Joe grinned at Jonesie. “Say, that was all right,” he said.
“Glad you liked it. If you don’t get what you want, ask for it, Joseph. Send him another of those, Tubby. He likes ’em. Here we go! Here we go! Don’t hit him, Tubby! One more now!”
“Two balls!” said the umpire.
“That’s pitching, Tubby, that’s pitching! But don’t make him reach for ’em. He’s a friend of mine. What’s the matter with your neck, Joe?”
“Nothing.”
“You ought to have it looked at. All right, Tubby! I knew a fellow who had one of those things on his neck and—— Make it good, Tubby! Sort of low, you know!—and didn’t look after it, Joe——”
“Strike two!” announced Gus.
“Say!” bawled Joe, turning wrathfully. “Keep your mouth closed for a minute, will you? You’re worse than a phonograph! There’s nothing the matter with my neck!”
“Oh, all right!” Jonesie tossed the ball back. “Better hit at this one, Joe. Tubby always makes the fourth one good. I don’t want to alarm you about your neck, but if I had it I’d certainly have it attended to before it got any worse. If you let it go very long they’ll have to operate and——”
Against his better judgment Joe put a hand tentatively to the back of his neck. Tubby wound up quickly and pitched. Joe’s hand came down suddenly and grabbed at his bat, and the bat swung wildly.