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The scene was glittering, colorful, a delight to the eye. Around the circle of bright faces rippled a low, merry murmur. The umpire, grotesquely padded in front by his chest protector, announced the batteries, dusted the plate, and throwing out a white ball, sang the open sesame of the game: "Play!" Then Old Well-Well arose as if pushed from his seat by some strong propelling force.
He called to him his servant Lissi Workhouse, and her he told to take Gwen to Deinol. The cow lowed woefully as she was driven; she was heard even in Morfa, and many hurried to the road to witness her. Abel was at the going in of the close. "Well-well, Lissi Workhouse," he said, "what's doing then?" "'Go give the male his beast, mishtir talked." "Right for you are," said Abel.
He found an end seat on a row at about the middle of the right-field bleachers and I chose one across the aisle and somewhat behind him. No players were yet in sight. The stands were filling up and streams of men were filing into the aisles of the bleachers and piling over the benches. Old Well-Well settled himself comfortably in his seat and gazed about him with animation.
He cut through first like the wind, settled to a driving strides rounded second, and by a good, long slide beat the throw in to third. The crowd, who went to games to see long hits and daring runs, gave him a generous hand-clapping. Old Well-Well appeared on the verge of apoplexy.
At two, o'clock A. M. the loud cry, "Halt!" at the corner where I was sleeping, aroused me. This was quickly followed by a still louder "Halt! May be you don't know who I is; I holds a gun, an' her's off." "Well-well, I only want to come to you; I don't want to go farther."
Before I could move, a noisy crowd swarmed about him, some solicitous, many facetious. Young Burt leaped the fence and forced his way into the circle. Then they were carrying the old man down to the field and toward the clubhouse. I waited until the bleachers and field were empty. When I finally went out there was a crowd at the gate surrounding an ambulance. I caught a glimpse of Old Well-Well.
"Much trouble he has in his inside." "Poor bach," replied Evan. "Well-well. Fair night for to-day." "Why for you are in a hurry?" "Woman fach, for what you do not know that I abide in Wandsworth and the clock is late?" Mrs. Jenkins laughed. "Boy pretty sly you are. Come you to Richmond to buy one egg."
I wanted Philadelphia to win, because Burt was on the team. With Old Well-Well sitting there so rigid in his seat, so obsessed by the playing of the lad, I turned traitor to New York. White cut a high twisting bounder inside the third base, and before the ball could be returned he stood safely on second. The fans howled with what husky voice they had left.
The keen newsboy sitting below us broke the amazed silence in the bleachers. "Wot d'ye tink o' that?" Old Well-Well writhed in his seat. To him if was a one-man game, as it had come to be for me. I thrilled with him; I gloried in the making good of his protege; it got to be an effort on my part to look at the old man, so keenly did his emotion communicate itself to me.
He was heart-broken and said: 'If I could only see one more game!" The recollection of this random baseball gossip and the fact that Philadelphia was scheduled to play New York that very day, gave me a sudden desire to see the game with Old Well-Well. I did not know him, but where on earth were introductions as superfluous as on the bleachers? It was a very easy matter to catch up with him.
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