“Oh, I hope he gets a hit!” exclaimed Doris, her hands pressed together and her anxiety betrayed in her face. “Jack Ware won’t let him,” retorted Bessie Dale. “Jack never lets any one get a hit off him at a critical time.” “This isn’t critical yet,” said Zona. “This is only the beginning of the game.” “That’s true,” nodded Bessie. “If he did get a hit it isn’t likely your team could score off it.” “Well! well! well! what’s this?” cried Roberts, dancing around in his position back of the base line between second and third. “Fruit!” roared Anson, stooping and pounding his mitt with his fist. “Ripe fruit! Pluck it, Jack, old boy!” “He’s a pitcher, Ware!” said Macon. “Pitchers can’t hit a house! You’ve got him!” “Put them right over the pan!” roared Conway from centre field. “We’re all behind you.” “He never got a hit in his life,” asserted Crockett. “We have seen him before.” Now, whatever had been Hal’s intention on walking out to the plate, suddenly a flash of anger came into his eyes and his jaw squared. Ware sent a high one humming past Hal’s head, whereupon the latter looked skyward in a derisive manner. “Hello! he is an astronomer!” chuckled Roberts. “He is looking for new planets!” “Fan the astronomer!” shouted Anson. “Astronomer!” snickered Warren, as he crouched under the bat. “That fits you, old man! You can hit a star easier than that ball!” Again a high one sped through the air, and again Hal threw his head up in the same contemptuous manner. “Sus-sus-sus-say,” chattered Chip Jolliby, “don’t you want a sus-sus-sus-stepladder, Darrell?” “Get ’em down! Get ’em down!” growled Brad Buckhart. “Keep those men still on the bench, Mr. Umpire!” cried Don Roberts, captain of the home team. “They’re breaking the rules!” Instantly Dick was on his feet. “You broke the rules first yourself!” he declared. “You have no right to address the batter when he is in the box! If you want to coach your pitcher, coach him; but confine your remarks to proper coaching.” Instantly there rose a cheer from the small crowd of Fardale spectators. There were others who applauded and others who laughed and scoffed. This made no difference to Dick, for he knew his position was right. The umpire knew it, too, and he turned to Roberts, saying: “If your team talks to the batter, you can’t object if the players talk from the bench.” “All right! all right!” snapped Roberts. “We’ll see who can do the most talking to-day. I rather think they will get all they want of it.” “That’s courtesy!” growled Brad Buckhart. “You hear me chirp! That’s politeness! That’s being used handsomely when we’re away from home!” “Never mind, old man,” said Dick, as he sat down. “We can stand it if we run against nothing worse than that to-day. I don’t believe there is a man on the team they can rattle by their talk.” “Darrell is rattled now. Look at him! He is fighting mad!”