CHAPTER VI
"TAKE HIM OUT!"
Flinging his club toward the bench, Harney
jogged lazily down the line, grinning
into the faces of the dissatisfied and sullen
Kingsbridgers on the bleachers. The chortling
coacher hailed him hilariously:
"Too bad! Too bad! That pudding is scared stiff. He won't last an innin'. Back to the pastures for him."
The murmurs of the home crowd became louder: "Who ever heard of him, anyhow?" "He can't pitch!" "Who picked him up?" "He's Hen Cope's find." "What's old Cope know about baseball?" "That dub never saw a real game before."
Cope put a hand on Hutchinson's shoulder. "The boy'll settle down in a minute," he said, trying to speak in a confident and undisturbed way. "He's just a bit shaky to start with, but he'll git into gear soon."
"He'd better—in a hurry," retorted the manager in that same dead-level, colorless voice.
