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diff --git a/385-h/385-h.htm b/385-h/385-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b11ca3 --- /dev/null +++ b/385-h/385-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8933 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Redheaded Outfield and Other Baseball Stories, +by Zane Grey +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Redheaded Outfield and Other Baseball +Stories, by Zane Grey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Redheaded Outfield and Other Baseball Stories + +Author: Zane Grey + +Posting Date: September 27, 2008 [EBook #385] +Release Date: January, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REDHEADED OUTFIELD, OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE REDHEADED OUTFIELD<BR>AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ZANE GREY +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#outfield">THE REDHEADED OUTFIELD</A><BR> + <A HREF="#rube"> THE RUBE</A><BR> + <A HREF="#pennant"> THE RUBE'S PENNANT</A><BR> + <A HREF="#honeymoon"> THE RUBE'S HONEYMOON</A><BR> + <A HREF="#waterloo"> THE RUBE'S WATERLOO</A><BR> + <A HREF="#breaking"> BREAKING INTO FAST COMPANY</A><BR> + <A HREF="#knocker"> THE KNOCKER</A><BR> + <A HREF="#winning"> THE WINNING BALL</A><BR> + <A HREF="#colors"> FALSE COLORS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#manager"> THE MANAGER OF MADDEN'S HILL</A><BR> + <A HREF="#wellwell"> OLD WELL-WELL</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="outfield"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE REDHEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES +</H3> + +<BR><BR> + +<P> +There was Delaney's red-haired trio—Red Gilbat, left fielder; Reddy +Clammer, right fielder, and Reddie Ray, center fielder, composing the +most remarkable outfield ever developed in minor league baseball. It +was Delaney's pride, as it was also his trouble. +</P> + +<P> +Red Gilbat was nutty—and his batting average was .371. Any student of +baseball could weigh these two facts against each other and understand +something of Delaney's trouble. It was not possible to camp on Red +Gilbat's trail. The man was a jack-o'-lantern, a will-o'-the-wisp, a +weird, long-legged, long-armed, red-haired illusive phantom. When the +gong rang at the ball grounds there were ten chances to one that Red +would not be present. He had been discovered with small boys peeping +through knotholes at the vacant left field he was supposed to inhabit +during play. +</P> + +<P> +Of course what Red did off the ball grounds was not so important as +what he did on. And there was absolutely no telling what under the sun +he might do then except once out of every three times at bat he could +be counted on to knock the cover off the ball. +</P> + +<P> +Reddy Clammer was a grand-stand player—the kind all managers +hated—and he was hitting .305. He made circus catches, circus stops, +circus throws, circus steals—but particularly circus catches. That is +to say, he made easy plays appear difficult. He was always strutting, +posing, talking, arguing, quarreling—when he was not engaged in making +a grand-stand play. Reddy Clammer used every possible incident and +artifice to bring himself into the limelight. +</P> + +<P> +Reddie Ray had been the intercollegiate champion in the sprints and a +famous college ball player. After a few months of professional ball he +was hitting over .400 and leading the league both at bat and on the +bases. It was a beautiful and a thrilling sight to see him run. He +was so quick to start, so marvelously swift, so keen of judgment, that +neither Delaney nor any player could ever tell the hit that he was not +going to get. That was why Reddie Ray was a whole game in himself. +</P> + +<P> +Delaney's Rochester Stars and the Providence Grays were tied for first +place. Of the present series each team had won a game. Rivalry had +always been keen, and as the teams were about to enter the long +homestretch for the pennant there was battle in the New England air. +</P> + +<P> +The September day was perfect. The stands were half full and the +bleachers packed with a white-sleeved mass. And the field was +beautifully level and green. The Grays were practicing and the Stars +were on their bench. +</P> + +<P> +"We're up against it," Delaney was saying. "This new umpire, Fuller, +hasn't got it in for us. Oh, no, not at all! Believe me, he's a +robber. But Scott is pitchin' well. Won his last three games. He'll +bother 'em. And the three Reds have broken loose. They're on the +rampage. They'll burn up this place today." +</P> + +<P> +Somebody noted the absence of Gilbat. +</P> + +<P> +Delaney gave a sudden start. "Why, Gil was here," he said slowly. +"Lord!—he's about due for a nutty stunt." +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Delaney sent boys and players scurrying about to find Gilbat, +and Delaney went himself to ask the Providence manager to hold back the +gong for a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +Presently somebody brought Delaney a telephone message that Red Gilbat +was playing ball with some boys in a lot four blocks down the street. +When at length a couple of players marched up to the bench with Red in +tow Delaney uttered an immense sigh of relief and then, after a close +scrutiny of Red's face, he whispered, "Lock the gates!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the gong rang. The Grays trooped in. The Stars ran out, except +Gilbat, who ambled like a giraffe. The hum of conversation in the +grand stand quickened for a moment with the scraping of chairs, and +then grew quiet. The bleachers sent up the rollicking cry of +expectancy. The umpire threw out a white ball with his stentorian +"Play!" and Blake of the Grays strode to the plate. +</P> + +<P> +Hitting safely, he started the game with a rush. With Dorr up, the Star +infield played for a bunt. Like clockwork Dorr dumped the first ball as +Blake got his flying start for second base. Morrissey tore in for the +ball, got it on the run and snapped it underhand to Healy, beating the +runner by an inch. The fast Blake, with a long slide, made third base. +The stands stamped. The bleachers howled. White, next man up, batted +a high fly to left field. This was a sun field and the hardest to play +in the league. Red Gilbat was the only man who ever played it well. +He judged the fly, waited under it, took a step hack, then forward, and +deliberately caught the ball in his gloved hand. A throw-in to catch +the runner scoring from third base would have been futile, but it was +not like Red Gilbat to fail to try. He tossed the ball to O'Brien. +And Blake scored amid applause. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about that?" ejaculated Delaney, wiping his moist +face. "I never before saw our nutty Redhead pull off a play like that." +</P> + +<P> +Some of the players yelled at Red, "This is a two-handed league, you +bat!" +</P> + +<P> +The first five players on the list for the Grays were left-handed +batters, and against a right-handed pitcher whose most effective ball +for them was a high fast one over the outer corner they would naturally +hit toward left field. It was no surprise to see Hanley bat a +skyscraper out to left. Red had to run to get under it. He braced +himself rather unusually for a fielder. He tried to catch the ball in +his bare right hand and muffed it, Hanley got to second on the play +while the audience roared. When they got through there was some +roaring among the Rochester players. Scott and Captain Healy roared at +Red, and Red roared back at them. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all off. Red never did that before," cried Delaney in despair. +"He's gone clean bughouse now." +</P> + +<P> +Babcock was the next man up and he likewise hit to left. It was a low, +twisting ball—half fly, half liner—and a difficult one to field. +Gilbat ran with great bounds, and though he might have got two hands on +the ball he did not try, but this time caught it in his right, retiring +the side. +</P> + +<P> +The Stars trotted in, Scott and Healy and Kane, all veterans, looking +like thunderclouds. Red ambled in the last and he seemed very +nonchalant. +</P> + +<P> +"By Gosh, I'd 'a' ketched that one I muffed if I'd had time to change +hands," he said with a grin, and he exposed a handful of peanuts. He +had refused to drop the peanuts to make the catch with two hands. That +explained the mystery. It was funny, yet nobody laughed. There was +that run chalked up against the Stars, and this game had to be won. +</P> + +<P> +"Red, I—I want to take the team home in the lead," said Delaney, and +it was plain that he suppressed strong feeling. "You didn't play the +game, you know." +</P> + +<P> +Red appeared mightily ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"Del, I'll git that run back," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Then he strode to the plate, swinging his wagon-tongue bat. For all +his awkward position in the box he looked what he was—a formidable +hitter. He seemed to tower over the pitcher—Red was six feet one—and +he scowled and shook his bat at Wehying and called, "Put one over—you +wienerwurst!" Wehying was anything but red-headed, and he wasted so +many balls on Red that it looked as if he might pass him. He would +have passed him, too, if Red had not stepped over on the fourth ball +and swung on it. White at second base leaped high for the stinging +hit, and failed to reach it. The ball struck and bounded for the +fence. When Babcock fielded it in, Red was standing on third base, +and the bleachers groaned. +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Chesty Reddy Clammer proceeded to draw attention to himself, +and incidentally delay the game, by assorting the bats as if the +audience and the game might gladly wait years to see him make a choice. +</P> + +<P> +"Git in the game!" yelled Delaney. +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, take my bat, Duke of the Abrubsky!" sarcastically said Dump Kane. +When the grouchy Kane offered to lend his bat matters were critical in +the Star camp. +</P> + +<P> +Other retorts followed, which Reddy Clammer deigned not to notice. At +last he got a bat that suited him—and then, importantly, dramatically, +with his cap jauntily riding his red locks, he marched to the plate. +</P> + +<P> +Some wag in the bleachers yelled into the silence, "Oh, Maggie, your +lover has come!" +</P> + +<P> +Not improbably Clammer was thinking first of his presence before the +multitude, secondly of his batting average and thirdly of the run to be +scored. In this instance he waited and feinted at balls and fouled +strikes at length to work his base. When he got to first base suddenly +he bolted for second, and in the surprise of the unlooked-for play he +made it by a spread-eagle slide. It was a circus steal. +</P> + +<P> +Delaney snorted. Then the look of profound disgust vanished in a flash +of light. His huge face beamed. +</P> + +<P> +Reddie Ray was striding to the plate. +</P> + +<P> +There was something about Reddie Ray that pleased all the senses. His +lithe form seemed instinct with life; any sudden movement was +suggestive of stored lightning. His position at the plate was on the +left side, and he stood perfectly motionless, with just a hint of tense +waiting alertness. Dorr, Blake and Babcock, the outfielders for the +Grays, trotted round to the right of their usual position. Delaney +smiled derisively, as if he knew how futile it was to tell what field +Reddie Ray might hit into. Wehying, the old fox, warily eyed the +youngster, and threw him a high curve, close in. It grazed Reddie's +shirt, but he never moved a hair. Then Wehying, after the manner of +many veteran pitchers when trying out a new and menacing batter, drove +a straight fast ball at Reddie's head. Reddie ducked, neither too slow +nor too quick, just right to show what an eye he had, how hard it was +to pitch to. The next was a strike. And on the next he appeared to +step and swing in one action. There was a ringing rap, and the ball +shot toward right, curving down, a vicious, headed hit. Mallory, at +first base, snatched at it and found only the air. Babcock had only +time to take a few sharp steps, and then he plunged down, blocked the +hit and fought the twisting ball. Reddie turned first base, flitted on +toward second, went headlong in the dust, and shot to the base before +White got the throw-in from Babcock. Then, as White wheeled and lined +the ball home to catch the scoring Clammer, Reddie Ray leaped up, got +his sprinter's start and, like a rocket, was off for third. This time +he dove behind the base, sliding in a half circle, and as Hanley caught +Strickland's perfect throw and whirled with the ball, Reddie's hand +slid to the bag. +</P> + +<P> +Reddie got to his feet amid a rather breathless silence. Even the +coachers were quiet. There was a moment of relaxation, then Wehying +received the ball from Hanley and faced the batter. +</P> + +<P> +This was Dump Kane. There was a sign of some kind, almost +imperceptible, between Kane and Reddie. As Wehying half turned in his +swing to pitch, Reddie Ray bounded homeward. It was not so much the +boldness of his action as the amazing swiftness of it that held the +audience spellbound. Like a thunderbolt Reddie came down the line, +almost beating Wehying's pitch to the plate. But Kane's bat +intercepted the ball, laying it down, and Reddie scored without +sliding. Dorr, by sharp work, just managed to throw Kane out. +</P> + +<P> +Three runs so quick it was hard to tell how they had come. Not in the +major league could there have been faster work. And the ball had been +fielded perfectly and thrown perfectly. +</P> + +<P> +"There you are," said Delaney, hoarsely. "Can you beat it? If you've +been wonderin' how the cripped Stars won so many games just put what +you've seen in your pipe and smoke it. Red Gilbat gets on—Reddy +Clammer gets on—and then Reddie Ray drives them home or chases them +home." +</P> + +<P> +The game went on, and though it did not exactly drag it slowed down +considerably. Morrissey and Healy were retired on infield plays. And +the sides changed. For the Grays, O'Brien made a scratch hit, went to +second on Strickland's sacrifice, stole third and scored on Mallory's +infield out. Wehying missed three strikes. In the Stars' turn the +three end players on the batting list were easily disposed of. In the +third inning the clever Blake, aided by a base on balls and a hit +following, tied the score, and once more struck fire and brimstone from +the impatient bleachers. Providence was a town that had to have its +team win. +</P> + +<P> +"Git at 'em, Reds!" said Delaney gruffly. +</P> + +<P> +"Batter up!" called Umpire Fuller, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Red? Where's the bug? Where's the nut? Delaney, did you +lock the gates? Look under the bench!" These and other remarks, not +exactly elegant, attested to the mental processes of some of the Stars. +Red Gilbat did not appear to be forthcoming. There was an anxious +delay Capt. Healy searched for the missing player. Delaney did not say +any more. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly a door under the grand stand opened and Red Gilbat appeared. +He hurried for his bat and then up to the plate. And he never offered +to hit one of the balls Wehying shot over. When Fuller had called the +third strike Red hurried back to the door and disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Somethin' doin'," whispered Delaney. