this time?" fairly snarled Hiram, who was closely watching every player. "If you don't know how to hit out a hot one you'd better go back on the scrub. Don't do it again."
"I'll kill the next ball!" declared Nat, but he did not like the looks of it as Joe delivered it, and did not swing his bat.
"Strike!" called the umpire sharply.
"Wha—what?" cried Nat.
"I said strike. It was right over the plate."
"Plate nothing!"
"What's he doing, calling strikes on you?" demanded Hiram.
"It looks that way," spoke Nat.
"Well, say—" began the manager in his bullying manner, as he strode toward the umpire.
"Hold on now!" interposed Luke, who sometimes had better judgment than Hiram. "It's all right. Don't get excited. It may have been a strike. The fellows haven't got on to all the points of the game yet this season. Go on."
"All right," growled Hiram. "But don't you dare strike out, Nat."
Joe's next delivery was called a ball, though it was rightly a strike. Joe said nothing, realizing that the umpire was naturally a bit afraid of offending Hiram and Luke too much. Then Nat
