“It all reminds me of--of the rhythm of music. And that champion batter and runner--that Lane in center-- isn't he just beautiful? He walks and runs like a blue-ribbon winner at the horse show. I tell you one thing, Connie, these Quakers are on dress parade.'' ``Oh, these Quakers hate themselves, I don't think!'' retorted Nan. Being a rabid girl-fan it was, of course, impossible for Nan to speak baseball convictions or gossip without characteristic baseball slang. ``Stuck on themselves! I never ...saw the like in my life. That fellow Lane is so swelled that he can't get down off his toes. But he's a wonder, I must admit that. They're a bunch of stars. Easy, fast, trained--they're machines, and I'll bet they're Indians to fight. I can see it sticking out all over them. This will certainly be some game with Whit handing up that jump ball of his to this gang of champs. But, Connie, I'll go you Whit beats them.'' I laughed and refused to gamble. The gong rang; the crowd seemed to hum and rustle softly to quiet attention; Umpire McClung called the names of the batteries; then the familiar ``Play!'' There was the usual applause from the grand stand and welcome cheers from the bleachers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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