The bleachers shrieked their disapproval. To say the least, Red Gilbat's crazy assurance was dampening to the ardor of the most blindly confident fans. At length Umpire Fuller waved his hand, enjoining silence and calling time. "Take it off or I'll fine you." From his lofty height Gilbat gazed down upon the little umpire, and it was plain what he thought. "What do I care for money!" replied Red. "That costs you twenty-five," said Fuller. "Cigarette change!" yelled Red. "Costs you fifty." "Bah! Go to an eye doctor," roared Red. "Seventy-five," added Fuller, imperturbably. "Make it a hundred!" "It's two hundred." "ROB-B-BER!" bawled Red. Fuller showed willingness to overlook Red's back talk as well as costume, and he called, "Play!" There was a mounting sensation of prophetic certainty. Old fox Wehying appeared nervous. He wasted two balls on Red; then he put one over the plate, and then he wasted another. Three balls and one strike! That was a bad place for a pitcher, and with Red Gilbat up it was worse. Wehying swung longer and harder to get all his left behind the throw and let drive. Red lunged and cracked the ball. It went up and up and kept going up and farther out, and as the murmuring audience was slowly transfixed into late realization the ball soared to its height and dropped beyond the left-field fence. A home run! Red Gilbat gathered up the tails of his duster, after the manner of a neat woman crossing a muddy street, and ambled down to first base and on to second, making prodigious jumps upon the bags, and round third, to come down the home-stretch wagging his red head. Then he stood on the plate, and, as if to exact revenge from the audience for the fun they made of him, he threw back his shoulders and bellowed: "HAW! HAW! HAW!" Not a handclap greeted him, but some mindless, exceedingly adventurous fan yelled: "Redhead! Redhead! Redhead!" That was the one thing calculated to rouse Red Gilbat. He seemed to flare, to bristle, and he paced for the bleachers. Delaney looked as if he might have a stroke. "Grab him! Soak him with a bat! Somebody grab him!" But none of the Stars was risking so much, and Gilbat, to the howling derision of the gleeful fans, reached the bleachers. He stretched his long arms up to the fence and prepared to vault over. "Where's the guy who called me redhead?" he yelled. That was heaping fuel on the fire. From all over the bleachers, from everywhere, came the obnoxious word. Red heaved himself over the fence and piled into the fans. Then followed the roar of many voices, the tramping of many feet, the pressing forward of line after line of shirt-sleeved men and boys. That bleacher stand suddenly assumed the maelstrom appearance of a surging mob round an agitated center. In a moment all the players rushed down the field, and confusion reigned. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" moaned Delaney.