I calculated that they would be stretching
their necks presently, trying to keep track of
the Rube's work. Nan leaned on the railing
absorbed in her own hope and faith. Milly chattered
about this and that, people in the boxes, and
the chances of the game.
My own interest, while it did not wholly
preclude the fortunes of the Chicago players at the
bat, was mostly concerned with the Rube's fortunes
in the field.
In the Rube's half inning he retired Bannister
and Blandy on feeble infield grounders, and
worked Cogswell into hitting a wide curve high
in the air.
Poole meant to win for the Quakers if his good
arm and cunning did not fail him, and his pitching
was masterly. McCloskey fanned, Hutchinson
fouled out, Brewster got a short safe fly just
out of reach, and Hoffner hit to second, forcing
Brewster.
With Dugan up for the Quakers in the third
inning, Cogswell and Bannister, from the coaching
lines, began to talk to the Rube. My ears,
keen from long practice, caught some of the
remarks in spite of the noisy bleachers.
``Say, busher, you 've lasted longer'n we
expected, but you don't know it!''
``Gol darn you city ball tossers! Now you jest
let me alone!''
``We're comin' through the rye!''
``My top-heavy rustic friend, you'll need an
airship presently, when you go up!''
All the badinage was good-natured, which was
sure proof that the Quakers had not arrived at
anything like real appreciation of the Rube.
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