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Davies, and of collating Dr. Apthorpe to an archiepiscopal living. Taylor's private religion. Joseph Milner pronounces an anathema against all rational religion. His faith is a divine taste, a spiritual inspiration; his church is a mystic and invisible body: the natural Christians, such as Mr. The list of my adversaries, however, was graced with the more respectable names of Dr.
East Apthorpe, S. P. G. missionary at Cambridge, Mass., had replied to a newspaper criticism upon the policy of the Society for Propagating the Gospel in New England, in his Considerations on the Institutions and Conduct of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts.
Curly faced the next batsman, tried him with a "drop," at which he promptly struck and failed to hit, and then gave his attention to Mansfield on third. Curly watched him out of the corner of his eye and pitched again. The umpire called another strike. Apthorpe threw back the ball to the pitcher; Curly dropped it, recovered it, and threw swiftly to third base. Large bodies move slowly.
Mayhew's pamphlet, in which, not content with the personal abuse of Mr. Apthorpe, he has insulted the missions in general, the society, the Church of England, in short, the whole rational establishment, in so dirty a manner, that it seems to be below the character of a gentleman to enter into controversy with him.
Apthorpe went to bat, weary but determined. Curly, on third, shot back and forth like a shuttle with every motion of the pitcher's arm. With two balls in his favor, Apthorpe thought he saw his chance, and struck swiftly at an outshoot. The result he swung through empty air appeared to unnerve him. He struck again at the next ball, and again missed.
"The tall man with the gray hair at the temples is my colonel, Brandon," he said. "Very strict, but just to his men, and we like him. He spent some years in the service of the East India Company, in one of the hottest parts of the peninsula. That's why he's so brown, and it made his blood thin, too. He can't endure cold. The officer with him is one of our majors, Apthorpe.
The batsman stepped out of the box and Curly delivered half a dozen balls to Apthorpe to get his hand in. Then the two met and agreed on a few simple signals, the umpire called, "Play!" and the game went on again. It was the first half of the sixth inning; the score was eight to eight; there was one man out, a runner on second, and Durham's left fielder at bat.
He felt a corner of the plate. At the same instant he heard the thud of the ball against the catcher's glove overhead, the swish of the down-swinging arm, and "Safe at the plate!" cried the umpire. At second Apthorpe was sitting on the bag, joyfully kicking his heels into the earth. On the bench the scorer made big, trembling dots on the page. Everywhere pandemonium reigned.
"I'm afraid I'm all out of practice," objected Curly. "I haven't handled a ball for two years, but I'll do what I can. I wish you'd come round to my room afterwards and have a talk, if you've nothing better to do." Time had been called, and Apthorpe, who was both captain and catcher, ran across to them. "It's good of you, Mr. Stone," he said, wiping the perspiration from his face.
At college they had been hardly more than acquaintances, yet to-day they met almost like fast friends. "I never thought to find you in this part of the world, Stone," said Harris. "I'm awfully glad to see you again. You're badly needed. Tom Apthorpe, my cousin, was bewailing the fact that he hadn't anyone to pitch.
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