I tell you
one thing, Connie, these Quakers are on dress
parade.''
``Oh, these Quakers hate themselves, I don't
think!'' retorted Nan. Being a rabid girl-fan it
was, of course, impossible for Nan to speak baseball
convictions or gossip without characteristic
baseball slang. ``Stuck on themselves! I never
saw the like in my life. That fellow Lane is so
swelled that he can't get down off his toes. But
he's a wonder, I must admit that. They're a
bunch of stars. Easy, fast, trained--they're
machines, and I'll bet they're Indians to fight. I can
see it sticking out all over them. This will
certainly be some game with Whit handing up that
jump ball of his to this gang of champs. But,
Connie, I'll go you Whit beats them.''
I laughed and refused to gamble.
The gong rang; the crowd seemed to hum and
rustle softly to quiet attention; Umpire McClung
called the names of the batteries; then the
familiar ``Play!''
There was the usual applause from the grand
stand and welcome cheers from the bleachers.
The Rube was the last player to go out.
Morrisey was a manager who always played to the
stands, and no doubt he held the Rube back for
effect. If so, he ought to have been gratified.
That moment reminded me of my own team and
audience upon the occasion of the Rube's debut.
It was the same only here it happened in the
big league, before a championship team and
twenty thousand fans.
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