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 CHAPTER V

A BAD BEGINNING

A yell rose from the crowd which now almost completely encircled the field. It was not a cheer, such as may sometimes be heard at the beginning of a Big League game; it was a sudden, sharp, nerve-shocking combination of bellow and shriek, primitive in its method-*less manner of expressing joyous satisfaction and elation that the moment had arrived for the contest to begin. Thus may have a gathering of primordial mankind, assembled to witness some sort of sanguinary gladiatorial contest, voiced its fierce emotion at the sight of trained warriors charging upon one another in the arena.

This burst of sound died away in a few scattering whoops and yelps as the umpire, body protector adjusted, mask held ready, lifted his hand for silence.

"Game t'-day," he shouted hoarsely, "Bancrof' ag'inst Kingsbridge. Bat'ry f'r Kingsbridge, Locke 'n' Oulds; bat'ry f'r Bancroft, Hoover 'n' Bangs. Pla-a-ay ball-ll!"