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Updated: August 13, 2024
Blake caught a foul fly off the bleachers; Trace made a beautiful catch; McCord was like a tower at first base, and little Dean went through the last stages of development that made him a star. Once in the eighth inning Ken became aware that Worry was punching him in the back and muttering: "Look out, Peg! Listen! Murphy'll get one in Reddy's groove this time.... Oh-h!"
"Don't wanta go home!" came the heartbroken wail, "don't wanta go home. Mom Murphy'll git me." "I I tol' her," explained Mike uncomfortably, "that she mustn't open her mouth once jus' act deaf an' dumb or you'd guess maybe an' send her home an' Mom Murphy'd git her. An' an' she must take a drum like a boy " Literal Muggs!
No call for pills came that night from Muggs, asleep in a crib that had seen much service. He was awake however long before daylight, trembling with excitement. "Mike, oh Mike!" he called hoarsely. "Wake up. It's Christmas mornin'." Mike, in a big bed with Marty Fay, sat up. "Don't you dare open your mouth to-day!" he cried in blood-thirsty accents, "or Mom Murphy'll git ye surer'n scat.
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