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Chesterfield Clammer paraded to the batter's box and, after +gradually surveying the field, as if picking out the exact place he +meant to drive the ball, he stepped to the plate. Then a roar from the +bleachers surprised him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be dog-goned!" exclaimed Delaney. "Red stole that sure as +shootin'." +</P> + +<P> +Red Gilbat was pushing a brand-new baby carriage toward the batter's +box. There was a tittering in the grand stand; another roar from the +bleachers. Clammer's face turned as red as his hair. Gilbat shoved +the baby carriage upon the plate, spread wide his long arms, made a +short presentation speech and an elaborate bow, then backed away. +</P> + +<P> +All eyes were centered on Clammer. If he had taken it right the +incident might have passed without undue hilarity. But Clammer became +absolutely wild with rage. It was well known that he was unmarried. +Equally well was it seen that Gilbat had executed one of his famous +tricks. Ball players were inclined to be dignified about the +presentation of gifts upon the field, and Clammer, the dude, the swell, +the lady's man, the favorite of the baseball gods—in his own +estimation—so far lost control of himself that he threw his bat at his +retreating tormentor. Red jumped high and the bat skipped along the +ground toward the bench. The players sidestepped and leaped and, of +course, the bat cracked one of Delaney's big shins. His eyes popped +with pain, but he could not stop laughing. One by one the players lay +down and rolled over and yelled. The superior Clammer was not +overliked by his co-players. +</P> + +<P> +From the grand stand floated the laughter of ladies and gentlemen. And +from the bleachers—that throne of the biting, ironic, scornful +fans—pealed up a howl of delight. It lasted for a full minute. Then, +as quiet ensued, some boy blew a blast of one of those infernal little +instruments of pipe and rubber balloon, and over the field wailed out a +shrill, high-keyed cry, an excellent imitation of a baby. Whereupon +the whole audience roared, and in discomfiture Reddy Clammer went in +search of his bat. +</P> + +<P> +To make his chagrin all the worse he ingloriously struck out. And then +he strode away under the lea of the grand-stand wall toward right field. +</P> + +<P> +Reddie Ray went to bat and, with the infield playing deep and the +outfield swung still farther round to the right, he bunted a little +teasing ball down the third-base line. Like a flash of light he had +crossed first base before Hanley got his hands on the ball. Then Kane +hit into second base, forcing Reddie out. +</P> + +<P> +Again the game assumed less spectacular and more ordinary play. Both +Scott and Wehying held the batters safely and allowed no runs. But in +the fifth inning, with the Stars at bat and two out, Red Gilbat again +electrified the field. He sprang up from somewhere and walked to the +plate, his long shape enfolded in a full-length linen duster. The +color and style of this garment might not have been especially +striking, but upon Red it had a weird and wonderful effect. Evidently +Red intended to bat while arrayed in his long coat, for he stepped into +the box and faced the pitcher. Capt. Healy yelled for him to take the +duster off. Likewise did the Grays yell. +</P> + +<P> +The bleachers shrieked their disapproval. To say the least, Red +Gilbat's crazy assurance was dampening to the ardor of the most blindly +confident fans. At length Umpire Fuller waved his hand, enjoining +silence and calling time. +</P> + +<P> +"Take it off or I'll fine you." +</P> + +<P> +From his lofty height Gilbat gazed down upon the little umpire, and it +was plain what he thought. +</P> + +<P> +"What do I care for money!" replied Red. +</P> + +<P> +"That costs you twenty-five," said Fuller. +</P> + +<P> +"Cigarette change!" yelled Red. +</P> + +<P> +"Costs you fifty." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah! Go to an eye doctor," roared Red. +</P> + +<P> +"Seventy-five," added Fuller, imperturbably. +</P> + +<P> +"Make it a hundred!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's two hundred." +</P> + +<P> +"ROB-B-BER!" bawled Red. +</P> + +<P> +Fuller showed willingness to overlook Red's back talk as well as +costume, and he called, "Play!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a mounting sensation of prophetic certainty. Old fox Wehying +appeared nervous. He wasted two balls on Red; then he put one over the +plate, and then he wasted another. Three balls and one strike! That +was a bad place for a pitcher, and with Red Gilbat up it was worse. +Wehying swung longer and harder to get all his left behind the throw +and let drive. Red lunged and cracked the ball. It went up and up and +kept going up and farther out, and as the murmuring audience was slowly +transfixed into late realization the ball soared to its height and +dropped beyond the left-field fence. A home run! +</P> + +<P> +Red Gilbat gathered up the tails of his duster, after the manner of a +neat woman crossing a muddy street, and ambled down to first base and +on to second, making prodigious jumps upon the bags, and round third, +to come down the home-stretch wagging his red head. Then he stood on +the plate, and, as if to exact revenge from the audience for the fun +they made of him, he threw back his shoulders and bellowed: "HAW! +HAW! HAW!" +</P> + +<P> +Not a handclap greeted him, but some mindless, exceedingly adventurous +fan yelled: "Redhead! Redhead! Redhead!" +</P> + +<P> +That was the one thing calculated to rouse Red Gilbat. He seemed to +flare, to bristle, and he paced for the bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +Delaney looked as if he might have a stroke. "Grab him! Soak him with +a bat! Somebody grab him!" +</P> + +<P> +But none of the Stars was risking so much, and Gilbat, to the howling +derision of the gleeful fans, reached the bleachers. He stretched his +long arms up to the fence and prepared to vault over. "Where's the guy +who called me redhead?" he yelled. +</P> + +<P> +That was heaping fuel on the fire. From all over the bleachers, from +everywhere, came the obnoxious word. Red heaved himself over the fence +and piled into the fans. Then followed the roar of many voices, the +tramping of many feet, the pressing forward of line after line of +shirt-sleeved men and boys. That bleacher stand suddenly assumed the +maelstrom appearance of a surging mob round an agitated center. In a +moment all the players rushed down the field, and confusion reigned. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Oh! Oh!" moaned Delaney. +</P> + +<P> +However, the game had to go on. Delaney, no doubt, felt all was over. +Nevertheless there were games occasionally that seemed an unending +series of unprecedented events. This one had begun admirably to break +a record. And the Providence fans, like all other fans, had cultivated +an appetite as the game proceeded. They were wild to put the other +redheads out of the field or at least out for the inning, wild to tie +the score, wild to win and wilder than all for more excitement. Clammer +hit safely. But when Reddie Ray lined to the second baseman, Clammer, +having taken a lead, was doubled up in the play. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, the sixth inning opened with the Stars playing only eight +men. There was another delay. Probably everybody except Delaney and +perhaps Healy had forgotten the Stars were short a man. Fuller called +time. The impatient bleachers barked for action. +</P> + +<P> +Capt. White came over to Delaney and courteously offered to lend a +player for the remaining innings. Then a pompous individual came out +of the door leading from the press boxes—he was a director Delaney +disliked. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess you'd better let Fuller call the game," he said brusquely. +</P> + +<P> +"If you want to—as the score stands now in our favor," replied Delaney. +</P> + +<P> +"Not on your life! It'll be ours or else we'll play it out and beat +you to death." +</P> + +<P> +He departed in high dudgeon. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Reddie to swing over a little toward left," was Delaney's order +to Healy. Fire gleamed in the manager's eye. +</P> + +<P> +Fuller called play then, with Reddy Clammer and Reddie Ray composing +the Star outfield. And the Grays evidently prepared to do great +execution through the wide lanes thus opened up. At that stage it +would not have been like matured ball players to try to crop hits down +into the infield. +</P> + +<P> +White sent a long fly back of Clammer. Reddy had no time to loaf on +this hit. It was all he could do to reach it and he made a splendid +catch, for which the crowd roundly applauded him. That applause was +wine to Reddy Clammer. He began to prance on his toes and sing out to +Scott: "Make 'em hit to me, old man! Make 'em hit to me!" Whether +Scott desired that or not was scarcely possible to say; at any rate, +Hanley pounded a hit through the infield. And Clammer, prancing high +in the air like a check-reined horse, ran to intercept the ball. He +could have received it in his hands, but that would never have served +Reddy Clammer. He timed the hit to a nicety, went down with his old +grand-stand play and blocked the ball with his anatomy. Delaney swore. +And the bleachers, now warm toward the gallant outfielder, lustily +cheered him. Babcock hit down the right-field foul line, giving +Clammer a long run. Hanley was scoring and Babcock was sprinting for +third base when Reddy got the ball. He had a fine arm and he made a +hard and accurate throw, catching his man in a close play. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps even Delaney could not have found any fault with that play. +But the aftermath spoiled the thing. Clammer now rode the air; he +soared; he was in the clouds; it was his inning and he had utterly +forgotten his team mates, except inasmuch as they were performing mere +little automatic movements to direct the great machinery in his +direction for his sole achievement and glory. +</P> + +<P> +There is fate in baseball as well as in other walks of life. O'Brien +was a strapping fellow and he lifted another ball into Clammer's wide +territory. The hit was of the high and far-away variety. Clammer +started to run with it, not like a grim outfielder, but like one +thinking of himself, his style, his opportunity, his inevitable +success. Certain it was that in thinking of himself the outfielder +forgot his surroundings. He ran across the foul line, head up, hair +flying, unheeding the warning cry from Healy. And, reaching up to make +his crowning circus play, he smashed face forward into the bleachers +fence. Then, limp as a rag, he dropped. The audience sent forth a +long groan of sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"That wasn't one of his stage falls," said Delaney. "I'll bet he's +dead.... Poor Reddy! And I want him to bust his face!" +</P> + +<P> +Clammer was carried off the field into the dressing room and a +physician was summoned out of the audience. +</P> + +<P> +"Cap., what'd it—do to him?" asked Delaney. +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, spoiled his pretty mug, that's all," replied Healy, scornfully. +"Mebee he'll listen to me now." +</P> + +<P> +Delaney's change was characteristic of the man. "Well, if it didn't +kill him I'm blamed glad he got it.... Cap, we can trim 'em yet. +Reddie Ray'll play the whole outfield. Give Reddie a chance to run! +Tell the boy to cut loose. And all of you git in the game. Win or +lose, I won't forget it. I've a hunch. Once in a while I can tell +what's comin' off. Some queer game this! And we're goin' to win. +Gilbat lost the game; Clammer throwed it away again, and now Reddie +Ray's due to win it.... I'm all in, but I wouldn't miss the finish +to save my life." +</P> + +<P> +Delaney's deep presaging sense of baseball events was never put to a +greater test. And the seven Stars, with the score tied, exhibited the +temper and timber of a championship team in the last ditch. It was so +splendid that almost instantly it caught the antagonistic bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +Wherever the tired Scott found renewed strength and speed was a +mystery. But he struck out the hard-hitting Providence catcher and +that made the third out. The Stars could not score in their half of +the inning. Likewise the seventh inning passed without a run for +either side; only the infield work of the Stars was something superb. +When the eighth inning ended, without a tally for either team, the +excitement grew tense. There was Reddy Ray playing outfield alone, and +the Grays with all their desperate endeavors had not lifted the ball +out of the infield. +</P> + +<P> +But in the ninth, Blake, the first man up, lined low toward right +center. The hit was safe and looked good for three bases. No one +looking, however, had calculated on Reddie's Ray's fleetness. He +covered ground and dove for the bounding ball and knocked it down. +Blake did not get beyond first base. The crowd cheered the play +equally with the prospect of a run. Dorr bunted and beat the throw. +White hit one of the high fast balls Scott was serving and sent it +close to the left-field foul line. The running Reddie Ray made on that +play held White at second base. But two runs had scored with no one +out. +</P> + +<P> +Hanley, the fourth left-handed hitter, came up and Scott pitched to him +as he had to the others—high fast balls over the inside corner of the +plate. Reddy Ray's position was some fifty yards behind deep short, +and a little toward center field. He stood sideways, facing two-thirds +of that vacant outfield. In spite of Scott's skill, Hanley swung the +ball far round into right field, but he hit it high, and almost before +he actually hit it the great sprinter was speeding across the green. +</P> + +<P> +The suspense grew almost unbearable as the ball soared in its parabolic +flight and the red-haired runner streaked dark across the green. The +ball seemed never to be coming down. And when it began to descend and +reached a point perhaps fifty feet above the ground there appeared more +distance between where it would alight and where Reddie was than +anything human could cover. It dropped and dropped, and then dropped +into Reddie Ray's outstretched hands. He had made the catch look easy. +But the fact that White scored from second base on the play showed what +the catch really was. +</P> + +<P> +There was no movement or restlessness of the audience such as usually +indicated the beginning of the exodus. Scott struck Babcock out. The +game still had fire. The Grays never let up a moment on their +coaching. And the hoarse voices of the Stars were grimmer than ever. +Reddie Ray was the only one of the seven who kept silent. And he +crouched like a tiger. +</P> + +<P> +The teams changed sides with the Grays three runs in the lead. +Morrissey, for the Stars, opened with a clean drive to right. Then +Healy slashed a ground ball to Hanley and nearly knocked him down. +When old Burns, by a hard rap to short, advanced the runners a base and +made a desperate, though unsuccessful, effort to reach first the +Providence crowd awoke to a strange and inspiring appreciation. They +began that most rare feature in baseball audiences—a strong and +trenchant call for the visiting team to win. +</P> + +<P> +The play had gone fast and furious. Wehying, sweaty and disheveled, +worked violently. All the Grays were on uneasy tiptoes. And the Stars +were seven Indians on the warpath. Halloran fouled down the +right-field line; then he fouled over the left-field fence. Wehying +tried to make him too anxious, but it was in vain. Halloran was +implacable. With two strikes and three balls he hit straight down to +white, and was out. The ball had been so sharp that neither runner on +base had a chance to advance. +</P> + +<P> +Two men out, two on base, Stars wanting three runs to tie, Scott, a +weak batter, at the plate! The situation was disheartening. Yet there +sat Delaney, shot through and through with some vital compelling force. +He saw only victory. And when the very first ball pitched to Scott hit +him on the leg, giving him his base, Delaney got to his feet, unsteady +and hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +Bases full, Reddie Ray up, three runs to tie! +</P> + +<P> +Delaney looked at Reddie. And Reddie looked at Delaney. The manager's +face was pale, intent, with a little smile. The player had eyes of +fire, a lean, bulging jaw and the hands he reached for his bat clutched +like talons. +</P> + +<P> +"Reddie, I knew it was waitin' for you," said Delaney, his voice +ringing. "Break up the game!" +</P> + +<P> +After all this was only a baseball game, and perhaps from the fans' +viewpoint a poor game at that. But the moment when that lithe, +redhaired athlete toed the plate was a beautiful one. The long crash +from the bleachers, the steady cheer from the grand stand, proved that +it was not so much the game that mattered. +</P> + +<P> +Wehying had shot his bolt; he was tired. Yet he made ready for a final +effort. It seemed that passing Reddie Ray on balls would have been a +wise play at that juncture. But no pitcher, probably, would have done +it with the bases crowded and chances, of course, against the batter. +</P> + +<P> +Clean and swift, Reddie leaped at the first pitched ball. Ping! For a +second no one saw the hit. Then it gleamed, a terrific drive, low +along the ground, like a bounding bullet, straight at Babcock in right +field. It struck his hands and glanced viciously away to roll toward +the fence. +</P> + +<P> +Thunder broke loose from the stands. Reddie Ray was turning first +base. Beyond first base he got into his wonderful stride. Some +runners run with a consistent speed, the best they can make for a given +distance. But this trained sprinter gathered speed as he ran. He was +no short-stepping runner. His strides were long. They gave an +impression of strength combined with fleetness. He had the speed of a +race horse, but the trimness, the raciness, the delicate legs were not +characteristic of him. Like the wind he turned second, so powerful +that his turn was short. All at once there came a difference in his +running. It was no longer beautiful. The grace was gone. It was now +fierce, violent. His momentum was running him off his legs. He +whirled around third base and came hurtling down the homestretch. His +face was convulsed, his eyes were wild. His arms and legs worked in a +marvelous muscular velocity. He seemed a demon—a flying streak. He +overtook and ran down the laboring Scott, who had almost reached the +plate. +</P> + +<P> +The park seemed full of shrill, piercing strife. It swelled, reached a +highest pitch, sustained that for a long moment, and then declined. +</P> + +<P> +"My Gawd!" exclaimed Delaney, as he fell back. "Wasn't that a finish? +Didn't I tell you to watch them redheads!