Summary

Portrait of Noah Brooks Noah Brooks Our Base Ball Club and How It Won the Championship

The garrulous old man shouldered his bundle as he spoke and plodded down Bridge Street and so across to the north side of the town. It was the day for the first game of the championship at Galena. The hot sun poured down into the Stone River Valley with great power, and the bleached surface of the old wooden bridge shimmered with undulating lines of heat as Rough and Ready toiled on his way. The roar of the dam had a cooling sound, and the group of cotton-woods and willows on the little island above were green and refreshing to the eye.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Noah Brooks Noah Brooks Our Base Ball Club and How It Won the Championship

He could see, he thought, Hiram Porter devouring the ground as he made his bases with a giant's stride, his handsome face glowing with mingled heat and determination. He could even hear Larry's voice, in a stage whisper, crying, "Go it, Hiram!" And he could see Larry, at third base, when the Catalpas were in the field, making one of those superb running catches of his, Ben Burton looking on, "as if he would eat him up," added Lewis, jocularly.
"Why should Ben want to eat Larry up?" asked Dr. Selby, innocently. "Does he love him so?"
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Noah Brooks Noah Brooks Our Base Ball Club and How It Won the Championship

I am not going to waste much time playing, Tom. I know enough about base ball to know that a player doesn't last as a good player more than ten or twelve years. He is too young to play before he is seventeen years old, and he is done for and is dropped out by the time he is thirty. So if I had any notion of making ball-playing my calling in life, I should have that fact in view to warn me. Oh, no Tom, I am only making this a bridge to carry me over a hard place.
Source: Gutenberg

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