Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Support; Or, A Triple Play онлайн

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“Well, you must have nerve!” exclaimed Wescott. “That fellow can’t throw the game now.”

“Perhaps not; but we’ll see. Look at that. Ha!”

Gamp was the batter, and at this juncture the umpire called a strike on him that was over his head.

“Do you think he did that intentionally?” whispered Wescott, as the crowd roared in derision.

“Wait,” was the only thing Hazen would say.

The next ball was wide of the plate, but again a strike was called by the umpire.

“Sus-sus-sus-say!” stuttered Joe, “dud-dud-dud-don’t you want me to lend ye a pup-pup-pup-pair of glasses?”

The next ball was so low that the catcher almost picked it up off the ground, but the umpire loudly announced:

“Batter is out!”

“Rank!” howled a voice.

“Bum!” yelled another.

“Awful! awful!” shrieked a shrill-voiced man.

Then the crowd took it up and jeered at the umpire.

“By George!” exclaimed Wescott, laughing, “I believe the fellow has taken you at your offer, Hazen!”

The corpulent gambler drew a breath of relief.

“I hope he has,” he said. “There’s a bare show that the Stars will win out.”