The Redheaded Outfield
by
Zane Grey
Part 5 out of 5
Old Well-Well stood a moment with slow glance
lingering on the tumult of emptying bleachers, on
the moving mingling colors in the grand stand,
across the green field to the gray-clad players.
He staggered forward and fell.
Before I could move, a noisy crowd swarmed
about him, some solicitous, many facetious.
Young Burt leaped the fence and forced his way
into the circle. Then they were carrying the old
man down to the field and toward the clubhouse.
I waited until the bleachers and field were
empty. When I finally went out there was a crowd
at the gate surrounding an ambulance. I caught
a glimpse of Old Well-Well. He lay white and
still, but his eyes were open, smiling intently.
Young Burt hung over him with a pale and agitated
face. Then a bell clanged and the ambulance
clattered away.
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