enbach, however, waved away.

"That's expressly something which a ballplayer must never got to touch
during a game," Eschenbach cried as he dusted off his trousers with his
handkerchief and once more seized the bat. "Now, then, Mr. Pitcher," he
cried, "send me a real slow one straight over the plate."

Birsky and Zapp returned to the edge of the lot, scowling savagely at
Kanef, who was once more engaged in wiping his hands in the dust. This
time, however, he executed no preliminary dance steps, and Eschenbach
swung his bat to such good purpose that the ball went sailing between
the first and second bases at the height of a short man's shoulder--or,
to be exact, at the height of Jacob Golnik's right shoulder, from which
it rebounded into the left eye of Joseph Bogin, the shop foreman.

Amid the scene of confusion that ensued only Jonas Eschenbach remained
calm.

"As clean a hit as ever I see!" he cried proudly, and strolled off
toward the excited mob that surrounded Golnik and Bogin, both of whom
were shrieking with fright and pain.

"D'ye think they're hurted bad, Mr. Eschenbach?" Zapp inquired
anxiously.

"_Schmooes_--hurt bad!" Eschenbach retorted. "Why should a little thing
like that hurt 'em bad?"

He was still intoxicated with the triumph of making what would have
been a home run in a regular game, and his face bore a pleased smile as
he turned to Birsky.

"I says to myself when I seen that ball coming," he continued, "I would
put that right between first and second bases, about where that short
and that big feller is standing--and that's exactly what happened."

Birsky stared at his prospective customer in shocked surprise.

"Then you done it on purpose!" he exclaimed.

"Certainly I done it on purpose," declared Eschenbach. "What do you
think it was--an accident?"

He swung his bat at a pebble that lay in his path and Birsky and Zapp
edged away.

"Well, if I was you, Mr. Eschenbach," Birsky said, "I wouldn't say
nothing more about it to nobody. Even if you would meant it as a joke,
understand me, sometimes them things turns out serious." With this
dictum he elbowed his way through the sympathetic crowd that hemmed in
the victims. "_Koosh_, Golnik!" he bellowed. "You might think you
was injured for life the way you are carrying on."

"Never mind, Mr. Birsky," Golnik whimpered, "I am hurted bad enough. If
I would be able to handle a pair of shears in six weeks already I'm a
lucky man." He heaved a