![]() He pounced on the rock at home plate with both feet and celebrated the point. ![]() The ball came at Felix again, but this time the throw was well wide. ![]() “Soak the bloody devil!” one of the other micks cried. Felix laughed and charged on to third, turning on the cap there and heading for home. He danced out of the way and the ball sailed past him, missing his vest by less than an inch. Felix glanced over his shoulder just in time to see an English boy hurl the baseball at him. Felix flew past the parcel that stood for second base and dug for third. The world was a blur when he ran, and he could feel his blood thumping through his veins like the steam pistons pounding out a rhythm on the fast ferry to Staten Island. ![]() His legs churned in the soft mud but his shoes gave him traction, propelling him toward second base. He lobbed it toward the plate and the mick slapped the ball to the right side beyond first base.įelix ran full out. But the “Dutchman” at Feeder-another German boy like Felix-didn’t need to understand Cormac’s words to know where he wanted him to throw the ball. English was difficult enough for Felix to understand, and almost unintelligible when spoken by the Irish. “Put the poreen just about here, ya rawney Dutchman!” the Striker called. ![]() Now he stood on first base, waiting to run. He was so fast, in fact, the ship that had brought him to America arrived a day early. Now he was the fastest boy in Manhattan, New York. Nine months ago, Felix Schneider was the fastest boy in Bremen, Germany. ![]()
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