Luckily for himself, Joie was one of the batters. Tommy took a number of blades of grass in his hand and let the other boys draw them. The one who got the shortest was to be the runner, and the one who had the next in size the catcher, then the pitcher, and then those who had the two longest blades were to be at bat first. Joie and Teddy were the first batters.
Next to the house into which Tommy’s parents had moved was a vacant lot, and it was there that the boys went to play ball. Stones served for bases, and the rear fence was the back-stop.
It was a simple game that the boys played, with only one base to run to, and there were hardly any rules. If the batter knocked a fly, and it was caught, he was out, while if he missed hitting two of the balls that were tossed to him, he was also out.
They had a good time, and soon it was Tommy’s turn to bat.
“Here’s where I get a home run!” he cried as he stood up to home plate, a round piece of red sandstone. “Give me a good ball, Joie,” for the fat boy had been advanced to pitcher, after having gotten out on an easy fly ball that only popped up a little way into the air.
The ball came slowly toward him, and Tommy swung his new bat at it with all his strength. Away the ball went, sailing high over the head of Teddy Bunker, who was doing the running.
“Come on!” cried Billie, who, with Tommy, made up the batting force. “Make a home run!”
“Sure!” shouted Tommy, as he raced for the stone that marked the first and only base.
He reached it safely, touched it with his foot and then started back for home plate. Just as he got there, and while Billie was capering about in delight, there came a crash of glass.
“Oh, my! Good night!” shouted Joie.