Another run
scored. Human nature was proof against this
temptation, and Merritt's players tendered him
manifold congratulations and dissertations.
``Grand, you old skinflint, grand!''
``There was a two-dollar bill stickin' on thet
hit. Why didn't you stop it?''
``Say, Merritt, what little brains you've got will
presently be ridin' on the `rabbit.' ''
``You will chase up these exhibition games!''
``Take your medicine now. Ha! Ha! Ha!''
After these merciless taunts, and particularly
after the next slashing hit that tied the score,
Merritt looked appreciably smaller and humbler.
He threw up another ball, and actually shied as
it neared the plate.
The giant who was waiting to slug it evidently
thought better of his eagerness as far as that pitch
was concerned, for he let it go by.
Merritt got the next ball higher. With a mighty
swing, the batsman hit a terrific liner right at the
pitcher.
Quick as lightning, Merritt wheeled, and the
ball struck him with the sound of two boards
brought heavily together with a smack.
Merritt did not fall; he melted to the ground
and writhed while the runners scored with more
tallies than they needed to win.
What did we care! Justice had been done us,
and we were unutterably happy. Crabe Bane
stood on his head; Gillinger began a war dance;
old man Hathaway hobbled out to the side lines
and whooped like an Indian; Snead rolled over
and over in the grass.
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