then wound up with: ``Come now, you cross
between a hayrack and a wagon tongue, get sore and
do something. Pitch if you can. Show us! Do
you hear, you tow-headed Pogie!''

Rube jumped as if he had been struck. His face
flamed red and his little eyes turned black. He
shoved his big fist under Capt. Spears' nose.

``Mister, I'll lick you fer thet--after the game!
And I'll show you dog-goned well how I can
pitch.''

``Good!'' exclaimed Raddy; and I echoed his
word. Then I went to the bench and turned my
attention to the game. Some one told me that
McCall had made a couple of fouls, and after waiting
for two strikes and three balls had struck
out. Ashwell had beat out a bunt in his old swift
style, and Stringer was walking up to the plate
on the moment. It was interesting, even in a losing
game, to see Stringer go to bat. We all
watched him, as we had been watching him for
weeks, expecting him to break his slump with one
of the drives that had made him famous. Stringer
stood to the left side of the plate, and I could
see the bulge of his closely locked jaw. He swung
on the first pitched ball. With the solid rap we
all rose to watch that hit. The ball lined first,
then soared and did not begin to drop till it was