CHAPTER V
A BAD BEGINNING
A yell rose from the crowd which now almost
completely encircled the field. It
was not a cheer, such as may sometimes
be heard at the beginning of a Big League game;
it was a sudden, sharp, nerve-shocking combination
of bellow and shriek, primitive in its method-*less
manner of expressing joyous satisfaction and
elation that the moment had arrived for the contest
to begin. Thus may have a gathering of
primordial mankind, assembled to witness some
sort of sanguinary gladiatorial contest, voiced its
fierce emotion at the sight of trained warriors
charging upon one another in the arena.
This burst of sound died away in a few scattering whoops and yelps as the umpire, body protector adjusted, mask held ready, lifted his hand for silence.
"Game t'-day," he shouted hoarsely, "Bancrof' ag'inst Kingsbridge. Bat'ry f'r Kingsbridge, Locke 'n' Oulds; bat'ry f'r Bancroft, Hoover 'n' Bangs. Pla-a-ay ball-ll!"
