yelled heartily.

Again I took it upon myself to interpret the Rube's pitching mind. He
had another ball that he had not used, a drop, an unhittable drop. I
thought he would use that next. He did, and though Lane reached it
with the bat, the hit was a feeble one. He had been fooled and the
side was out.

Poole, the best of the Quaker's pitching staff, walked out to the slab.
He was a left-hander, and Chicago, having so many players who batted
left-handed, always found a southpaw a hard nut to crack. Cogswell,
field manager and captain of the Quakers, kicked up the dust around
first base and yelled to his men: "Git in the game!"

Staats hit Poole's speed ball into deep short and was out; Mitchell
flew out to Berne; Rand grounded to second.

While the teams again changed sides the fans cheered, and then indulged
in the first stretch of the game. 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.
They were accustomed to observe the trying out of many youngsters, of
whom ninety-nine out of a hundred failed to make good.

Dugan chopped at three s