DUSK was approaching, when the lengthy game, Tiresome and quiet, blazed in sudden flame. A pitch, right over—then a thudding whack, Sherwood Magee is rooted on first sack! Not rooted, either—with a mighty leap He gathered second—caught them all asleep! Then all men marveled, as this ancient bird Scooting and sliding, bounded into third! Out went a fly—the fielder grabbed and threw— But Sherwood beat it by a foot or two! What living mortal ever thought to see Such matchless doings by one S. Magee! |