"That pitcher of yours, Scranton, is no slouch, believe me.

He isn't hardly in the same class as Kinsey, but your fellows are supporting him in great shape, and saving many a run by fine field work.

But of course we'll win in the end; we're bound to.

One of our boys will put in the big wallop and circle the bases on a trot, and then it'll all be over but the shouting.

It's no disgrace to be whipped by a Belleville team, Scranton." "Spell able first!" taunted the visiting fan, still filled with implicit faith in his school representatives.
It was now the beginning of the twelfth.