St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1902-11-08

against hope that Marty might get to
first on balls. Marty made no answer,
but stood there, pale Of face, while
the ball sped around the bases, and at
last went back to the pitcher. Again
the sphere sped forward. Now was his
time! With all his strength he swung
his bat-and twirled around on his
heel! A roar of laughter swept across
the diamond.
Strike two!" cried the umpire.
But Marty, surprised at his failure,
yet undaunted, heard nothing save
the umpire's unmoved voice. Forward
flew the ball again, this time unmis-
takably wide of the plate, and the little
man in the snuff-colored alpaca Goa:
motioned to the right.
"Three balls!'
Bob, restlessly lifting his feet to be
off and away on his dash to third, wait
ed with despairing heart. Victory or
defeat depended upon the next pitch.
A three-bagger would tie the score, a
safe hit would bring Sleeper to the
bat. But as he looked at the pale-faced
odd-looking figure beside the plate, he
realized how hopeless it all was. The
pitcher, thinking much the same
thought. prepared for his last effort.
Plainly the queer little ragamuffin was
no batsman, and a straight ball over
the plate would bring the agony to
an end. Upwent his hand, and straight
aud sure sped the globe.
Now. there was one kind of ball that
Marty knew all about, and that was
nice, clean, straight one, guiltless OF
curve, or drop or rise, the kind that
Whitley Peters pitched in the vacant
lot back of keller's livery stable. And
Marty knew that kind when he saw
it coming. Fair and square he caught
it, just where he wanted it, on the
bat. All his strength, heart and soul
were behind that swing. There was
sharp crack, sudden mighty roar
from the watchers, and Marty was
speeding toward first base
High and far sped the ball. Center
and left fielder turned as one man and
raced up the field. Obeying instruc-
tions, they had been playing well in,
and now they were to rue it. The roar
of the crowd grew in volume. Warner,
Bob and Howe were already racing
home, and Marty, running as hard as
his legs would carry him, was touching
second. Far up the field the ball was
coming to earth slowly, gently, yet far
too quickly for the fielders. ..
"a home run!" shrieked Wolcott.
"Come on-oh, come on, Marty, my
boy!"
Warner was home, now Bob, and
then Howe was crossing the plate,
and Marty was leaving second behind
him. Would the fielder catch it? He
dared look no longer, but sped on
ward. Then new note crept into
the shouts of the Vulcans, note of
disappointment, of despair. Up the
field the center fielder had tipped the
ball with one outstretched hand, but
had failed to catch it! At last, how
ever, 1t was speeding home toward
second base.
"Come on! Come on, Marty"
shriekcd Bob.
The boys twinkling feet spurned
the third bag and he swung home
ward. The ball was settling into the
second baseman's hands. The latter
turned quickly and threw it straight,
swift, answering toward the plate.
"Slide!" yelled Bob and Warner in q
breath.
Marty threw himself desperately
forward; there was cloud of brown
dust at the plate, a thug as the bali
met the catcher's gloves. The little
man in the alpaca coat turned away
with grin, and picked up his mask
again.
"Safe, here!"
The score was 13 to IL in Summer
ville's favor; Martyrs home run had
saved the day!
In another moment or two it was
all over. Sleeper had popped high
fly into the hands of the discounted
center fielder, and the crowds
swarmed inward over the diamond.
It was tired, hungry, but joyous
little group that journeyed back to
Summerville through the soft, mel
low summer twilight. Marty and the
leather bat case occupied a whole
seat to themselves. Martyrs freckled
face was beaming with happiness and
pride, his heart sang paean of tri-
umph in time to the clickety-click of
the car wheels, and in one hand,
tightly clenched, nestled ten-dollar
gold piece.
It was his share of the hundred
purse the nine had won, Bob had ex-
planned, and it had been voted to him
unanimously. And next spring he
was to join the team as substitute!
And Marty, doubling the trustiness
of his pockets, held the shining prize
firmly IN his fist and grinned happily
over the praise and thanks of his
companions.
cit wasn't nothin', that home run;
any Teller could have done that!"
And, besides, he explained, he had
known all along that they were going
to win. "Why-don't you see?-the
other fellers didn't have any mas
cot!"-St. Nicholas.
DoctOrss at Funerals.
A correspondent asks one of my
medical contemporaries: when a
medical man attends the funeral of
a patient, should his carriage pre-
IL. r-1