his ears to shut
out some of the uproar. And he watched that little yarn ball fly and
shoot and bound and roll to crush his fondest hopes. Not one of his
players appeared able to hold it. And Grace had holes in his hands and
legs and body. The ball went right through him. He might as well have
been so much water. Instead of being a shortstop he was simply a hole.
After every hit Daddy saw that ball more and more as something alive.
It sported with his infielders. It bounded like a huge jack-rabbit,
and went swifter and higher at every bound. It was here, there,
everywhere.

And it became an infernal ball. It became endowed with a fiendish
propensity to run up a player's leg and all about him, as if trying to
hide in his pocket. Grace's efforts to find it were heartbreaking to
watch. Every time it bounded out to center field, which was of
frequent occurrence, Tom would fall on it and hug it as if he were
trying to capture a fleeing squirrel. Tay Tay Mohler could stop the
ball, but that was no great credit to him, for his hands took no part
in the achievement. Tay Tay was fat and the ball seemed to like him.
It boomed into his stomach and banged against his stout legs. When Tay
saw it coming he dropped on his knees and valorously sacrificed his
anatomy to the cause of the game.

Daddy tried not to notice the scoring of runs by his opponents. But he
had to see them and he had to count. Ten runs were as ten blows!
After that each run scored was like a stab in his heart. The play went
on, a terrible fusilade of wicked ground balls that baffled any attempt
to field them. Then, with nineteen runs scored, Natchez appeared to
tire. Sam caught a foul fly, and Tay Tay, by obtruding his wide person
to the path of infield hits, managed to stop them, and throw out the
runners.

Score--Natchez, 21; Madden Hill, 3.

Daddy's boys slouched and limped wearily in.

"Wot kind of a ball's that?" panted Tom, as he showed his head with a
bruise as large as a goose-egg.

"T-t-t-t-ta-ta-tay-tay-tay-tay----" began Mohler, in great excitement,
but as he could not finish what he wanted to say no one caught his
meaning.

Daddy's watchful eye had never left that wonderful, infernal little
yarn ball. Daddy was crushed under defeat, but his baseball brains
still continued to work. He saw Umpire Gale leisurely step into the
pitcher's box, and leisurely pick up the ball and start to make a
motion to put it in his pocket.

S