laughed.

The batsman again set himself for a swing, and the pitcher once more
tried to make a human knot; again the ball shot, this time straight and
true for the plate, and as it did, William, with a volume of agonised
pleading in his voice, yelled, "Mind your head." Instinctively the
batter ducked and, of course, missed the ball, while the umpire
dispassionately cried, "Strike two." The batter grieved loudly and
bitterly. He accused the umpire of having eyes like a codfish, and of
being stampeded by "some guy in the stand." He declared him to be
incompetent to the verge of insanity, and wondered, in a voice that
could be heard all over the field, how he had kept out of the asylum so
long. His team mates supported him loyally, and incidentally demanded
of the Toronto team's manager that William, whom they had discovered as
the source of the heavy batter's discomfort, be instantly removed from
the grounds and kept therefrom until the game was over, while the
impatient, but delighted crowd, cried at intervals, "play ball," "put
'em off," "give the game to the Torontos."

The manager of the Torontos disclaimed all or any responsibility for
William. "Nay, nay, Pauline," he said gently, when the Buffalo manager
repeated his request, "if the boy annoys you, put him out yourself, or
ask the police to do it."

"You know what'd happen if I tackled that boy," answered the Buffalo
man heatedly: "why, that crowd would eat me."

"Not in your present condition," retorted the Toronto man affably,
"you're too hot."

The Buffalonian appealed to a police constable, but that worthy shook
his head. "There's only me and a sergeant here," he said, "and we
ain't over anxious to start a riot." The sergeant strolled up and was
consulted.

"It can't be done," he said sagely, "there isn't a section under the
law or the regulations governing the force that'd justify me putting
the kid out. He ain't hurting anybody anyway."

"But he's putting our man on the pork," cried the Buffalonian
disgustedly; "how in the name of Uncle Sam is the team to go on playing
with that kind of a racket!"

"It's nothing to the racket there'll be if you don't go on with the
game," said the sergeant quietly, as he walked back to the stand. And
the game went on. The batter was struck out on the next ball, and the
crowd shrieked its delight, the innings closing without a score.

When the eighth innings started, William, all swagger and confidence,