Tommy Tiptop dropped into the dust and slid the rest of the way home, getting there before the ball did. An instant later Sammie reached over and touched him on the back, crying:
“Out!”
“I am not!” yelled Tommy, springing to his feet. “I’m safe! I’ll leave it to Dan.”
“Yes, I guess he’s safe,” slowly admitted the captain of the other team. “He’s safe enough, Sam. Go on; we’ll get the next one. Who’s up?”
“George is,” declared Tommy, looking at his clothes, which were covered with dust. “Gosh! Ma’ll give it to me when I get home,” he added, as he tried to remove some of the dirt with wisps of grass.
“Take your handkerchief,” advised Ted Melton.
“Huh! And get that all dirt, too?” asked Tommy.
“You can wash that off in the brook.”
“That’s right, so I can,” and Tommy began a vigorous scrubbing of his clothes with a handkerchief that was already pretty soiled.
“Say, what is this—a ball game or a laundry?” asked Sammie Small. “If you fellows want to clean your clothes, stand back and let us play ball. We want our innings out of this game!”