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="rube"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RUBE +</H3> + +<P> +It was the most critical time I had yet experienced in my career as a +baseball manager. And there was more than the usual reason why I must +pull the team out. A chance for a business deal depended upon the +good-will of the stockholders of the Worcester club. On the outskirts +of the town was a little cottage that I wanted to buy, and this +depended upon the business deal. My whole future happiness depended +upon the little girl I hoped to install in that cottage. +</P> + +<P> +Coming to the Worcester Eastern League team, I had found a strong +aggregation and an enthusiastic following. I really had a team with +pennant possibilities. Providence was a strong rival, but I beat them +three straight in the opening series, set a fast pace, and likewise set +Worcester baseball mad. The Eastern League clubs were pretty evenly +matched; still I continued to hold the lead until misfortune overtook +me. +</P> + +<P> +Gregg smashed an umpire and had to be laid off. Mullaney got spiked +while sliding and was out of the game. Ashwell sprained his ankle and +Hirsch broke a finger. Radbourne, my great pitcher, hurt his arm on a +cold day and he could not get up his old speed. Stringer, who had +batted three hundred and seventy-one and led the league the year +before, struck a bad spell and could not hit a barn door handed up to +him. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the slump. The team suddenly let down; went to pieces; +played ball that would have disgraced an amateur nine. It was a trying +time. Here was a great team, strong everywhere. A little hard luck had +dug up a slump—and now! Day by day the team dropped in the race. When +we reached the second division the newspapers flayed us. Worcester +would never stand for a second division team. Baseball admirers, +reporters, fans—especially the fans—are fickle. The admirers quit, +the reporters grilled us, and the fans, though they stuck to the games +with that barnacle-like tenacity peculiar to them, made life miserable +for all of us. I saw the pennant slowly fading, and the successful +season, and the business deal, and the cottage, and Milly—— +</P> + +<P> +But when I thought of her I just could not see failure. Something must +be done, but what? I was at the end of my wits. When Jersey City beat +us that Saturday, eleven to two, shoving us down to fifth place with +only a few percentage points above the Fall River team, I grew +desperate, and locking my players in the dressing room I went after +them. They had lain down on me and needed a jar. I told them so +straight and flat, and being bitter, I did not pick and choose my words. +</P> + +<P> +"And fellows," I concluded, "you've got to brace. A little more of +this and we can't pull out. I tell you you're a championship team. We +had that pennant cinched. A few cuts and sprains and hard luck—and +you all quit! You lay down! I've been patient. I've plugged for you. +Never a man have I fined or thrown down. But now I'm at the end of my +string. I'm out to fine you now, and I'll release the first man who +shows the least yellow. I play no more substitutes. Crippled or not, +you guys have got to get in the game." +</P> + +<P> +I waited to catch my breath and expected some such outburst as managers +usually get from criticized players. But not a word! Then I addressed +some of them personally. +</P> + +<P> +"Gregg, your lay-off ends today. You play Monday. Mullaney, you've +drawn your salary for two weeks with that spiked foot. If you can't +run on it—well, all right, but I put it up to your good faith. I've +played the game and I know it's hard to run on a sore foot. But you +can do it. Ashwell, your ankle is lame, I know—now, can you run?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure I can. I'm not a quitter. I'm ready to go in," replied Ashwell. +</P> + +<P> +"Raddy, how about you?" I said, turning to my star twirler. +</P> + +<P> +"Connelly, I've seen as fast a team in as bad a rut and yet pull out," +returned Radbourne. "We're about due for the brace. When it +comes—look out! As for me, well, my arm isn't right, but it's acting +these warm days in a way that tells me it will be soon. It's been +worked too hard. Can't you get another pitcher? I'm not knocking Herne +or Cairns. They're good for their turn, but we need a new man to help +out. And he must be a crackerjack if we're to get back to the lead." +</P> + +<P> +"Where on earth can I find such a pitcher?" I shouted, almost +distracted. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's up to you," replied Radbourne. +</P> + +<P> +Up to me it certainly was, and I cudgeled my brains for inspiration. +After I had given up in hopelessness it came in the shape of a notice I +read in one of the papers. It was a brief mention of an amateur +Worcester ball team being shut out in a game with a Rickettsville nine. +Rickettsville played Sunday ball, which gave me an opportunity to look +them over. +</P> + +<P> +It took some train riding and then a journey by coach to get to +Rickettsville. I mingled with the crowd of talking rustics. There was +only one little "bleachers" and this was loaded to the danger point +with the feminine adherents of the teams. Most of the crowd centered +alongside and back of the catcher's box. I edged in and got a position +just behind the stone that served as home plate. +</P> + +<P> +Hunting up a player in this way was no new thing to me. I was too wise +to make myself known before I had sized up the merits of my man. So, +before the players came upon the field I amused myself watching the +rustic fans and listening to them. Then a roar announced the +appearance of the Rickettsville team and their opponents, who wore the +name of Spatsburg on their Canton flannel shirts. The uniforms of +these country amateurs would have put a Philadelphia Mummer's parade to +the blush, at least for bright colors. But after one amused glance I +got down to the stern business of the day, and that was to discover a +pitcher, and failing that, baseball talent of any kind. +</P> + +<P> +Never shall I forget my first glimpse of the Rickettsville twirler. He +was far over six feet tall and as lean as a fence rail. He had a great +shock of light hair, a sunburned, sharp-featured face, wide, sloping +shoulders, and arms enormously long. He was about as graceful and had +about as much of a baseball walk as a crippled cow. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a rube!" I ejaculated, in disgust and disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +But when I had seen him throw one ball to his catcher I grew as keen as +a fox on a scent. What speed he had! I got round closer to him and +watched him with sharp, eager eyes. He was a giant. To be sure, he +was lean, rawboned as a horse, but powerful. What won me at once was +his natural, easy swing. He got the ball away with scarcely any +effort. I wondered what he could do when he brought the motion of his +body into play. +</P> + +<P> +"Bub, what might be the pitcher's name?" I asked of a boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh, mister, his name might be Dennis, but it ain't. Huh!" replied +this country youngster. Evidently my question had thrown some +implication upon this particular player. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you be a stranger in these parts," said a pleasant old +fellow. "His name's Hurtle—Whitaker Hurtle. Whit fer short. He +hain't lost a gol-darned game this summer. No sir-ee! Never pitched +any before, nuther." +</P> + +<P> +Hurtle! What a remarkably fitting name! +</P> + +<P> +Rickettsville chose the field and the game began. Hurtle swung with his +easy motion. The ball shot across like a white bullet. It was a +strike, and so was the next, and the one succeeding. He could not +throw anything but strikes, and it seemed the Spatsburg players could +not make even a foul. +</P> + +<P> +Outside of Hurtle's work the game meant little to me. And I was so +fascinated by what I saw in him that I could hardly contain myself. +After the first few innings I no longer tried to. I yelled with the +Rickettsville rooters. The man was a wonder. A blind baseball manager +could have seen that. He had a straight ball, shoulder high, level as +a stretched string, and fast. He had a jump ball, which he evidently +worked by putting on a little more steam, and it was the speediest +thing I ever saw in the way of a shoot. He had a wide-sweeping +outcurve, wide as the blade of a mowing scythe. And he had a drop—an +unhittable drop. He did not use it often, for it made his catcher dig +too hard into the dirt. But whenever he did I glowed all over. Once +or twice he used an underhand motion and sent in a ball that fairly +swooped up. It could not have been hit with a board. And best of all, +dearest to the manager's heart, he had control. Every ball he threw +went over the plate. He could not miss it. To him that plate was as +big as a house. +</P> + +<P> +What a find! Already I had visions of the long-looked-for brace of my +team, and of the pennant, and the little cottage, and the happy light +of a pair of blue eyes. What he meant to me, that country pitcher +Hurtle! He shut out the Spatsburg team without a run or a hit or even +a scratch. Then I went after him. I collared him and his manager, and +there, surrounded by the gaping players, I bought him and signed him +before any of them knew exactly what I was about. I did not haggle. I +asked the manager what he wanted and produced the cash; I asked Hurtle +what he wanted, doubled his ridiculously modest demand, paid him in +advance, and got his name to the contract. Then I breathed a long, +deep breath; the first one for weeks. Something told me that with +Hurtle's signature in my pocket I had the Eastern League pennant. Then +I invited all concerned down to the Rickettsville hotel. +</P> + +<P> +We made connections at the railroad junction and reached Worcester at +midnight in time for a good sleep. I took the silent and backward +pitcher to my hotel. In the morning we had breakfast together. I +showed him about Worcester and then carried him off to the ball grounds. +</P> + +<P> +I had ordered morning practice, and as morning practice is not +conducive to the cheerfulness of ball players, I wanted to reach the +dressing room a little late. When we arrived, all the players had +dressed and were out on the field. I had some difficulty in fitting +Hurtle with a uniform, and when I did get him dressed he resembled a +two-legged giraffe decked out in white shirt, gray trousers and maroon +stockings. +</P> + +<P> +Spears, my veteran first baseman and captain of the team, was the first +to see us. +</P> + +<P> +"Sufferin' umpires!" yelled Spears. "Here, you Micks! Look at this +Con's got with him!" +</P> + +<P> +What a yell burst from that sore and disgruntled bunch of ball tossers! +My players were a grouchy set in practice anyway, and today they were +in their meanest mood. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, beanpole!" +</P> + +<P> +"Get on to the stilts!" +</P> + +<P> +"Con, where did you find that?" +</P> + +<P> +I cut short their chaffing with a sharp order for batting practice. +</P> + +<P> +"Regular line-up, now no monkey biz," I went on. "Take two cracks and +a bunt. Here, Hurtle," I said, drawing him toward the pitcher's box, +"don't pay any attention to their talk. That's only the fun of ball +players. Go in now and practice a little. Lam a few over." +</P> + +<P> +Hurtle's big freckled hands closed nervously over the ball. I thought +it best not to say more to him, for he had a rather wild look. I +remembered my own stage fright upon my first appearance in fast +company. Besides I knew what my amiable players would say to him. I +had a secret hope and belief that presently they would yell upon the +other side of the fence. +</P> + +<P> +McCall, my speedy little left fielder, led off at bat. He was full of +ginger, chipper as a squirrel, sarcastic as only a tried ball player +can be. +</P> + +<P> +"Put 'em over, Slats, put 'em over," he called, viciously swinging his +ash. +</P> + +<P> +Hurtle stood stiff and awkward in the box and seemed to be rolling +something in his mouth. Then he moved his arm. We all saw the ball +dart down straight—that is, all of us except McCall, because if he had +seen it he might have jumped out of the way. Crack! The ball hit him +on the shin. +</P> + +<P> +McCall shrieked. We all groaned. That crack hurt all of us. Any +baseball player knows how it hurts to be hit on the shinbone. McCall +waved his bat madly. +</P> + +<P> +"Rube! Rube! Rube!" he yelled. +</P> + +<P> +Then and there Hurtle got the name that was to cling to him all his +baseball days. +</P> + +<P> +McCall went back to the plate, red in the face, mad as a hornet, and he +sidestepped every time Rube pitched a ball. He never even ticked one +and retired in disgust, limping and swearing. Ashwell was next. He did +not show much alacrity. On Rube's first pitch down went Ashwell flat in +the dust. The ball whipped the hair of his head. Rube was wild and I +began to get worried. Ashwell hit a couple of measly punks, but when he +assayed a bunt the gang yelled derisively at him. +</P> + +<P> +"What's he got?" The old familiar cry of batters when facing a new +pitcher! +</P> + +<P> +Stringer went up, bold and formidable. That was what made him the +great hitter he was. He loved to bat; he would have faced anybody; he +would have faced even a cannon. New curves were a fascination to him. +And speed for him, in his own words, was "apple pie." In this +instance, surprise was in store for Stringer. Rube shot up the +straight one, then the wide curve, then the drop. Stringer missed them +all, struck out, fell down ignominiously. It was the first time he had +fanned that season and he looked dazed. We had to haul him away. +</P> + +<P> +I called off the practice, somewhat worried about Rube's showing, and +undecided whether or not to try him in the game that day. So I went to +Radbourne, who had quietly watched Rube while on the field. Raddy was +an old pitcher and had seen the rise of a hundred stars. I told him +about the game at Rickettsville and what I thought of Rube, and frankly +asked his opinion. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, you've made the find of your life," said Raddy, quietly and +deliberately. +</P> + +<P> +This from Radbourne was not only comforting; it was relief, hope, +assurance. I avoided Spears, for it would hardly be possible for him +to regard the Rube favorably, and I kept under cover until time to show +up at the grounds. +</P> + +<P> +Buffalo was on the ticket for that afternoon, and the Bisons were +leading the race and playing in topnotch form. I went into the +dressing room while the players were changing suits, because there was +a little unpleasantness that I wanted to spring on them before we got +on the field. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys," I said, curtly, "Hurtle works today. Cut loose, now, and back +him up." +</P> + +<P> +I had to grab a bat and pound on the wall to stop the uproar. