you slipped a cog t'other time. Git to first, McGovern, and th' boys will push ye round."
"I'll make the sack somehow," promised McGovern, as he started out with his big bat, conquest in his heart.
Exactly thirty-two seconds later Pat McGovern came back to the bench, fanned, having found his left-handed position at the plate most disadvantageous in batting against the Kinks' southpaw. Riley was growling throatily as Otto Bernsteine went forth to pit his wits and skill against the brains and cleverness of Tom Locke.
To tell the truth, Bernsteine, although usually phlegmatic and unemotional, was worried; for he, also, hit left-handed, and he had begun to believe that the Kingsbridge twirler was a terror to batters who stood at the plate in that manner. His worriment was justified; Locke got him, also.
The uproar of the crowd drowned the remarks of one Michael Riley, manager of the Bancrofts; and this may have spared the nerves of any sensitive person in his immediate vicinity. "Hey, Lisotte," he snarled at the shortstop, who was the next in line, "bunt the ball. D'ye hear? Bunt, an' try to beat it out. You bat wrong, too, and ye can't hit him fair. He's got the Injun sign on you off-side sluggers."
