It was perhaps mechanically that he drew back with that stout three-foot pole, as he always did when at the plate, with two strikes called upon him. But the object speeding toward him now was something far different from a horsehide sphere impelled by the arm of an artful pitcher.
Brutus was not barking or growling now. Like most of his breed when he had business in view he saved his breath. But his appearance was doubly disquieting to the boy, on that account.
Lanky made no attempt to fly. He knew the folly of it, and seemed to realize that whatever was to be done must spring from his own efforts. Hence the frantic grip he maintained upon that remnant of a once proud canoe mast; and his method of standing there clear of the trunk of the tree, so that he might at least have a free swing.
Once Brutus started from the gate, it took him only a dozen quick leaps to arrive on the scene. Lanky judged of his coming just as he had taught himself to do in connection with a ball. And when he smote with all his might and main, fair and true, he brought his strange bat against the head of the leaping hound.
Whack!
Brutus went whirling over in a confused heap of legs and head; and a mournful howl accompanied the near tragedy. But he scrambled up in a trice, and