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you mutts hear what I said? Well, it goes. Not a word, now. I'm +handling this team. We're in bad, I know, but it's my judgment to +pitch Hurtle, rube or no rube, and it's up to you to back us. That's +the baseball of it." +</P> + +<P> +Grumbling and muttering, they passed out of the dressing room. I knew +ball players. If Hurtle should happen to show good form they would +turn in a flash. Rube tagged reluctantly in their rear. He looked +like a man in a trance. I wanted to speak encouragingly to him, but +Raddy told me to keep quiet. +</P> + +<P> +It was inspiring to see my team practice that afternoon. There had +come a subtle change. I foresaw one of those baseball climaxes that +can be felt and seen, but not explained. Whether it was a hint of the +hoped-for brace, or only another flash of form before the final +let-down, I had no means to tell. But I was on edge. +</P> + +<P> +Carter, the umpire, called out the batteries, and I sent my team into +the field. When that long, lanky, awkward rustic started for the +pitcher's box, I thought the bleachers would make him drop in his +tracks. The fans were sore on any one those days, and a new pitcher +was bound to hear from them. +</P> + +<P> +"Where! Oh, where! Oh, where!" +</P> + +<P> +"Connelly's found another dead one!" +</P> + +<P> +"Scarecrow!" +</P> + +<P> +"Look at his pants!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pad his legs!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the inning began, and things happened. Rube had marvelous speed, +but he could not find the plate. He threw the ball the second he got +it; he hit men, walked men, and fell all over himself trying to field +bunts. The crowd stormed and railed and hissed. The Bisons pranced +round the bases and yelled like Indians. Finally they retired with +eight runs. +</P> + +<P> +Eight runs! Enough to win two games! I could not have told how it +happened. I was sick and all but crushed. Still I had a blind, dogged +faith in the big rustic. I believed he had not got started right. It +was a trying situation. I called Spears and Raddy to my side and +talked fast. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all off now. Let the dinged rube take his medicine," growled +Spears. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't take him out," said Raddy. "He's not shown at all what's in +him. The blamed hayseed is up in the air. He's crazy. He doesn't +know what he's doing. I tell you, Con, he may be scared to death, but +he's dead in earnest." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly I recalled the advice of the pleasant old fellow at +Rickettsville. +</P> + +<P> +"Spears, you're the captain," I said, sharply. "Go after the rube. +Wake him up. Tell him he can't pitch. Call him 'Pogie!' That's a +name that stirs him up." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be dinged! He looks it," replied Spears. "Here, Rube, get +off the bench. Come here." +</P> + +<P> +Rube lurched toward us. He seemed to be walking in his sleep. His +breast was laboring and he was dripping with sweat. +</P> + +<P> +"Who ever told you that you could pitch?" asked Spears genially. He +was master at baseball ridicule. I had never yet seen the youngster +who could stand his badinage. He said a few things, then wound up +with: "Come now, you cross between a hayrack and a wagon tongue, get +sore and do something. Pitch if you can. Show us! Do you hear, you +tow-headed Pogie!" +</P> + +<P> +Rube jumped as if he had been struck. His face flamed red and his +little eyes turned black. He shoved his big fist under Capt. Spears' +nose. +</P> + +<P> +"Mister, I'll lick you fer thet—after the game! And I'll show you +dog-goned well how I can pitch." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" exclaimed Raddy; and I echoed his word. Then I went to the +bench and turned my attention to the game. Some one told me that +McCall had made a couple of fouls, and after waiting for two strikes +and three balls had struck out. Ashwell had beat out a bunt in his old +swift style, and Stringer was walking up to the plate on the moment. +It was interesting, even in a losing game, to see Stringer go to bat. +We all watched him, as we had been watching him for weeks, expecting +him to break his slump with one of the drives that had made him famous. +Stringer stood to the left side of the plate, and I could see the bulge +of his closely locked jaw. He swung on the first pitched ball. With +the solid rap we all rose to watch that hit. The ball lined first, +then soared and did not begin to drop till it was far beyond the +right-field fence. For an instant we were all still, so were the +bleachers. Stringer had broken his slump with the longest drive ever +made on the grounds. The crowd cheered as he trotted around the bases +behind Ashwell. Two runs. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, how'd you like that drive?" he asked me, with a bright gleam in +his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"O-h-!—a beaut!" I replied, incoherently. The players on the bench +were all as glad as I was. Henley flew out to left. Mullaney smashed a +two-bagger to right. Then Gregg hit safely, but Mullaney, in trying to +score on the play, was out at the plate. +</P> + +<P> +"Four hits! I tell you fellows, something's coming off," said Raddy. +"Now, if only Rube——" +</P> + +<P> +What a difference there was in that long rustic! He stalked into the +box, unmindful of the hooting crowd and grimly faced Schultz, the first +batter up for the Bisons. This time Rube was deliberate. And where he +had not swung before he now got his body and arm into full motion. The +ball came in like a glint of light. Schultz looked surprised. The +umpire called "Strike!" +</P> + +<P> +"Wow!" yelled the Buffalo coacher. Rube sped up the sidewheeler and +Schultz reached wide to meet it and failed. The third was the +lightning drop, straight over the plate. The batter poked weakly at +it. Then Carl struck out and Manning following, did likewise. Three +of the best hitters in the Eastern retired on nine strikes! That was +no fluke. I knew what it meant, and I sat there hugging myself with +the hum of something joyous in my ears. +</P> + +<P> +Gregg had a glow on his sweaty face. "Oh, but say, boys, take a tip +from me! The Rube's a world beater! Raddy knew it; he sized up that +swing, and now I know it. Get wise, you its!" +</P> + +<P> +When old Spears pasted a single through shortstop, the Buffalo manager +took Clary out of the box and put in Vane, their best pitcher. Bogart +advanced the runner to second, but was thrown out on the play. Then +Rube came up. He swung a huge bat and loomed over the Bison's twirler. +Rube had the look of a hitter. He seemed to be holding himself back +from walking right into the ball. And he hit one high and far away. +The fast Carl could not get under it, though he made a valiant effort. +Spears scored and Rube's long strides carried him to third. The cold +crowd in the stands came to life; even the sore bleachers opened up. +McCall dumped a slow teaser down the line, a hit that would easily have +scored Rube, but he ran a little way, then stopped, tried to get back, +and was easily touched out. Ashwell's hard chance gave the Bison's +shortstop an error, and Stringer came up with two men on bases. +Stringer hit a foul over the right-field fence and the crowd howled. +Then he hit a hard long drive straight into the centerfielder's hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, I don't know what to think, but ding me if we ain't hittin' the +ball," said Spears. Then to his players: "A little more of that and +we're back in our old shape. All in a minute—at 'em now! Rube, you +dinged old Pogie, pitch!" +</P> + +<P> +Rube toed the rubber, wrapped his long brown fingers round the ball, +stepped out as he swung and—zing! That inning he unloosed a few more +kinks in his arm and he tried some new balls upon the Bisons. But +whatever he used and wherever he put them the result was the same—they +cut the plate and the Bisons were powerless. +</P> + +<P> +That inning marked the change in my team. They had come hack. The +hoodoo had vanished. The championship Worcester team was itself again. +</P> + +<P> +The Bisons were fighting, too, but Rube had them helpless. When they +did hit a ball one of my infielders snapped it up. No chances went to +the outfield. I sat there listening to my men, and reveled in a moment +that I had long prayed for. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're pitching some, Rube. Another strike! Get him a board!" +called Ashwell. +</P> + +<P> +"Ding 'em, Rube, ding 'em!" came from Capt. Spears. +</P> + +<P> +"Speed? Oh-no!" yelled Bogart at third base. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all off, Rube! It's all off—all off!" +</P> + +<P> +So, with the wonderful pitching of an angry rube, the Worcester team +came into its own again. I sat through it all without another word; +without giving a signal. In a way I realized the awakening of the +bleachers, and heard the pound of feet and the crash, but it was the +spirit of my team that thrilled me. Next to that the work of my new +find absorbed me. I gloated over his easy, deceiving swing. I rose +out of my seat when he threw that straight fast ball, swift as a +bullet, true as a plumb line. And when those hard-hitting, sure +bunting Bisons chopped in vain at the wonderful drop, I choked back a +wild yell. For Rube meant the world to me that day. +</P> + +<P> +In the eighth the score was 8 to 6. The Bisons had one scratch hit to +their credit, but not a runner had got beyond first base. Again Rube +held them safely, one man striking out, another fouling out, and the +third going out on a little fly. +</P> + +<P> +Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! The bleachers were making up for many +games in which they could not express their riotous feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a cinch we'll win!" yelled a fan with a voice. Rube was the +first man up in our half of the ninth and his big bat lammed the first +ball safe over second base. The crowd, hungry for victory, got to +their feet and stayed upon their feet, calling, cheering for runs. It +was the moment for me to get in the game, and I leaped up, strung like +a wire, and white hot with inspiration. I sent Spears to the coaching +box with orders to make Rube run on the first ball. I gripped McCall +with hands that made him wince. +</P> + +<P> +Then I dropped back on the bench spent and panting. It was only a +game, yet it meant so much! Little McCall was dark as a thunder cloud, +and his fiery eyes snapped. He was the fastest man in the league, and +could have bunted an arrow from a bow. The foxy Bison third baseman +edged in. Mac feinted to bunt toward him then turned his bat inward +and dumped a teasing curving ball down the first base line. Rube ran +as if in seven-league boots. Mac's short legs twinkled; he went like +the wind; he leaped into first base with his long slide, and beat the +throw. +</P> + +<P> +The stands and bleachers seemed to be tumbling down. For a moment the +air was full of deafening sound. Then came the pause, the dying away +of clatter and roar, the close waiting, suspended quiet. Spears' clear +voice, as he coached Rube, in its keen note seemed inevitable of +another run. +</P> + +<P> +Ashwell took his stand. He was another left-hand hitter, and against a +right-hand pitcher, in such circumstances as these, the most dangerous +of men. Vane knew it. Ellis, the Bison captain knew it, as showed +plainly in his signal to catch Rube at second. But Spears' warning +held or frightened Rube on the bag. +</P> + +<P> +Vane wasted a ball, then another. Ashwell could not be coaxed. +Wearily Vane swung; the shortstop raced out to get in line for a +possible hit through the wide space to his right, and the second +baseman got on his toes as both base runners started. +</P> + +<P> +Crack! The old story of the hit and run game! Ashwell's hit crossed +sharply where a moment before the shortstop had been standing. With +gigantic strides Rube rounded the corner and scored. McCall flitted +through second, and diving into third with a cloud of dust, got the +umpire's decision. When Stringer hurried up with Mac on third and Ash +on first the whole field seemed racked in a deafening storm. Again it +subsided quickly. The hopes of the Worcester fans had been crushed too +often of late for them to be fearless. +</P> + +<P> +But I had no fear. I only wanted the suspense ended. I was like a man +clamped in a vise. Stringer stood motionless. Mac bent low with the +sprinters' stoop; Ash watched the pitcher's arm and slowly edged off +first. Stringer waited for one strike and two balls, then he hit the +next. It hugged the first base line, bounced fiercely past the bag and +skipped over the grass to bump hard into the fence. McCall romped +home, and lame Ashwell beat any run he ever made to the plate. Rolling, +swelling, crashing roar of frenzied feet could not down the high +piercing sustained yell of the fans. It was great. Three weeks of +submerged bottled baseball joy exploded in one mad outburst! The fans, +too, had come into their own again. +</P> + +<P> +We scored no more. But the Bisons were beaten. Their spirit was +broken. This did not make the Rube let up in their last half inning. +Grim and pale he faced them. At every long step and swing he tossed +his shock of light hair. At the end he was even stronger than at the +beginning. He still had the glancing, floating airy quality that +baseball players call speed. And he struck out the last three batters. +</P> + +<P> +In the tumult that burst over my ears I sat staring at the dots on my +score card. Fourteen strike outs! one scratch hit! No base on balls +since the first inning! That told the story which deadened senses +doubted. There was a roar in my ears. Some one was pounding me. As I +struggled to get into the dressing room the crowd mobbed me. But I did +not hear what they yelled. I had a kind of misty veil before my eyes, +in which I saw that lanky Rube magnified into a glorious figure. I saw +the pennant waving, and the gleam of a white cottage through the trees, +and a trim figure waiting at the gate. Then I rolled into the dressing +room. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow it seemed strange to me. Most of the players were stretched +out in peculiar convulsions. Old Spears sat with drooping head. Then a +wild flaming-eyed giant swooped upon me. With a voice of thunder he +announced: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-goin' to lick you, too!" +</P> + +<P> +After that we never called him any name except Rube. