Wop Grady, his face knotted and puckered, as usual, slammed at the first one handed him, and hoisted a high foul, which Oulds smothered close to the wire netting that protected the people in the stand; and Kingsbridge gave Locke a cheer that resembled a cowboy yell more than anything else. Every eye seemed to be turned on Bancroft’s new pitcher as he teetered awkwardly out upon the diamond. The ball was thrown to him, and he whipped three or four scorchers to Harney, at first, before Labelle was ready to bat; but not until he toed the slab to pitch to the batter did he put his remarkable delivery on exhibition. Suddenly he swung far backward, pivoting on his left foot and shooting his right arm and right leg into the air, while his left hand carried the ball far, far over until it seemed that he was trying to touch the ground with it. Up he came and forward on to his right foot, his pitching hand sweeping through the air to send the ball burning across a corner of the pan. “_Nom de tonnerre!_” gasped Labelle, his eyes bulging, his bat hanging poised. “Strike!” cried the umpire. CHAPTER XL PINWHEEL MURTEL The great Bancroft crowd laughed. They had come to Kingsbridge to see their new southpaw show the Kinks something about pitching. Incidentally they had made arrangements to take home with them various sums of money which the foolish Kingsbridgers had wagered on their team. Bangs whipped the ball back, and Craddock again went through with that remarkable delivery, looking, as one man expressed it, “as though he was all arms ’n’ legs.” Again the ball bit a corner off the plate, and Labelle, fascinated by the pitcher’s gyrations, swung too late. The only delay was that caused by the movements of Craddock preliminary to pitching, and he did not waste a single “teaser” on the Kinks’ first hitter. The third one was high, with a sharp slant on it, and the little Canadian whiffed out. “There’s pitchin’ fur ye!” yelled a Bancrofter. “What d’ye think o’ _that_?” “_Nom de tonnerre!_” said Labelle again, as he retired to the bench. “Where he come from, de circus?” Stark, following, fouled three times, but eventually the Bancrofter twirler outguessed him, and sent him, fanned, to take his place beside Labelle. “Whut’s he got?” asked Reddy Crandall, pawing among the bats. “Curves and speed,” answered Larry, in a low tone. “Don’t get to watching his delivery and forget to watch the ball. Go to him! He can be hit.” But Reddy could not hit him that time, and the Bancroft crowd howled as their new projector fanned the third man in succession. There were some who began to prophesy that the Kinks would be shut out without a hit on their own field. There are always wise heads who make foolish prophecies early in every game.