This time Rollo kneaded the ball gently， as though hesuspected it had been pulled before it was ripe. He made anoffer as though he would throw it to Thanny. Thanny made arush back to an imaginary “first，” and Rollo， turning quickly，fired the ball in the general direction of Mr. Holliday. It passedabout ten feet to his right， but none the less he made whatThanny called “a swipe” at it that turned him around threetimes before he could steady himself. It then hit the end of thebarn with a resounding crash that made Cotton Mather， thehorse， snort with terror in his lonely stall. Thanny called out innasal， sing-song tone：
“Strike—one！”
“Thanny，” said his father， severely， “do not let me heara repetition of such language from you. If you wish to joinour game， you may do so， if you will play in a gentlemanlymanner. But I will not permit the use of slang about this house.
Now， Rollo， that was better； much better. But you must aimmore accurately and pitch less violently. You will never learnanything until you acquire it， unless you pay attention whilegiving your mind to it. Now， play ball， as we say.”
This time Rollo stooped and rubbed the ball in the dirt untilhis father sharply reprimanded him， saying， “You untidy boy；that ball will not be fit to play with！” Then Rollo looked abouthim over the surrounding country as though admiring thepleasant view， and with the same startling abruptness as before，faced his father and shot the ball in so swiftly that Thanny saidhe could see it smoke. It passed about six feet to the left of thebatsman， but Mr. Holliday， judging that it was coming “deadfor him，” dodged， and the ball struck his high silk hat with aboom like a drum， carrying it on to the “back-stop” in its wildcareer.
“Take your base！” shouted Thanny， but suddenly checkedhimself， remembering the new rules on the subject of hisumpiring.
“Rollo！” exclaimed his father， “why do you not followmy instructions more carefully？ That was a little better， butstill the ball was badly aimed. You must not stare around allover creation when you are playing ball. How can you throwstraight when you look at everything in the world except at thebat you are trying to hit？ You must aim right at the bat—try tohit it—that’s what the pitcher does. And Thanny， let me say toyou， and for the last time， that I will not permit the slang of theslums to be used about this house. Now， Rollo， try again， andbe more careful and more deliberate.”
“Father，” said Rollo， “did you ever play base-ball when youwere a young man？”
“Did I play base-ball？” repeated his father， “did I play ball？
Well， say， I belonged to the Sacred Nine out in old Peoria， andI was a holy terror on third， now I tell you. One day—”
But just at this point in the history it occurred to Rollo to sendthe ball over the plate. Mr. Holliday saw it coming； he shut botheyes and dodged for his life， but the ball hit his bat and wentspinning straight up in the air. Thanny shouted “Foul！” ran underit， reached up， took it out of the atmosphere， and cried：
“Out！”
“Thanny，” said his father sternly， “another word and youshall go straight to bed！ If you do not improve in your habit oflanguage I will send you to the reform school. Now， Rollo，”
he continued， kindly， “that was a great deal better； very muchbetter. I hit that ball with almost no difficulty. You are learning.
But you will learn more rapidly if you do not expend so muchunnecessary strength in throwing the ball. Once more， now，and gently； I do not wish you to injure your arm.”
Rollo leaned forward and tossed the ball toward his fathervery gently indeed， much as his sister Mary would have done，only， of course， in a more direct line. Mr. Holliday’s eyes lit upwith their old fire as he saw the on-coming sphere. He swepthis bat around his head in a fierce semi-circle， caught the ballfair on the end of it， and sent it over Rollo’s head， crashinginto the kitchen window amid a jingle of glass and a crashof crockery， wild shrieks from the invisible maid servant anddelighted howls from Rollo and Thanny of “Good boy！” “Youown the town！” “All the way round！”
Mr. Holliday was a man whose nervous organism wasso sensitive that he could not endure the lightest shock ofexcitement. The confusion and general uproar distracted him.
“Thanny！” he shouted， “go into the house！ Go into the houseand go right to bed！”