Hi looked glumly across at The Pilot standing some distance away; then called out, holding up the ball:
"Can you play the game?"
For answer Moore held up his hands for a catch. Hi tossed him the ball easily. The ball came back so quickly that Hi was hardly ready, and the jar seemed to amaze him exceedingly.
"I'll take him," he said, doubtfully, and the game began. Hi fitted on his mask, a new importation and his peculiar pride, and waited.
"How do you like them?" asked The Pilot.
"Hot!" said Hi. "I hain't got no gloves to burn."
The Pilot turned his back, swung off one fool on to the other and discharged his ball.
"Strike!" called the umpire.
"You bet!" said Hi, with emphasis, but his face was a picture of amazement and dawning delight.
Again The Pilot went through the manœuvre in his box and again the umpire called:
"Strike!"
Hi stopped the ball without holding it and set himself for the third. Once more that disconcerting swing and the whip-like action of the arm, and for the third time the umpire called:
