THE BASEBALL GOD
thing that sounded like the key-board of a type-writer pronounced all together, and grabbed his nose-ring. Then he chatted away for a while to a bone ornament on his wrist and seemed to find some more courage.
"‘He thinks he's big medicine now,' remarked Tib, rubbing the ball on his jeans. 'Just observe the erratic orbit of this new-fangled out. It's been called quite a teaser in the States. Dear old States! How I wish we were back there, living in Christian fraternity with Mike O'Daffy, the boodle alderman; and with Slitzenberger sending out for another pail of suds! Well, ready for Act III.; curtain!' And the new-fangled out was released. Unlike the others it was thrown square at the batter's stomach. He did not budge, but with a grunt of satisfaction presented the flat side of his club and tried to bunt it. The ball swerved and passed two feet outside the plate. Well, Tib just sat down and laughed.
"If you could only have heard the old man swear! He threw down his club, cussed the niggers, cussed himself, and then took a fall out of the little bone god on his wrist. Then I woke up and began to root. I forgot the guards, and danced out in the open and gave a rowdy-dowdy-zip-boom-bah class yell. In my more hopeful days I had few equals as a coach. I could see my joy-talk was putting new blood into Tib, and he kept bowing and scraping
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