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="pennant"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RUBE'S PENNANT +</H3> + +<P> +"Fellows, it's this way. You've got to win today's game. It's the +last of the season and means the pennant for Worcester. One more hard +scrap and we're done! Of all the up-hill fights any bunch ever made to +land the flag, our has been the best. You're the best team I ever +managed, the gamest gang of ball players that ever stepped in spikes. +We've played in the hardest kind of luck all season, except that short +trip we called the Rube's Honeymoon. We got a bad start, and sore arms +and busted fingers, all kinds of injuries, every accident calculated to +hurt a team's chances, came our way. But in spite of it all we got the +lead and we've held it, and today we're still a few points ahead of +Buffalo." +</P> + +<P> +I paused to catch my breath, and looked round on the grim, tired faces +of my players. They made a stern group. The close of the season found +them almost played out. What a hard chance it was, after their +extraordinary efforts, to bring the issue of the pennant down to this +last game! +</P> + +<P> +"If we lose today, Buffalo, with three games more to play at home, will +pull the bunting," I went on. "But they're not going to win! I'm +putting it up to you that way. I know Spears is all in; Raddy's arm is +gone; Ash is playing on one leg; you're all crippled. But you've got +one more game in you, I know. These last few weeks the Rube has been +pitching out of turn and he's about all in, too. He's kept us in the +lead. If he wins today it'll be Rube's Pennant. But that might apply +to all of you. Now, shall we talk over the play today? Any tricks to +pull off? Any inside work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Con, you're pretty much upset an' nervous," replied Spears, soberly. +"It ain't no wonder. This has been one corker of a season. I want to +suggest that you let me run the team today. I've talked over the play +with the fellers. We ain't goin' to lose this game, Con. Buffalo has +been comin' with a rush lately, an' they're confident. But we've been +holdin' in, restin' up as much as we dared an' still keep our lead. +Mebbee it'll surprise you to know we've bet every dollar we could get +hold of on this game. Why, Buffalo money is everywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Spears, I'll turn the team over to you. We've got the +banner crowd of the year out there right now, a great crowd to play +before. I'm more fussed up over this game than any I remember. But I +have a sort of blind faith in my team.... I guess that's all I want +to say." +</P> + +<P> +Spears led the silent players out of the dressing room and I followed; +and while they began to toss balls to and fro, to limber up cold, dead +arms, I sat on the bench. +</P> + +<P> +The Bisons were prancing about the diamond, and their swaggering +assurance was not conducive to hope for the Worcesters. I wondered how +many of that vast, noisy audience, intent on the day's sport, even had +a thought of what pain and toil it meant to my players. The Buffalo +men were in good shape; they had been lucky; they were at the top of +their stride, and that made all the difference. +</P> + +<P> +At any rate, there were a few faithful little women in the grand +stand—Milly and Nan and Rose Stringer and Kate Bogart—who sat with +compressed lips and hoped and prayed for that game to begin and end. +</P> + +<P> +The gong called off the practice, and Spears, taking the field, yelled +gruff encouragement to his men. Umpire Carter brushed off the plate +and tossed a white ball to Rube and called: "Play!" The bleachers set +up an exultant, satisfied shout and sat down to wait. +</P> + +<P> +Schultz toed the plate and watched the Rube pitch a couple. There +seemed to be no diminution of the great pitcher's speed and both balls +cut the plate. Schultz clipped the next one down the third-base Line. +Bogart trapped it close to the bag, and got it away underhand, beating +the speedy runner by a nose. It was a pretty play to start with, and +the spectators were not close-mouthed in appreciation. The short, +stocky Carl ambled up to bat, and I heard him call the Rube something. +It was not a friendly contest, this deciding game between Buffalo and +Worcester. +</P> + +<P> +"Bing one close to his swelled nut!" growled Spears to the Rube. +</P> + +<P> +Carl chopped a bouncing grounder through short and Ash was after it +like a tiger, but it was a hit. The Buffalo contingent opened up. +Then Manning faced the Rube, and he, too, vented sarcasm. It might not +have been heard by the slow, imperturbable pitcher for all the notice +he took. Carl edged off first, slid back twice, got a third start, and +on the Rube's pitch was off for second base with the lead that always +made him dangerous. Manning swung vainly, and Gregg snapped a throw to +Mullaney. Ball and runner got to the bag apparently simultaneously; +the umpire called Carl out, and the crowd uttered a quick roar of +delight. +</P> + +<P> +The next pitch to Manning was a strike. Rube was not wasting any +balls, a point I noted with mingled fear and satisfaction. For he +might have felt that he had no strength to spare that day and so could +not try to work the batters. Again he swung, and Manning rapped a long +line fly over McCall. As the little left fielder turned at the sound +of the hit and sprinted out, his lameness was certainly not in +evidence. He was the swiftest runner in the league and always when he +got going the crowd rose in wild clamor to watch him. Mac took that fly +right off the foul flag in deep left, and the bleachers dinned their +pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +The teams changed positions. "Fellers," said Spears, savagely, "we may +be a bunged-up lot of stiffs, but, say! We can hit! If you love your +old captain—sting the ball!" +</P> + +<P> +Vane, the Bison pitcher, surely had his work cut out for him. For one +sympathetic moment I saw his part through his eyes. My Worcester +veterans, long used to being under fire, were relentlessly bent on +taking that game. It showed in many ways, particularly in their +silence, because they were seldom a silent team. McCall hesitated a +moment over his bats. Then, as he picked up the lightest one, I saw +his jaw set, and I knew he intended to bunt. He was lame, yet he meant +to beat out an infield hit. He went up scowling. +</P> + +<P> +Vane had an old head, and he had a varied assortment of balls. For Mac +he used an under hand curve, rising at the plate and curving in to the +left-hander. Mac stepped back and let it go. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the place, Bo," cried the Buffalo infielders. "Keep 'em close +on the Crab." Eager and fierce as McCall was, he let pitch after pitch +go by till he had three balls and two strikes. Still the heady Vane +sent up another pitch similar to the others. Mac stepped forward in +the box, dropped his bat on the ball, and leaped down the line toward +first base. Vane came rushing in for the bunt, got it and threw. But +as the speeding ball neared the baseman, Mac stretched out into the air +and shot for the bag. By a fraction of a second he beat the ball. It +was one of his demon-slides. He knew that the chances favored his +being crippled; we all knew that some day Mac would slide recklessly +once too often. But that, too, is all in the game and in the spirit of +a great player. +</P> + +<P> +"We're on," said Spears; "now keep with him." +</P> + +<P> +By that the captain meant that Mac would go down, and Ashwell would hit +with the run. +</P> + +<P> +When Vane pitched, little McCall was flitting toward second. The Bison +shortstop started for the bag, and Ash hit square through his tracks. A +rolling cheer burst from the bleachers, and swelled till McCall overran +third base and was thrown back by the coacher. Stringer hurried +forward with his big bat. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! My!" yelled a fan, and he voiced my sentiments exactly. Here we +would score, and be one run closer to that dearly bought pennant. +</P> + +<P> +How well my men worked together! As the pitcher let the ball go, Ash +was digging for second and Mac was shooting plateward. They played on +the chance of Stringer's hitting. Stringer swung, the bat cracked, we +heard a thud somewhere, and then Manning, half knocked over, was +fumbling for the ball. He had knocked down a terrific drive with his +mitt, and he got the ball in time to put Stringer out. But Mac scored +and Ash drew a throw to third base and beat it. He had a bad ankle, +but no one noticed it in that daring run. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch me paste one!" said Captain Spears, as he spat several yards. +He batted out a fly so long and high and far that, slow as he was, he +had nearly run to second base when Carl made the catch. Ash easily +scored on the throw-in. Then Bogart sent one skipping over second, and +Treadwell, scooping it on the run, completed a play that showed why he +was considered the star of the Bison infield. +</P> + +<P> +"Two runs, fellers!" said Spears. "That's some! Push 'em over, Rube." +</P> + +<P> +The second inning somewhat quickened the pace. Even the Rube worked a +little faster. Ellis lined to Cairns in right; Treadwell fouled two +balls and had a called strike, and was out; McKnight hit a low fly over +short, then Bud Wiler sent one between Spears and Mullaney. Spears +went for it while the Rube with giant strides ran to cover first base. +Between them they got Bud, but it was only because he was heavy and +slow on his feet. +</P> + +<P> +In our half of that inning Mullaney, Gregg and Cairns went out in one, +two, three order. +</P> + +<P> +With Pannell up, I saw that the Rube held in on his speed, or else he +was tiring. Pannell hit the second slow ball for two bases. Vane +sacrificed, and then the redoubtable Schultz came up. He appeared to be +in no hurry to bat. Then I saw that the foxy Buffalo players were +working to tire the Rube. They had the situation figured. But they +were no wiser than old Spears. +</P> + +<P> +"Make 'em hit, Rube. Push 'em straight over. Never mind the corners. +We don't care for a few runs. We'll hit this game out." +</P> + +<P> +Shultz flied to Mac, who made a beautiful throw to the plate too late +to catch Pannell. Carl deliberately bunted to the right of the Rube +and it cost the big pitcher strenuous effort to catch his man. +</P> + +<P> +"We got the Rube waggin'!" yelled a Buffalo player. +</P> + +<P> +Manning tripled down the left foul line—a hit the bleachers called a +screamer. When Ellis came up, it looked like a tie score, and when the +Rube pitched it was plain that he was tired. The Bisons yelled their +assurance of this and the audience settled into quiet. Ellis batted a +scorcher that looked good for a hit. But the fast Ashwell was moving +with the ball, and he plunged lengthwise to get it square in his glove. +The hit had been so sharp that he had time to get up and make the throw +to beat the runner. The bleachers thundered at the play. +</P> + +<P> +"You're up, Rube," called Spears. "Lam one out of the lot!" +</P> + +<P> +The Rube was an uncertain batter. There was never any telling what he +might do, for he had spells of good and bad hitting. But when he did +get his bat on the ball it meant a chase for some fielder. He went up +swinging his huge club, and he hit a fly that would have been an easy +home run for a fast man. But the best Rube could do was to reach third +base. This was certainly good enough, as the bleachers loudly +proclaimed, and another tally for us seemed sure. +</P> + +<P> +McCall bunted toward third, another of his teasers. The Rube would +surely have scored had he started with the ball, but he did not try and +missed a chance. Wiler, of course, held the ball, and Mac got to first +without special effort. He went down on the first pitch. Then Ash +lined to Carl. The Rube waited till the ball was caught and started +for home. The crowd screamed, the Rube ran for all he was worth and +Carl's throw to the plate shot in low and true. Ellis blocked the Rube +and tagged him out. +</P> + +<P> +It looked to the bleachers as if Ellis had been unnecessarily rough, +and they hissed and stormed disapproval. As for me, I knew the Bisons +were losing no chance to wear out my pitcher. Stringer fouled out with +Mac on third, and it made him so angry that he threw his bat toward the +bench, making some of the boys skip lively. +</P> + +<P> +The next three innings, as far as scoring was concerned, were all for +Buffalo. But the Worcester infield played magnificent ball, holding +their opponents to one run each inning. +</P> + +<P> +That made the score 4 to 2 in favor of Buffalo. +</P> + +<P> +In the last half of the sixth, with Ash on first base and two men out, +old Spears hit another of his lofty flies, and this one went over the +fence and tied the score. How the bleachers roared! It was full two +minutes before they quieted down. To make it all the more exciting, +Bogart hit safely, ran like a deer to third on Mullaney's grounder, +which Wiler knocked down, and scored on a passed ball. Gregg ended the +inning by striking out. +</P> + +<P> +"Get at the Rube!" boomed Ellis, the Bison captain. "We'll have him up +in the air soon. Get in the game now, you stickers!" +</P> + +<P> +Before I knew what had happened, the Bisons had again tied the score. +They were indomitable. They grew stronger all the time. A stroke of +good luck now would clinch the game for them. The Rube was beginning to +labor in the box; Ashwell was limping; Spears looked as if he would +drop any moment; McCall could scarcely walk. But if the ball came his +way he could still run. Nevertheless, I never saw any finer fielding +than these cripped players executed that inning. +</P> + +<P> +"Ash—Mac—can you hold out?" I asked, when they limped in. I received +glances of scorn for my question. Spears, however, was not sanguine. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll stick pretty much if somethin' doesn't happen," he said; "but I'm +all in. I'll need a runner if I get to first this time." +</P> + +<P> +Spears lumbered down to first base on an infield hit and the heavy +Manning gave him the hip. Old Spears went down, and I for one knew he +was out in more ways than that signified by Carter's sharp: "Out!" +</P> + +<P> +The old war-horse gathered himself up slowly and painfully, and with +his arms folded and his jaw protruding, he limped toward the umpire. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you call me out?" he asked, in a voice plainly audible to any one +on the field. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," snapped Carter. +</P> + +<P> +"What for? I beat the ball, an' Mannin' played dirty with me—gave me +the hip." +</P> + +<P> +"I called you out." +</P> + +<P> +"But I wasn't out!" +</P> + +<P> +"Shut up now! Get off the diamond!" ordered Carter, peremptorily. +</P> + +<P> +"What? Me? Say, I'm captain of this team. Can't I question a +decision?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not mine. Spears, you're delaying the game." +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you it was a rotten decision," yelled Spears. The bleachers +agreed with him. +</P> + +<P> +Carter grew red in the face. He and Spears had before then met in +field squabbles, and he showed it. +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty dollars!" +</P> + +<P> +"More! You cheap-skate you piker! More!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a hundred!" +</P> + +<P> +"Put me out of the game!" roared Spears. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet! Hurry now—skedaddle!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rob-b-ber!" bawled Spears. +</P> + +<P> +Then he labored slowly toward the bench, all red, and yet with +perspiration, his demeanor one of outraged dignity. The great crowd, +as one man, stood up and yelled hoarsely at Carter, and hissed and +railed at him. When Spears got to the bench he sat down beside me as +if in pain, but he was smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, I was all in, an' knowin' I couldn't play any longer, thought I'd +try to scare Carter. Say, he was white in the face. If we play into a +close decision now, he'll give it to us." +</P> + +<P> +Bogart and Mullaney batted out in short order, and once more the +aggressive Bisons hurried in for their turn. Spears sent Cairns to +first base and Jones to right. The Rube lobbed up his slow ball. In +that tight pinch he showed his splendid nerve. Two Buffalo players, +over-anxious, popped up flies. The Rube kept on pitching the slow +curve until it was hit safely. Then heaving his shoulders with all his +might he got all the motion possible into his swing and let drive. He +had almost all of his old speed, but it hurt me to see him work with +such desperate effort. He struck Wiler out. +</P> + +<P> +He came stooping into the bench, apparently deaf to the stunning round +of applause. Every player on the team had a word for the Rube. There +was no quitting in that bunch, and if I ever saw victory on the stern +faces of ball players it was in that moment. +</P> + +<P> +"We haven't opened up yet. Mebbee this is the innin'. If it ain't, +the next is," said Spears. +</P> + +<P> +With the weak end of the batting list up, there seemed little hope of +getting a run on Vane that inning. He had so much confidence that he +put the ball over for Gregg, who hit out of the reach of the infield. +Again Vane sent up his straight ball, no doubt expecting Cairns to hit +into a double play. But Cairns surprised Vane and everybody else by +poking a safety past first base. The fans began to howl and pound and +whistle. