“Come on!” bawled Tyson exasperatedly. “Get off that base!”
“Hey! Rieger! What’s the matter with you? Are you glued there? Come on!” And Jimmy Buell, back of third, waved frantically.
“... Just once more,” threatened Rieger wildly, “and I’ll come over there and——”
“... Sore subject,” piped Hoyt. “As far as I’m concerned ... as long as he owns up to a thing....”
Steve Cook let one delivery go by and then landed on the next. By some miracle Pinky Trainor, at first, managed to get in front of the ball and, although it bounded away from him, he picked it up and raced across the bag the fraction of a second ahead of Steve. The stand applauded warmly and hilariously and Rieger went on to third. Joe Tyson, grinning, tapped the plate with a bat and winked at Tubby.
“A low one for Joseph,” called Jonesie. “He eats ’em alive, Tubby. Now then, one right down here! That suit you, Joe?”
Joe shook his head. The umpire called “Ball!” doubtfully, and Jonesie rewarded him with a grieved look.
“He didn’t like that one, Tubby. Try again. Here, Joe, show him where you want it.” And Joe obligingly indicated the locality with his bat. “Get that, Tubby?” asked Jonesie anxiously. “Now try and give him one like that. We strive to please, Joe. That’s our motto. Right over, Tubby, and just where the gentleman wants it! Here she comes, Joe! Whack it! Whack it! Whack——”
“Strike!” proclaimed Gus.