Buell lolled over behind third. On second Rieger seemed strangely inattentive to his duties as a base runner. Hoyt and Wigman stood close by, and from all indications the trio were engaged in conversation. In fact, it was possible to catch snatches of it even in the stand:
“I’m not saying you did, am I? Every fellow knows, though——”
“... Again and I’ll....”
“Don’t rile him, Wigman! Let bygones be bygones——”