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube strode to bat. The infield closed in for a bunt, but the Rube +had no orders for that style of play. Spears had said nothing to him. +Vane lost his nonchalance and settled down. He cut loose with all his +speed. Rube stepped out, suddenly whirled, then tried to dodge, but +the ball hit him fair in the back. Rube sagged in his tracks, then +straightened up, and walked slowly to first base. Score 5 to 5, bases +full, no outs, McCall at bat. I sat dumb on the bench, thrilling and +shivering. McCall! Ashwell! Stringer to bat! +</P> + +<P> +"Play it safe! Hold the bags!" yelled the coacher. +</P> + +<P> +McCall fairly spouted defiance as he faced Vane. +</P> + +<P> +"Pitch! It's all off! An' you know it!" +</P> + +<P> +If Vane knew that, he showed no evidence of it. His face was cold, +unsmiling, rigid. He had to pitch to McCall, the fastest man in the +league; to Ashwell, the best bunter; to Stringer, the champion batter. +It was a supreme test for a great pitcher. There was only one kind of +a ball that McCall was not sure to hit, and that was a high curve, in +close. Vane threw it with all his power. Carter called it a strike. +Again Vane swung and his arm fairly cracked. Mac fouled the ball. The +third was wide. Slowly, with lifting breast, Vane got ready, whirled +savagely and shot up the ball. McCall struck out. +</P> + +<P> +As the Buffalo players crowed and the audience groaned it was worthy of +note that little McCall showed no temper. Yet he had failed to grasp a +great opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +"Ash, I couldn't see 'em," he said, as he passed to the bench. "Speed, +whew! look out for it. He's been savin' up. Hit quick, an' you'll get +him." +</P> + +<P> +Ashwell bent over the plate and glowered at Vane. +</P> + +<P> +"Pitch! It's all off! An' you know it!" he hissed, using Mac's words. +</P> + +<P> +Ashwell, too, was left-handed; he, too, was extremely hard to pitch to; +and if he had a weakness that any of us ever discovered, it was a slow +curve and change of pace. But I doubted if Vane would dare to use slow +balls to Ash at that critical moment. I had yet to learn something of +Vane. He gave Ash a slow, wide-sweeping sidewheeler, that curved round +over the plate. Ash always took a strike, so this did not matter. +Then Vane used his deceptive change of pace, sending up a curve that +just missed Ash's bat as he swung. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! A-h-h! hit!" wailed the bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +Vane doubled up like a contortionist, and shot up a lightning-swift +drop that fooled Ash completely. Again the crowd groaned. Score tied, +bases full, two out, Stringer at bat! +</P> + +<P> +"It's up to you, String," called Ash, stepping aside. +</P> + +<P> +Stringer did not call out to Vane. That was not his way. He stood +tense and alert, bat on his shoulder, his powerful form braced, and he +waited. The outfielders trotted over toward right field, and the +infielders played deep, calling out warnings and encouragement to the +pitcher. Stringer had no weakness, and Vane knew this. Nevertheless he +did not manifest any uneasiness, and pitched the first ball without any +extra motion. Carter called it a strike. I saw Stringer sink down +slightly and grow tenser all over. I believe that moment was longer +for me than for either the pitcher or the batter. Vane took his time, +watched the base runners, feinted to throw to catch them, and then +delivered the ball toward the plate with the limit of his power. +</P> + +<P> +Stringer hit the ball. As long as I live, I will see that glancing low +liner. Shultz, by a wonderful play in deep center, blocked the ball +and thereby saved it from being a home run. But when Stringer stopped +on second base, all the runners had scored. +</P> + +<P> +A shrill, shrieking, high-pitched yell! The bleachers threatened to +destroy the stands and also their throats in one long revel of baseball +madness. +</P> + +<P> +Jones, batting in place of Spears, had gone up and fouled out before +the uproar had subsided. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, I reckon I feel easier," said the Rube. It was the only time +I had ever heard him speak to the players at such a stage. +</P> + +<P> +"Only six batters, Rube," called out Spears. "Boys, it's a grand game, +an' it's our'n!" +</P> + +<P> +The Rube had enough that inning to dispose of the lower half of the +Buffalo list without any alarming bids for a run. And in our half, +Bogart and Mullaney hit vicious ground balls that gave Treadwell and +Wiler opportunities for superb plays. Carl, likewise, made a beautiful +running catch of Gregg's line fly. The Bisons were still in the game, +still capable of pulling it out at the last moment. +</P> + +<P> +When Shultz stalked up to the plate I shut my eyes a moment, and so +still was it that the field and stands might have been empty. Yet, +though I tried, I could not keep my eyes closed. I opened them to +watch the Rube. I knew Spears felt the same as I, for he was blowing +like a porpoise and muttering to himself: "Mebee the Rube won't last +an' I've no one to put in!" +</P> + +<P> +The Rube pitched with heavy, violent effort. He had still enough speed +to be dangerous. But after the manner of ball players Shultz and the +coachers mocked him. +</P> + +<P> +"Take all you can," called Ellis to Shultz. +</P> + +<P> +Every pitch lessened the Rube's strength and these wise opponents knew +it. Likewise the Rube himself knew, and never had he shown better head +work than in this inning. If he were to win, he must be quick. So he +wasted not a ball. The first pitch and the second, delivered breast +high and fairly over the plate, beautiful balls to hit, Shultz watched +speed by. He swung hard on the third and the crippled Ashwell dove for +it in a cloud of dust, got a hand in front of it, but uselessly, for +the hit was safe. The crowd cheered that splendid effort. +</P> + +<P> +Carl marched to bat, and he swung his club over the plate as if he knew +what to expect. "Come on, Rube!" he shouted. Wearily, doggedly, the +Rube whirled, and whipped his arm. The ball had all his old glancing +speed and it was a strike. The Rube was making a tremendous effort. +Again he got his body in convulsive motion—two strikes! Shultz had +made no move to run, nor had Carl made any move to hit. These veterans +were waiting. The Rube had pitched five strikes—could he last? +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Carl!" yelled Ellis, with startling suddenness, as the Rube +pitched again. +</P> + +<P> +Crack! Carl placed that hit as safely through short as if he had +thrown it. McCall's little legs twinkled as he dashed over the grass. +He had to head off that hit and he ran like a streak. Down and forward +he pitched, as if in one of his fierce slides, and he got his body in +front of the ball, blocking it, and then he rolled over and over. But +he jumped up and lined the ball to Bogart, almost catching Shultz at +third-base. Then, as Mac tried to walk, his lame leg buckled under +him, and down he went, and out. +</P> + +<P> +"Call time," I called to Carter. "McCall is done.... Myers, you go +to left an' for Lord's sake play ball!" +</P> + +<P> +Stringer and Bogart hurried to Mac and, lifting him up and supporting +him between them with his arms around their shoulders, they led him off +amid cheers from the stands. Mac was white with pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Naw, I won't go off the field. Leave me on the bench," he said. +"Fight 'em now. It's our game. Never mind a couple of runs." +</P> + +<P> +The boys ran back to their positions and Carter called play. Perhaps a +little delay had been helpful to the Rube. Slowly he stepped into the +box and watched Shultz at third and Carl at second. There was not much +probability of his throwing to catch them off the base, but enough of a +possibility to make them careful, so he held them close. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube pitched a strike to Manning, then another. That made eight +strikes square over the plate that inning. What magnificent control! +It was equaled by the implacable patience of those veteran Bisons. +Manning hit the next ball as hard as Carl had hit his. But Mullaney +plunged down, came up with the ball, feinted to fool Carl, then let +drive to Gregg to catch the fleeting Shultz. The throw went wide, but +Gregg got it, and, leaping lengthwise, tagged Shultz out a yard from +the plate. +</P> + +<P> +One out. Two runners on bases. The bleachers rose and split their +throats. Would the inning never end? +</P> + +<P> +Spears kept telling himself: "They'll score, but we'll win. It's our +game!" +</P> + +<P> +I had a sickening fear that the strange confidence that obsessed the +Worcester players had been blind, unreasoning vanity. +</P> + +<P> +"Carl will steal," muttered Spears. "He can't be stopped." +</P> + +<P> +Spears had called the play. The Rube tried to hold the little +base-stealer close to second, but, after one attempt, wisely turned to +his hard task of making the Bisons hit and hit quickly. Ellis let the +ball pass; Gregg made a perfect throw to third; Bogart caught the ball +and moved like a flash, but Carl slid under his hands to the bag. +Manning ran down to second. The Rube pitched again, and this was his +tenth ball over the plate. Even the Buffalo players evinced eloquent +appreciation of the Rube's defence at this last stand. +</P> + +<P> +Then Ellis sent a clean hit to right, scoring both Carl and Manning. I +breathed easier, for it seemed with those two runners in, the Rube had +a better chance. Treadwell also took those two runners in, the Rube +had a way those Bisons waited. They had their reward, for the Rube's +speed left him. When he pitched again the ball had control, but no +shoot. Treadwell hit it with all his strength. Like a huge cat +Ashwell pounced upon it, ran over second base, forcing Ellis, and his +speedy snap to first almost caught Treadwell. +</P> + +<P> +Score 8 to 7. Two out. Runner on first. One run to tie. +</P> + +<P> +In my hazy, dimmed vision I saw the Rube's pennant waving from the +flag-pole. +</P> + +<P> +"It's our game!" howled Spears in my ear, for the noise from the stands +was deafening. "It's our pennant!" +</P> + +<P> +The formidable batting strength of the Bisons had been met, not without +disaster, but without defeat. McKnight came up for Buffalo and the +Rube took his weary swing. The batter made a terrific lunge and hit +the ball with a solid crack It lined for center. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly electrified into action, I leaped up. That hit! It froze me +with horror. It was a home-run. I saw Stringer fly toward left +center. He ran like something wild. I saw the heavy Treadwell +lumbering round the bases. I saw Ashwell run out into center field. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h!" The whole audience relieved its terror in that expulsion of +suspended breath. Stringer had leaped high to knock down the ball, +saving a sure home-run and the game. He recovered himself, dashed back +for the ball and shot it to Ash. +</P> + +<P> +When Ash turned toward the plate, Treadwell was rounding third base. A +tie score appeared inevitable. I saw Ash's arm whip and the ball shoot +forward, leveled, glancing, beautiful in its flight. The crowd saw it, +and the silence broke to a yell that rose and rose as the ball sped in. +That yell swelled to a splitting shriek, and Treadwell slid in the +dust, and the ball shot into Gregg's hands all at the same instant. +</P> + +<P> +Carter waved both arms upwards. It was the umpire's action when his +decision went against the base-runner. The audience rolled up one +great stentorian cry. +</P> + +<P> +"Out!" +</P> + +<P> +I collapsed and sank back upon the bench. My confused senses received +a dull roar of pounding feet and dinning voices as the herald of +victory. I felt myself thinking how pleased Milly would be. I had a +distinct picture in my mind of a white cottage on a hill, no longer a +dream, but a reality, made possible for me by the Rube's winning of the +pennant. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="honeymoon"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RUBE'S HONEYMOON +</H3> + +<P> +"He's got a new manager. Watch him pitch now!" That was what Nan +Brown said to me about Rube Hurtle, my great pitcher, and I took it as +her way of announcing her engagement. +</P> + +<P> +My baseball career held some proud moments, but this one, wherein I +realized the success of my matchmaking plans, was certainly the +proudest one. So, entirely outside of the honest pleasure I got out of +the Rube's happiness, there was reason for me to congratulate myself. +He was a transformed man, so absolutely renewed, so wild with joy, that +on the strength of it, I decided the pennant for Worcester was a +foregone conclusion, and, sure of the money promised me by the +directors, Milly and I began to make plans for the cottage upon the +hill. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube insisted on pitching Monday's game against the Torontos, and +although poor fielding gave them a couple of runs, they never had a +chance. They could not see the ball. The Rube wrapped it around their +necks and between their wrists and straight over the plate with such +incredible speed that they might just as well have tried to bat rifle +bullets. +</P> + +<P> +That night I was happy. Spears, my veteran captain, was one huge +smile; Radbourne quietly assured me that all was over now but the +shouting; all the boys were happy. +</P> + +<P> +And the Rube was the happiest of all. At the hotel he burst out with +his exceeding good fortune. He and Nan were to be married upon the +Fourth of July! +</P> + +<P> +After the noisy congratulations were over and the Rube had gone, Spears +looked at me and I looked at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Con," said he soberly, "we just can't let him get married on the +Fourth." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? Sure we can. We'll help him get married. I tell you it'll +save the pennant for us. Look how he pitched today! Nan Brown is our +salvation!" +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Con, you've got softenin' of the brain, too. Where's your +baseball sense? We've got a pennant to win. By July Fourth we'll be +close to the lead again, an' there's that three weeks' trip on the +road, the longest an' hardest of the season. We've just got to break +even on that trip. You know what that means. If the Rube marries +Nan—what are we goin' to do? We can't leave him behind. If he takes +Nan with us—why it'll be a honeymoon! An' half the gang is stuck on +Nan Brown! An' Nan Brown would flirt in her bridal veil! ... Why +Con, we're up against a worse proposition than ever." +</P> + +<P> +"Good Heavens! Cap. You're right," I groaned. "I never thought of +that. We've got to postpone the wedding.... How on earth can we? +I've heard her tell Milly that. She'll never consent to it. Say, +this'll drive me to drink." +</P> + +<P> +"All I got to say is this, Con. If the Rube takes his wife on that +trip it's goin' to be an all-fired hummer. Don't you forget that." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not likely to. But, Spears, the point is this—will the Rube win +his games?" +</P> + +<P> +"Figurin' from his work today, I'd gamble he'll never lose another +game. It ain't that. I'm thinkin' of what the gang will do to him an' +Nan on the cars an' at the hotels. Oh! Lord, Con, it ain't possible to +stand for that honeymoon trip! Just think!" +</P> + +<P> +"If the worst comes to the worst, Cap, I don't care for anything but +the games. If we get in the lead and stay there I'll stand for +anything.... Couldn't the gang be coaxed or bought off to let the +Rube and Nan alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not on your life! There ain't enough love or money on earth to stop +them. It'll be awful. Mind, I'm not responsible. Don't you go holdin' +me responsible. In all my years of baseball I never went on a trip +with a bride in the game. That's new on me, an' I never heard of it. +I'd be bad enough if he wasn't a rube an' if she wasn't a crazy +girl-fan an' a flirt to boot, an' with half the boys in love with her, +but as it is——" +</P> + +<P> +Spears gave up and, gravely shaking his head, he left me. I spent a +little while in sober reflection, and finally came to the conclusion +that, in my desperate ambition to win the pennant, I would have taken +half a dozen rube pitchers and their baseball-made brides on the trip, +if by so doing I could increase the percentage of games won. +Nevertheless, I wanted to postpone the Rube's wedding if it was +possible, and I went out to see Milly and asked her to help us. But +for once in her life Milly turned traitor. +</P> + +<P> +"Connie, you don't want to postpone it. Why, how perfectly lovely! ... +Mrs. Stringer will go on that trip and Mrs. Bogart.... Connie, +I'm going too!" +</P> + +<P> +She actually jumped up and down in glee. That was the woman in her. +It takes a wedding to get a woman. I remonstrated and pleaded and +commanded, all to no purpose. Milly intended to go on that trip to see +the games, and the fun, and the honeymoon. +</P> + +<P> +She coaxed so hard that I yielded. Thereupon she called up Mrs. +Stringer on the telephone, and of course found that young woman just as +eager as she was. For my part, I threw anxiety and care to the four +winds, and decided to be as happy as any of them. The pennant was +mine! Something kept ringing that in my ears. With the Rube working +his iron arm for the edification of his proud Nancy Brown, there was +extreme likelihood of divers shut-outs and humiliating defeats for some +Eastern League teams. +</P> + +<P> +How well I calculated became a matter of baseball history during that +last week of June. We won six straight games, three of which fell to +the Rube's credit. His opponents scored four runs in the three games, +against the nineteen we made. Upon July 1, Radbourne beat Providence +and Cairns won the second game. We now had a string of eight +victories. Sunday we rested, and Monday was the Fourth, with morning +and afternoon games with Buffalo. +</P> + +<P> +Upon the morning of the Fourth, I looked for the Rube at the hotel, but +could not find him. He did not show up at the grounds when the other +boys did, and I began to worry. It was the Rube's turn to pitch and we +were neck and neck with Buffalo for first place. If we won both games +we would go ahead of our rivals. So I was all on edge, and kept going +to the dressing-room to see if the Rube had arrived. He came, finally, +when all the boys were dressed, and about to go out for practice. He +had on a new suit, a tailor-made suit at that, and he looked fine. +There was about him a kind of strange radiance. He stated simply that +he had arrived late because he had just been married. Before +congratulations were out of our mouths, he turned to me. