It nestled among the bushes.

The batsman tore around the bases.

His colleagues tried to hold him at third, for the ball was streaking in that direction, but the batsman pawed straight on.

The ball crossed the base before he did, but it bounded between the third sacker's feet, and score two was marked up for Hollis Creek, with nobody out! With undiminished confidence, though somewhat annoyed, Princeman made a cute little knot of himself for the next batsman.
Spat! The ball landed in Sam's glove, two feet wide of the plate.
"Ball one!" called Blackstone.
Spat! In Sam's glove again, with the batsman jumping back to save his ribs.
"Ball two!" cried Blackstone.
Spat! "Ball three." "Put 'em over, Princeman!" yelled Billy Westlake from second.
"Don't be afraid of him! He couldn't hit it with a pillow!" jeered the third baseman.
In a calm, superior sort of way, Mr.Princeman smiled and shot over the ball.
"Four balls.

Take your base!" said Mr.Blackstone, quite gently.
Reassuringly Mr.Princeman smiled upon his supporters, consisting of Miss Josephine Stevens and some other summer resorters, and proceeded to take out his revenge upon the next batter.