THE BASEBALL GOD
in sending the ball, and every once in a while he doubled up his arm as if it ached.
"‘"When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide
Flagons of home-brewed ale, …"
he murmured.
"‘ Tired, old man?' I choked.
"‘A little. I wish you knew how to curve 'em. But, then, the other nine would probably kick if we changed batteries. Oh, I'm good for a few more.'
"The chief struck twice at the next one and barked his shins. He was so angry he bit his flat lips through till the blood oozed out and perfectly matched the hue of the toucan feathers in his fat nose. Then Tib settled down and pitched for our two lives. Slow ones, followed up by rifle-bullets; bow-legged ones, chased up by rainbows, and so on, always ringing in the changes just as the Hen thought he had doped out a winning combination. A wonderful love for my patron now filled my soul. He was pitching to save my life, and there was something infinitely encouraging in the way he cocked his head and smiled at me. Then I noticed the gray in his hair and remembered he was old enough to be my father. His face began to look drawn and his lips trembled, but they never lost their smile. I could give him none of my youthful strength, and it
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