Stark, capering toward the bench. "It's about time we came to life and touched that gangling port-sider up a few. Stop watching his contortions, Labelle. This is no vaudeville performance; you're here to play baseball. Try to hit him, anyhow."
"You bet!" growled the Canadian. "I hit de ball dis time; you watch."
Nevertheless, although he slashed viciously, he did not graze the first one.
Suddenly Reddy Crandall, who had spent his time on the bench staring at the long-geared pitcher, struck his thigh a resounding slap.
"I've got him!" he declared excitedly. "I've spotted that guy! I know him now! Craddock, hey? No wonder them Bancrofters come up to this town to-day loaded with bettin' money. Craddock! Why, that's 'Pinwheel' Murtel, of the National League, as good a man as Matty himself, only he's got a rotten disposition, an' no manager can handle him. He's been blacklisted and outlawed time after time, but he's such a wonder they always fix it up somehow, an' take him back when he wants to come. That's Murtel, I'll bet my life on it. Fellers, we'll never score to-day with him pitchin'."
Stark, standing near, had ceased to swing the
