“You try me, sir! I’ll be all right in three minutes, sir! Just let me get into my togs, Mr. Sargent, and give me a chance! Will you, sir, please?”
Weston had just served another ball to the new batsman. Mr. Sargent hesitated only an instant. Then: “I’ll give you a chance, Baker,” he said quickly. “Hurry into your togs. Churchill, show Baker where to change. I’ll hold the game up as much as I can. But hurry!”
“Yes, sir, I won’t be three minutes! And Jimmy, sir? Logan, I mean. May he——”
“Yes, yes, only don’t stand here! Hurry, I say.”
Mr. Sargent sped Parker to where Brunswick was warming up and in a moment Brunswick was listening to the coach’s instructions. In the box, Gus Weston, ball in hand, waited uncomprehendingly. Then Murtha took the sphere from him, slapped him on the shoulder and sent him disgustedly to the bench.
“Brunswick pitching for Grafton!” called the umpire.
But Brunswick’s pitching was an extraordinary affair! If cold molasses is slow, then Brunswick was molasses frozen to a state of solidity! It took him the better part of sixty seconds to get from bench to mound, and once there he had to talk long and earnestly with Murtha and Winslow. And then he went at his warming up very, very slowly, with a wait between each delivery. Mount Morris protested volubly and the stand hooted, but Brunswick was not concerned. Before each delivery he examined the ball rather as though he had never seen anything just like it before, and then, having assured himself that it was all right, he studied the plate and the catcher, and some time later he pitched. Just how long it took him to send those five practice balls to Pete Gordon I don’t know, but I’m certain that he established a record that afternoon for dawdling! And, finally, just as he had pulled his cap down for the twentieth time and the batsman was impatiently pawing the dirt and waving his bat, an interruption occurred. A brand-new scarlet-legged player appeared on the scene and walked toward the box. Brunswick dropped the ball and turned away and Mount Morris found the mystery explained. Gordon was yielding his mask and protector to Ed Brooks and the umpire, removing his own mask, stepped again in front of the plate.
“For Grafton,” he announced, “Baker pitching, Brooks catching! Play ball!”