He climbed to his feet, stood for an instant with blinking eyes, and then, ere Dan could restrain him, was running toward the center of the gathering. Dan, calling, followed. But it was hard work getting through, and long before he reached the scene of trouble the war was averted.
Bob, shouldering his way into the struggling, shuffling mass with scant ceremony, tore the catcher out of the hands of a big, ugly-faced tough. Only one or two of the Laurelville players had managed to reach the catcher’s side, and for an instant Bob was mistaken by the Mannigites for another member of the enemy’s forces. A louder growl of rage went up, but at that moment Bob lifted his voice above the pandemonium.
“Get off the field!” he cried. “I’m not hurt! It was all an accident! Please get out of the way and let us finish the game!”
“Accident!” exclaimed an ugly, incredulous voice. “Looks like an accident, don’t it?”
Bob coolly passed a hand over the discolored lump on the side of his head and smiled.
“That’s all it was,” he replied. “Accidents will happen. If you don’t get off the field at once, Laurelville will say we interfered with the game and they couldn’t finish it. And as we haven’t played five innings yet, we’ll get left!”
“That’s so,” some one agreed. “Come on.”
“Say, you’re a plucky one, kid!” cried another.
Good nature returned, and, laughing and shoving, the throng fought its way back. As it thinned away about the plate, the Laurelville captain ran up. Seeing Bob, he turned and made for him.