Yet, even as his arm went back, two questions flashed through his mind: “Who is this ‘Prince’? What happened that after such a brilliant start he was unable to finish?
“Something queer!” he muttered for the third time as he sent the ball spinning.
“Ball!” the umpire called.
Then, like a bolt from the blue came a thought. He made a sign to the catcher. They met half way between the mound and the home plate. After a few whispered words they parted.
Fred’s second offering went very wide of the plate. He did not seem to care. Then, just as he wound up for the third pitch, someone caught on.
“He’s goin’ to walk that batter!” a big voice bellowed from the bleachers of the opposing team. “Big League stuff! Walking Billy to get at Vern!”
At once there was a mad roar that ended in hisses and boos.
Little Fred cared for that. If he wished to walk Centralia’s toughest batter to get at a weak one, it was his privilege. “And after that?” an Imp seemed to be whispering in his ear. All the same the passed batter went down to first. The bags were loaded.
“If I slip now—” he thought. “Just listen to them howl!” He gripped the ball hard.
“Wow! He’s got a rubber arm!” a big voice roared as the umpire called another ball.