“Now, Gamp—now!” urged Morgan. “It’s just as easy. O’Neill will have his troubles to-day.” “I pelief you vos correctness, Dady!” cried Dunnerwurst, as he joined Morgan. “His troubles vill haf him to-day. Mofe dot pag avay from, Partley! Got a good sdart und make a roppery. You vos der pest ropper in der punch. Id peen easiness vor a pase to steal you.” “These boys seem to bat some, Mr. Gowan,” observed Wallace Grafter. “If they ever get to bunching ’em on O’Neill they will put him to the stable.” “One hit in an inning doesn’t count,” gurgled Gowan. “I’ve noticed that O’Neill knows how to scatter the hits.” “Son,” said old man Grafter, “when it comes to baseball, you know a thing or two. I’m satisfied now that I have a chance for my money, and so I won’t kick if I lose it.” “All right, dad,” smiled Wallace. “I’m thinking we’ll both win our bets.” Joe Gamp, long, gangling and awkward, stood up to the plate. “Get back a little!” sharply commanded O’Neill. “What fuf-fuf-for?” innocently inquired Joe. “I’ll show you what for!” grated O’Neill, as he sent a ball over with burning speed, keeping it so close that it barely missed the tall chap. “Let him hit you,” cried Wiley. “You’ll never know it, and your funeral will occur to-morrow.” Gamp seemed alarmed, for he stood off from the plate; but as O’Neill delivered the next ball, he stepped up to it. Just as Joe had expected, the ball was over the outside corner. Gamp hit it, having stepped near enough to reach it with ease. O’Neill had tried to fool him, but, instead of that, he had fooled O’Neill. The hit was a safe one to right field. Hodge went flying over third, being sent home by both Morgan and Dunnerwurst. “Agitate your Trilbies, Boliver!” yelled Wiley. “Get your dainty fingers on the horsehide and hurry it hitherward! There is something doing!” Bimm did his level best to cut off the score. Getting the ball, he made a splendid throw to the plate, but Hodge slid home safely. Swatt, who was sometimes called “Crackson,” on account of his batting, realized that he could not get Hodge, so he lined the ball down to Roden, hoping to catch Gamp, who had pranced toward second on the throw. “Slide, Choe!” screeched Dunnerwurst. Joe slid. Roden put the ball onto him, but Gamp lay with his hand on the bag, and he was declared safe. Old man Grafter laughed heartily. “Gowan,” he said, “the boys are playing all round your great Outcasts.” Gowan had nothing to say. “This is criminal!” cried Wiley. “They should be ashamed! I don’t believe they have any shame in them! I’ll die of heart disease if this merry-go-round isn’t checked right away.” “What’s the matter, Mat?” asked Hurley. “Nothing,” answered the pitcher savagely. “They’re hitting you.” “I’ll stop it.” “You’d better. We can’t stand this.” Although he was angry, O’Neill was not rattled. He pitched with greater skill when Browning faced him. The big fellow made a number of fouls, but O’Neill finally struck him out.