Slugger fouled the next one high in the air back of the plate. Sam Wickhart, the stocky bowlegged catcher, was a fiend for running after foul flies, and now he plunged into the crowd of boys, knocking them right and left, and he caught the ball. Whisner came up and hit safely over Griffith, whereupon the Natchez supporters began to howl. Kelly sent a grounder to Grace at short stop. Daddy's weak player made a poor throw to first base, so the runner was safe. Then Bo Stranathan batted a stinging ball through the infield, scoring Whisner.
"Play the batter! Play the batter!" sharply called Daddy from the bench.
Then Frank struck out Molloy and retired Dundon on an easy fly.
"Fellers, git in the game now," ordered Daddy, as his players eagerly trotted in. "Say things to that Muckle Harris! We'll walk through this game like sand through a sieve."
Bob Irvin ran to the plate waving his bat at Harris.
"Put one over, you freckleface! I 've been dyin' fer this chanst. You're on Madden's Hill now."
Muckle evidently was not the kind of pitcher to stand coolly under such bantering. Obviously he was not used to it. His face grew red and his hair waved up. Swinging hard, he threw the ball straight at Bob's head. Quick as a cat, Bob dropped flat.
"Never touched me!" he chirped, jumping up and pounding the plate with his bat. "You couldn't hit a barn door. Come on. I'll paste one a mile!"
Bob did not get an opportunity to hit, for Harris could not locate the plate and passed him to first on four balls.
"Dump the first one," whispered Daddy in Grace's ear. Then he gave Bob a signal to run on the first pitch.