The greatest ballplayer A.B. has ever seen? Lou Gehrig. The greatest ball club? Those Chicago White Sox of 1919?before the Sox turned black.
Henry Thompson scudded over the foul line, almost awkward in his anxiety, and clutched the weak little pop foul. He jumped up and down in excitement, waved the ball over his head, ran over to Pitcher John Antonelli for a moment and then turned, still clutching the ball, and made for the Giant dugout. It was the third out of the ninth inning of the fourth game. The World Series was over. Cleveland had lost.
Under the grandstands a fat-faced hawker held the price on miniature celluloid baseball dolls at a dollar.
"The Series is over," a prospective buyer said. "I'll give you half a buck."
The hawker was impassive.
"You can't bargain with me," he said. "The price is a dollar."
"The Series is over," the buyer insisted. "When do you think you're going to sell them? Tomorrow?"
The hawker looked away, his face still impassive.
"The price is a dollar," he said, almost sullenly.