''
Muckle evidently was not the kind of pitcher to
stand coolly under such bantering. Obviously he
was not used to it. His face grew red and his
hair waved up. Swinging hard, he threw the ball
straight at Bob's head. Quick as a cat, Bob
dropped flat.
``Never touched me!'' he chirped, jumping up
and pounding the plate with his bat. ``You couldn't
hit a barn door. Come on. I'll paste one a
mile!''
Bob did not get an opportunity to hit, for Harris
could not locate the plate and passed him to first
on four balls.
``Dump the first one,'' whispered Daddy in
Grace's ear. Then he gave Bob a signal to run
on the first pitch.
Grace tried to bunt the first ball, but he missed
it. His attempt, however, was so violent that he
fell over in front of the catcher, who could not
recover in time to throw, and Bob got to second
base. At this juncture, the Madden's Hill band
of loyal supporters opened up with a mingling
of shrill yells and whistles and jangling of tin
cans filled with pebbles. Grace hit the next ball
into second base and, while he was being thrown
out, Bob raced to third. With Sam Wickhart up
it looked good for a score, and the crowd yelled
louder. Sam was awkward yet efficient, and he
batted a long fly to right field. The fielder muffed
the ball. Bob scored, Sam reached second base,
and the crowd yelled still louder.
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