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, I want to pitch both games today," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"What! Say, Whit, Buffalo is on the card today and we are only three +points behind them. If we win both we'll be leading the league once +more. I don't know about pitching you both games." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon we'll be in the lead tonight then," he replied, "for I'll win +them both." +</P> + +<P> +I was about to reply when Dave, the ground-keeper, called me to the +door, saying there was a man to see me. I went out, and there stood +Morrisey, manager of the Chicago American League team. We knew each +other well and exchanged greetings. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, I dropped off to see you about this new pitcher of yours, the one +they call the Rube. I want to see him work. I've heard he's pretty +fast. How about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait—till you see him pitch," I replied. I could scarcely get that +much out, for Morrisey's presence meant a great deal and I did not want +to betray my elation. +</P> + +<P> +"Any strings on him?" queried the big league manager, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Morrisey, not exactly. I can give you the first call. You'll +have to bid high, though. Just wait till you see him work." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad to hear that. My scout was over here watching him pitch and +says he's a wonder." +</P> + +<P> +What luck it was that Morrisey should have come upon this day! I could +hardly contain myself. Almost I began to spend the money I would get +for selling the Rube to the big league manager. We took seats in the +grand stand, as Morrisey did not want to be seen by any players, and I +stayed there with him until the gong sounded. There was a big +attendance. I looked all over the stand for Nan, but she was lost in +the gay crowd. But when I went down to the bench I saw her up in my +private box with Milly. It took no second glance to see that Nan Brown +was a bride and glorying in the fact. +</P> + +<P> +Then, in the absorption of the game, I became oblivious to Milly and +Nan; the noisy crowd; the giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the +presence of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team and their +opponents. Fortunately for my hopes, the game opened with +characteristic Worcester dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his +base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the ball over the +right-field fence—three runs! +</P> + +<P> +Three runs were enough to win that game. Of all the exhibitions of +pitching with which the Rube had favored us, this one was the finest. +It was perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and unhittable curves +that made the game one memorable in the annals of pitching; it was his +perfect control in the placing of balls, in the cutting of corners; in +his absolute implacable mastery of the situation. Buffalo was unable +to find him at all. The game was swift short, decisive, with the score +5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did not tell all of the Rube's work +that morning. He shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the +first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave no base on balls; not a +Buffalo player got to first base; only one fly went to the outfield. +</P> + +<P> +For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I hurried to find Morrisey, +and carried him off to have dinner with me. +</P> + +<P> +"Your rube is a wonder, and that's a fact," he said to me several +times. "Where on earth did you get him? Connelly, he's my meat. Do +you understand? Can you let me have him right now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Morrisey, I've got the pennant to win first. Then I'll sell him." +</P> + +<P> +"How much? Do you hear? How much?" Morrisey hammered the table with +his fist and his eyes gleamed. +</P> + +<P> +Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was yet able to calculate +shrewdly, and I decided to name a very high price, from which I could +come down and still make a splendid deal. +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" demanded Morrisey. +</P> + +<P> +"Five thousand dollars," I replied, and gulped when I got the words out. +</P> + +<P> +Morrisey never batted an eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!" +</P> + +<P> +Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing my name to a contract +whereby I was to sell my pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close +of the current season. I never saw a man look so pleased as Morrisey +when he folded that contract and put it in his pocket. He bade me +good-bye and hurried off to catch a train, and he never knew the Rube +had pitched the great game on his wedding day. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon before a crowd that had to be roped off the diamond, I +put the Rube against the Bisons. How well he showed the baseball +knowledge he had assimilated! He changed his style in that second +game. He used a slow ball and wide curves and took things easy. He +made Buffalo hit the ball and when runners got on bases once more let +out his speed and held them down. He relied upon the players behind +him and they were equal to the occasion. +</P> + +<P> +It was a totally different game from that of the morning, and perhaps +one more suited to the pleasure of the audience. There was plenty of +hard hitting, sharp fielding and good base running, and the game was +close and exciting up to the eighth, when Mullaney's triple gave us two +runs, and a lead that was not headed. To the deafening roar of the +bleachers the Rube walked off the field, having pitched Worcester into +first place in the pennant race. +</P> + +<P> +That night the boys planned their first job on the Rube. We had +ordered a special Pullman for travel to Toronto, and when I got to the +depot in the morning, the Pullman was a white fluttering mass of satin +ribbons. Also, there was a brass band, and thousands of baseball fans, +and barrels of old foot-gear. The Rube and Nan arrived in a cab and +were immediately mobbed. The crowd roared, the band played, the engine +whistled, the bell clanged; and the air was full of confetti and +slippers, and showers of rice like hail pattered everywhere. A +somewhat dishevelled bride and groom boarded the Pullman and +breathlessly hid in a state room. The train started, and the crowd +gave one last rousing cheer. Old Spears yelled from the back platform: +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, an' fans, you needn't worry none about leavin' the Rube an' +his bride to the tender mercies of the gang. A hundred years from now +people will talk about this honeymoon baseball trip. Wait till we come +back—an' say, jest to put you wise, no matter what else happens, we're +comin' back in first place!" +</P> + +<P> +It was surely a merry party in that Pullman. The bridal couple emerged +from their hiding place and held a sort of reception in which the Rube +appeared shy and frightened, and Nan resembled a joyous, fluttering +bird in gray. I did not see if she kissed every man on the team, but +she kissed me as if she had been wanting to do it for ages. Milly +kissed the Rube, and so did the other women, to his infinite +embarrassment. Nan's effect upon that crowd was most singular. She +was sweetness and caprice and joy personified. +</P> + +<P> +We settled down presently to something approaching order, and I, for +one, with very keen ears and alert eyes, because I did not want to miss +anything. +</P> + +<P> +"I see the lambs a-gambolin'," observed McCall, in a voice louder than +was necessary to convey his meaning to Mullaney, his partner in the +seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it do seem as if there was joy aboundin' hereabouts," replied Mul +with fervor. +</P> + +<P> +"It's more spring-time than summer," said Ashwell, "an' everything in +nature is runnin' in pairs. There are the sheep an' the cattle an' the +birds. I see two kingfishers fishin' over here. An' there's a couple +of honey-bees makin' honey. Oh, honey, an' by George, if there ain't +two butterflies foldin' their wings round each other. See the +dandelions kissin' in the field!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the staid Captain Spears spoke up with an appearance of sincerity +and a tone that was nothing short of remarkable. +</P> + +<P> +"Reggie, see the sunshine asleep upon yon bank. Ain't it lovely? An' +that white cloud sailin' thither amid the blue—how spontaneous! Joy is +a-broad o'er all this boo-tiful land today—Oh, yes! An' love's wings +hover o 'er the little lambs an' the bullfrogs in the pond an' the +dicky birds in the trees. What sweetness to lie in the grass, the lap +of bounteous earth, eatin' apples in the Garden of Eden, an' chasin' +away the snakes an' dreamin' of Thee, Sweet-h-e-a-r-t——" +</P> + +<P> +Spears was singing when he got so far and there was no telling what he +might have done if Mullaney, unable to stand the agony, had not jabbed +a pin in him. But that only made way for the efforts of the other +boys, each of whom tried to outdo the other in poking fun at the Rube +and Nan. The big pitcher was too gloriously happy to note much of what +went on around him, but when it dawned upon him he grew red and white +by turns. +</P> + +<P> +Nan, however, was more than equal to the occasion. Presently she +smiled at Spears, such a smile! The captain looked as if he had just +partaken of an intoxicating wine. With a heightened color in her +cheeks and a dangerous flash in her roguish eyes, Nan favored McCall +with a look, which was as much as to say that she remembered him with a +dear sadness. She made eyes at every fellow in the car, and then +bringing back her gaze to the Rube, as if glorying in comparison, she +nestled her curly black head on his shoulder. He gently tried to move +her; but it was not possible. Nan knew how to meet the ridicule of half +a dozen old lovers. One by one they buried themselves in newspapers, +and finally McCall, for once utterly beaten, showed a white feather, +and sank back out of sight behind his seat. +</P> + +<P> +The boys did not recover from that shock until late in the afternoon. +As it was a physical impossibility for Nan to rest her head all day +upon her husband's broad shoulder, the boys toward dinner time came out +of their jealous trance. I heard them plotting something. When dinner +was called, about half of my party, including the bride and groom, went +at once into the dining-car. Time there flew by swiftly. And later, +when we were once more in our Pullman, and I had gotten interested in a +game of cards with Milly and Stringer and his wife, the Rube came +marching up to me with a very red face. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, I reckon some of the boys have stolen my—our grips," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" I asked, blankly. +</P> + +<P> +He explained that during his absence in the dining-car someone had +entered his stateroom and stolen his grip and Nan's. I hastened at +once to aid the Rube in his search. The boys swore by everything under +and beyond the sun they had not seen the grips; they appeared very much +grieved at the loss and pretended to help in searching the Pullman. At +last, with the assistance of a porter, we discovered the missing grips +in an upper berth. The Rube carried them off to his stateroom and we +knew soon from his uncomplimentary remarks that the contents of the +suitcases had been mixed and manhandled. But he did not hunt for the +jokers. +</P> + +<P> +We arrived at Toronto before daylight next morning, and remained in the +Pullman until seven o'clock. When we got out, it was discovered that +the Rube and Nan had stolen a march upon us. We traced them to the +hotel, and found them at breakfast. After breakfast we formed a merry +sight-seeing party and rode all over the city. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon, when Raddy let Toronto down with three hits and the +boys played a magnificent game behind him, and we won 7 to 2, I knew at +last and for certain that the Worcester team had come into its own +again. Then next day Cairns won a close, exciting game, and following +that, on the third day, the matchless Rube toyed with the Torontos. +Eleven straight games won! I was in the clouds, and never had I seen +so beautiful a light as shone in Milly's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +From that day The Honeymoon Trip of the Worcester Baseball Club, as the +newspapers heralded it—was a triumphant march. We won two out of +three games at Montreal, broke even with the hard-fighting Bisons, took +three straight from Rochester, and won one and tied one out of three +with Hartford. It would have been wonderful ball playing for a team to +play on home grounds and we were doing the full circuit of the league. +</P> + +<P> +Spears had called the turn when he said the trip would be a hummer. +Nan Hurtle had brought us wonderful luck. +</P> + +<P> +But the tricks they played on Whit and his girl-fan bride! +</P> + +<P> +Ashwell, who was a capital actor, disguised himself as a conductor and +pretended to try to eject Whit and Nan from the train, urging that +love-making was not permitted. Some of the team hired a clever young +woman to hunt the Rube up at the hotel, and claim old acquaintance with +him. Poor Whit almost collapsed when the young woman threw her arms +about his neck just as Nan entered the parlor. Upon the instant Nan +became wild as a little tigress, and it took much explanation and +eloquence to reinstate Whit in her affections. +</P> + +<P> +Another time Spears, the wily old fox, succeeded in detaining Nan on +the way to the station, and the two missed the train. At first the +Rube laughed with the others, but when Stringer remarked that he had +noticed a growing attachment between Nan and Spears, my great pitcher +experienced the first pangs of the green-eyed monster. We had to hold +him to keep him from jumping from the train, and it took Milly and Mrs. +Stringer to soothe him. I had to wire back to Rochester for a special +train for Spears and Nan, and even then we had to play half a game +without the services of our captain. +</P> + +<P> +So far upon our trip I had been fortunate in securing comfortable rooms +and the best of transportation for my party. At Hartford, however, I +encountered difficulties. I could not get a special Pullman, and the +sleeper we entered already had a number of occupants. After the ladies +of my party had been assigned to berths, it was necessary for some of +the boys to sleep double in upper berths. +</P> + +<P> +It was late when we got aboard, the berths were already made up, and +soon we had all retired. In the morning very early I was awakened by a +disturbance. It sounded like a squeal. I heard an astonished +exclamation, another squeal, the pattering of little feet, then hoarse +uproar of laughter from the ball players in the upper berths. Following +that came low, excited conversation between the porter and somebody, +then an angry snort from the Rube and the thud of his heavy feet in the +aisle. What took place after that was guess-work for me. But I +gathered from the roars and bawls that the Rube was after some of the +boys. I poked my head between the curtains and saw him digging into +the berths. