Haviland Hicks, Jr., as the battered engine of the jit. yielded to
old Dan's cranking, and kindly consented to start, surveyed the yelling
students, seized a bat, and struck an attitude which he fatuously believed
was that of Ty Cobb, about to make a hit; taking advantage of a lull in the
tumult, the lovable youth howled at the hilarious crowd:
"Just leave it to Hicks! I will win the game and the Championship, for my
Alma Mater, and--I'll do it by my headwork!"
CHAPTER XVIII
T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR'S. HEADWORK
"Play Ball! Say, Bannister, are you
afraid to play?"
"Call the game, Mr. Ump.--make 'em play ball!"
"Batter up! Forfeit the game to Ballard, Umpire!"
"Lend 'em Ballard's bat-boy-to make a full nine!"
Captain Butch Brewster, his honest countenance, as a moving-picture
director would express it, "registering wrathful dismay," lumbered toward
the Ballard Field concrete dug-out, in which the Gold and Green players
had entrenched themselves, while from the stands, the Ballard cohorts
vociferated their intense impatience at the inexplicable delay.
"We have
got to play," he raged, striding up and down before the bench.
"The game is ten minutes late now, and the crowd is restless! And here we
have only
eight 'Varsity players, and no one to make the ninth--not even
a sub.! Oh, I could--"
"That brainless Skeet Wigglesworth!" ejaculated T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.
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