For all his awkward position in the
box he looked what he was--a formidable hitter.
He seemed to tower over the pitcher--Red was
six feet one--and he scowled and shook his bat
at Wehying and called, ``Put one over--you
wienerwurst!'' Wehying was anything but red-
headed, and he wasted so many balls on Red that
it looked as if he might pass him. He would have
passed him, too, if Red had not stepped over on
the fourth ball and swung on it. White at second
base leaped high for the stinging hit, and failed
to reach it. The ball struck and bounded for the
fence. When Babcock fielded it in, Red was standing
on third base, and the bleachers groaned.
Whereupon Chesty Reddy Clammer proceeded
to draw attention to himself, and incidentally delay
the game, by assorting the bats as if the audience
and the game might gladly wait years to see
him make a choice.
``Git in the game!'' yelled Delaney.
``Aw, take my bat, Duke of the Abrubsky!''
sarcastically said Dump Kane. When the grouchy
Kane offered to lend his bat matters were critical
in the Star camp.
Other retorts followed, which Reddy Clammer
deigned not to notice. At last he got a bat that
suited him--and then, importantly, dramatically,
with his cap jauntily riding his red locks, he
marched to the plate.
Some wag in the bleachers yelled into the
silence, ``Oh, Maggie, your lover has come!''
Not improbably Clammer was thinking first of
his presence before the multitude, secondly of his
batting average and thirdly of the run to be
scored.
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