LOUIS UNDER THE Missouri sun, and no fun either. Red Allen was at bat, and from the bench came Bob’s staccato cry, “Shake it up there, Red; wake up those bats, big boy.” After waiting for three balls and fouling half a dozen pitches, Allen popped up. It was a high fly to short, an easy out. But the big first baseman, refusing to quit, took his turn round the bag at full speed and started with all his strength for second. He was nearly there when the ball settled into the shortstop’s glove. Case, always ready to sneer, leaned down toward Bob on the long bench. In between them sat Jocko Klein, his dark eyes solemn as he looked across the diamond. “D’ja see that there, Bob? That’s baseball, kid. D’ja see him run out that fly ball?” “Sure did. There’s a ballplayer, what I mean, in there trying every minute.” “Uhuh. We could do with a few more on this club,” rejoined Case. “I’ll say. O.K. O.K., now, Roy. Shake up those bats. Let’s us get some hits now.” The batting order had been changed by Spike in an endeavor to get the team moving and Klein followed Tucker.
