Umpire Gale's decisions. When Gale umpired away
from the Natchez grounds his close decisions always favored the other
team, rather than his own. It all made Daddy keen and thoughtful.

"Stranathan, up here on Madden's Hill we know how to treat visitors.
We'll play with your ball.... Now keep your gang of rooters from
crowdin' on the diamond."

"Boss, it's your grounds. Fire 'em off if they don't suit you....
Come on, let's git in the game. Watcher want--field er bat?"

"Field," replied Daddy briefly.

Billy Gale called "Play," and the game began with Slugger Blandy at
bat. The formidable way in which he swung his club did not appear to
have any effect on Frank Price or the player back of him. Frank's most
successful pitch was a slow, tantalizing curve, and he used it. Blandy
lunged at the ball, missed it and grunted.

"Frank, you got his alley," called Lane.

Slugger fouled the next one high in the air back of the plate. Sam
Wickhart, the stocky bowlegged catcher, was a fiend for running after
foul flies, and now he plunged into the crowd of boys, knocking them
right and left, and he caught the ball. Whisner came up and hit safely
over Griffith, whereupon the Natchez supporters began to howl. Kelly
sent a grounder to Grace at short stop. Daddy's weak player made a
poor throw to first base, so the runner was safe. Then Bo Stranathan
batted a stinging ball through the infield, scoring Whisner.

"Play the batter! Play the batter!" sharply called Daddy from the
bench.

Then Frank struck out Molloy and retired Dundon on an easy fly.

"Fellers, git in the game now," ordered Daddy, as his players eagerly
trotted in. "Say things to that Muckle Harris! We'll walk through
this game like sand through a sieve."

Bob Irvin ran to the plate waving his bat at Harris.

"Put one over, you freckleface! I 've been dyin' fer this chanst.
You're on Madden's Hill now."

Muckle evidently was not the kind of pitcher to stand coolly under such
bantering. Obviously he was not used to it. His face grew red and his
hair waved up. Swinging hard, he threw the ball straight at Bob's
head. Quick as a cat, Bob dropped flat.

"Never touched me!" he chirped, jumping up and pounding the plate with
his bat. "You couldn't hit a barn door. Come on. I'll paste one a
mile!"

Bob did not get an opportunity to hit, for Harris could not locate the
plate and passed him to first on four balls.

"Dump the first one," whispe