at deal better; very much better. I hit that ball with almost
no difficulty. You are learning. But you will learn more rapidly if you
do not expend so much unnecessary strength in throwing the ball. Once
more, now, and gently; I do not wish you to injure your arm."

Rollo leaned forward and tossed the ball toward his father very gently
indeed, much as his sister Mary would have done, only, of course, in a
more direct line. Mr. Holliday's eyes lit up with their old fire as he
saw the on-coming sphere. He swept his bat around his head in a fierce
semi-circle, caught the ball fair on the end of it, and sent it over
Rollo's head, crashing into the kitchen window amid a jingle of glass
and a crash of crockery, wild shrieks from the invisible maid servant
and delighted howls from Rollo and Thanny of "Good boy!" "You own the
town!" "All the way round!"

Mr. Holliday was a man whose nervous organism was so sensitive that he
could not endure the lightest shock of excitement. The confusion and
general uproar distracted him.

"Thanny!" he shouted, "go into the house! Go into the house and go right
to bed!"

"Thanny," said Rollo, in a low tone, "you're suspended; that's what you
get for jollying the umpire."

"Rollo," said his father, "I will not have you quarreling with Thanny. I
can correct him without your interference. And, besides, you have
wrought enough mischief for one day. Just see what you have done with
your careless throwing. You have broken the window, and I do not know
how many things on the kitchen table. You careless, inattentive boy. I
would do right if I should make you pay for all this damage out of your
own pocket-money. And I would, if you had any. I may do so,
nevertheless. And there is Jane, bathing her eye at the pump. You have
probably put it out by your wild pitching. If she dies, I will make you
wash the dishes until she returns. I thought all boys could throw
straight naturally without any training. You discourage me. Now come
here and take this bat, and I will show you how to pitch a ball without
breaking all the glass in the township. And see if you can learn to bat
any better than you can pitch."

Rollo took the bat, poised himself lightly, and kept up a gentle
oscillation of the stick while he waited.

"Hold it still!" yelled his father, whose nerves were sorely shaken.
"How can I pitch a ball to you when you keep flourishing that club like
an anarchist in procession. Hold it still, I tell yo