The Arrival of Jimpson, and Other Stories for Boys about Boys. Barbour Ralph Henry

afraid you don’t work as a mascot to-day, Marty,” he answered smilingly. But Marty noticed that there was a look of resolution in the captain’s face as he walked toward the box, and took heart.

      Summerville’s admirers greeted Bob’s appearance with a burst of applause, and Vulcan’s captain motioned the field to play farther out. Vulcan’s pitcher tossed his arms above his head, lifted his right foot into the air, and shot the ball forward. There was a sharp crack, and the sphere was sailing straight and low toward center field. Bob touched first and sped on to second. Center field and left field, each intent upon the ball, discovered each other’s presence only when they were a scant four yards apart. Both paused – and the ball fell to earth! Bob, watching, flew toward third. It was a close shave, but he reached it ahead of the ball in a cloud of dust, and, rising, shook himself in the manner of a dog after a bath. Summerville’s supporters were again on their feet, and their shouts were extraordinary in volume, considering their numbers. Vulcan’s citizens, after a first burst of anger and dismay, had fallen into chilling silence. Marty hugged himself, and nervously picked out Howe’s bat.