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's McCall?" he yelled. +</P> + +<P> +Mac was nowhere in that sleeper, judging from the vehement denials. +But the Rube kept on digging and prodding in the upper berths. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-goin' to lick you, Mac, so I reckon you'd better show up," +shouted the Rube. +</P> + +<P> +The big fellow was mad as a hornet. When he got to me he grasped me +with his great fence-rail splitting hands and I cried out with pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Say! Whit, let up! Mac's not here.... What's wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll show you when I find him." And the Rube stalked on down the +aisle, a tragically comic figure in his pajamas. In his search for Mac +he pried into several upper berths that contained occupants who were +not ball players, and these protested in affright. Then the Rube began +to investigate the lower berths. A row of heads protruded in a bobbing +line from between the curtains of the upper berths. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, you Indian! Don't you look in there! That's my wife's berth!" +yelled Stringer. +</P> + +<P> +Bogart, too, evinced great excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurtle, keep out of lower eight or I'll kill you," he shouted. +</P> + +<P> +What the Rube might have done there was no telling, but as he grasped a +curtain, he was interrupted by a shriek from some woman assuredly not +of our party. +</P> + +<P> +"Get out! you horrid wretch! Help! Porter! Help! Conductor!" +</P> + +<P> +Instantly there was a deafening tumult in the car. When it had +subsided somewhat, and I considered I would be safe, I descended from +my berth and made my way to the dressing room. Sprawled over the +leather seat was the Rube pommelling McCall with hearty good will. I +would have interfered, had it not been for Mac's demeanor. He was half +frightened, half angry, and utterly unable to defend himself or even +resist, because he was laughing, too. +</P> + +<P> +"Dog-gone it! Whit—I didn't—do it! I swear it was Spears! Stop +thumpin' me now—or I'll get sore.... You hear me! It wasn't me, I +tell you. Cheese it!" +</P> + +<P> +For all his protesting Mac received a good thumping, and I doubted not +in the least that he deserved it. The wonder of the affair, however, +was the fact that no one appeared to know what had made the Rube so +furious. The porter would not tell, and Mac was strangely reticent, +though his smile was one to make a fellow exceedingly sure something +out of the ordinary had befallen. It was not until I was having +breakfast in Providence that I learned the true cause of Rube's +conduct, and Milly confided it to me, insisting on strict confidence. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised not to tell," she said. "Now you promise you'll never +tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Connie," went on Milly, when I had promised, "it was the +funniest thing yet, but it was horrid of McCall. You see, the Rube had +upper seven and Nan had lower seven. Early this morning, about +daylight, Nan awoke very thirsty and got up to get a drink. During her +absence, probably, but any way some time last night, McCall changed the +number on her curtain, and when Nan came back to number seven of course +she almost got in the wrong berth." +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder the Rube punched him!" I declared. "I wish we were safe +home. Something'll happen yet on this trip." +</P> + +<P> +I was faithful to my promise to Milly, but the secret leaked out +somewhere; perhaps Mac told it, and before the game that day all the +players knew it. The Rube, having recovered his good humor, minded it +not in the least. He could not have felt ill-will for any length of +time. Everything seemed to get back into smooth running order, and the +Honeymoon Trip bade fair to wind up beautifully. +</P> + +<P> +But, somehow or other, and about something unknown to the rest of us, +the Rube and Nan quarreled. It was their first quarrel. Milly and I +tried to patch it up but failed. +</P> + +<P> +We lost the first game to Providence and won the second. The next day, +a Saturday, was the last game of the trip, and it was Rube's turn to +pitch. Several times during the first two days the Rube and Nan about +half made up their quarrel, only in the end to fall deeper into it. +Then the last straw came in a foolish move on the part of wilful Nan. +She happened to meet Henderson, her former admirer, and in a flash she +took up her flirtation with him where she had left off. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't go to the game with him, Nan," I pleaded. "It's a silly thing +for you to do. Of course you don't mean anything, except to torment +Whit. But cut it out. The gang will make him miserable and we'll lose +the game. There's no telling what might happen." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm supremely indifferent to what happens," she replied, with a +rebellious toss of her black head. "I hope Whit gets beaten." +</P> + +<P> +She went to the game with Henderson and sat in the grand stand, and the +boys spied them out and told the Rube. He did not believe it at first, +but finally saw them, looked deeply hurt and offended, and then grew +angry. But the gong, sounding at that moment, drew his attention to +his business of the day, to pitch. +</P> + +<P> +His work that day reminded me of the first game he ever pitched for me, +upon which occasion Captain Spears got the best out of him by making +him angry. For several innings Providence was helpless before his +delivery. Then something happened that showed me a crisis was near. A +wag of a fan yelled from the bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +"Honeymoon Rube!" +</P> + +<P> +This cry was taken up by the delighted fans and it rolled around the +field. But the Rube pitched on, harder than ever. Then the knowing +bleacherite who had started the cry changed it somewhat. +</P> + +<P> +"Nanny's Rube!" he yelled. +</P> + +<P> +This, too, went the rounds, and still the Rube, though red in the face, +preserved his temper and his pitching control. All would have been +well if Bud Wiler, comedian of the Providence team, had not hit upon a +way to rattle Rube. +</P> + +<P> +"Nanny's Goat!" he shouted from the coaching lines. Every Providence +player took it up. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube was not proof against that. He yelled so fiercely at them, +and glared so furiously, and towered so formidably, that they ceased +for the moment. Then he let drive with his fast straight ball and hit +the first Providence batter in the ribs. His comrades had to help him +to the bench. The Rube hit the next batter on the leg, and judging +from the crack of the ball, I fancied that player would walk lame for +several days. The Rube tried to hit the next batter and sent him to +first on balls. Thereafter it became a dodging contest with honors +about equal between pitcher and batters. The Providence players +stormed and the bleachers roared. But I would not take the Rube out +and the game went on with the Rube forcing in runs. +</P> + +<P> +With the score a tie, and three men on bases one of the players on the +bench again yelled "Nanny's Goat!" +</P> + +<P> +Straight as a string the Rube shot the ball at this fellow and bounded +after it. The crowd rose in an uproar. The base runners began to +score. I left my bench and ran across the space, but not in time to +catch the Rube. I saw him hit two or three of the Providence men. +Then the policemen got to him, and a real fight brought the big +audience into the stamping melee. Before the Rube was collared I saw +at least four blue-coats on the grass. +</P> + +<P> +The game broke up, and the crowd spilled itself in streams over the +field. Excitement ran high. I tried to force my way into the mass to +get at the Rube and the officers, but this was impossible. I feared +the Rube would be taken from the officers and treated with violence, so +I waited with the surging crowd, endeavoring to get nearer. Soon we +were in the street, and it seemed as if all the stands had emptied +their yelling occupants. +</P> + +<P> +A trolley car came along down the street, splitting the mass of people +and driving them back. A dozen policemen summarily bundled the Rube +upon the rear end of the car. Some of these officers boarded the car, +and some remained in the street to beat off the vengeful fans. +</P> + +<P> +I saw some one thrust forward a frantic young woman. The officers +stopped her, then suddenly helped her on the car, just as I started. I +recognized Nan. She gripped the Rube with both hands and turned a +white, fearful face upon the angry crowd. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube stood in the grasp of his wife and the policemen, and he +looked like a ruffled lion. He shook his big fist and bawled in +far-reaching voice: +</P> + +<P> +"I can lick you all!" +</P> + +<P> +To my infinite relief, the trolley gathered momentum and safely passed +out of danger. The last thing I made out was Nan pressing close to the +Rube's side. That moment saw their reconciliation and my joy that it +was the end of the Rube's Honeymoon. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="waterloo"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RUBE'S WATERLOO +</H3> + +<P> +It was about the sixth inning that I suspected the Rube of weakening. +For that matter he had not pitched anything resembling his usual brand +of baseball. But the Rube had developed into such a wonder in the box +that it took time for his let-down to dawn upon me. Also it took a tip +from Raddy, who sat with me on the bench. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, the Rube isn't himself today," said Radbourne. "His mind's not +on the game. He seems hurried and flustered, too. If he doesn't +explode presently, I'm a dub at callin' the turn." +</P> + +<P> +Raddy was the best judge of a pitcher's condition, physical or mental, +in the Eastern League. It was a Saturday and we were on the road and +finishing up a series with the Rochesters. Each team had won and lost +a game, and, as I was climbing close to the leaders in the pennant +race, I wanted the third and deciding game of that Rochester series. +The usual big Saturday crowd was in attendance, noisy, demonstrative +and exacting. +</P> + +<P> +In this sixth inning the first man up for Rochester had flied to +McCall. Then had come the two plays significant of Rube's weakening. +He had hit one batter and walked another. This was sufficient, +considering the score was three to one in our favor, to bring the +audience to its feet with a howling, stamping demand for runs. +</P> + +<P> +"Spears is wise all right," said Raddy. +</P> + +<P> +I watched the foxy old captain walk over to the Rube and talk to him +while he rested, a reassuring hand on the pitcher's shoulder. The +crowd yelled its disapproval and Umpire Bates called out sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Spears, get back to the bag!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mister Umpire, ain't I hurrin' all I can?" queried Spears as he +leisurely ambled back to first. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube tossed a long, damp welt of hair back from his big brow and +nervously toed the rubber. I noted that he seemed to forget the runners +on bases and delivered the ball without glancing at either bag. Of +course this resulted in a double steal. The ball went wild—almost a +wild pitch. +</P> + +<P> +"Steady up, old man," called Gregg between the yells of the bleachers. +He held his mitt square over the plate for the Rube to pitch to. Again +the long twirler took his swing, and again the ball went wild. Clancy +had the Rube in the hole now and the situation began to grow serious. +The Rube did not take half his usual deliberation, and of the next two +pitches one of them was a ball and the other a strike by grace of the +umpire's generosity. Clancy rapped the next one, an absurdly slow +pitch for the Rube to use, and both runners scored to the shrill tune +of the happy bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +I saw Spears shake his head and look toward the bench. It was plain +what that meant. +</P> + +<P> +"Raddy, I ought to take the Rube out," I said, "but whom can I put in? +You worked yesterday—Cairns' arm is sore. It's got to be nursed. And +Henderson, that ladies' man I just signed, is not in uniform." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go in," replied Raddy, instantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not on your life." I had as hard a time keeping Radbourne from +overworking as I had in getting enough work out of some other players. +"I guess I'll let the Rube take his medicine. I hate to lose this +game, but if we have to, we can stand it. I'm curious, anyway, to see +what's the matter with the Rube. Maybe he'll settle down presently." +</P> + +<P> +I made no sign that I had noticed Spears' appeal to the bench. And my +aggressive players, no doubt seeing the situation as I saw it, sang out +their various calls of cheer to the Rube and of defiance to their +antagonists. Clancy stole off first base so far that the Rube, +catching somebody's warning too late, made a balk and the umpire sent +the runner on to second. The Rube now plainly showed painful evidences +of being rattled. +</P> + +<P> +He could not locate the plate without slowing up and when he did that a +Rochester player walloped the ball. Pretty soon he pitched as if he +did not care, and but for the fast fielding of the team behind him the +Rochesters would have scored more than the eight runs it got. When the +Rube came in to the bench I asked him if he was sick and at first he +said he was and then that he was not. So I let him pitch the remaining +innings, as the game was lost anyhow, and we walked off the field a +badly beaten team. +</P> + +<P> +That night we had to hurry from the hotel to catch a train for +Worcester and we had dinner in the dining-car. Several of my players' +wives had come over from Worcester to meet us, and were in the +dining-car when I entered. I observed a pretty girl sitting at one of +the tables with my new pitcher, Henderson. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Mac," I said to McCall, who was with me, "is Henderson married?" +</P> + +<P> +"Naw, but he looks like he wanted to be. He was in the grand stand +today with that girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she? Oh! a little peach!" +</P> + +<P> +A second glance at Henderson's companion brought this compliment from +me involuntarily. +</P> + +<P> +"Con, you'll get it as bad as the rest of this mushy bunch of ball +players. We're all stuck on that kid. But since Henderson came she's +been a frost to all of us. An' it's put the Rube in the dumps." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's the girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's Nan Brown. She lives in Worcester an' is the craziest girl fan +I ever seen. Flirt! Well, she's got them all beat. Somebody +introduced the Rube to her. He has been mooney ever since." +</P> + +<P> +That was enough to whet my curiosity, and I favored Miss Brown with +more than one glance during dinner. When we returned to the parlor car +I took advantage of the opportunity and remarked to Henderson that he +might introduce his manager. He complied, but not with amiable grace. +</P> + +<P> +So I chatted with Nan Brown, and studied her. She was a pretty, +laughing, coquettish little minx and quite baseball mad. I had met +many girl fans, but none so enthusiastic as Nan. But she was wholesome +and sincere, and I liked her. +</P> + +<P> +Before turning in I sat down beside the Rube. He was very quiet and his +face did not encourage company. But that did not stop me. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Whit; have a smoke before you go to bed?" I asked cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +He scarcely heard me and made no move to take the proffered cigar. All +at once it struck me that the rustic simplicity which had characterized +him had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"Whit, old fellow, what was wrong today?" I asked, quietly, with my +hand on his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Connelly, I want my release, I want to go back to Rickettsville," +he replied hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +For the space of a few seconds I did some tall thinking. The situation +suddenly became grave. I saw the pennant for the Worcesters fading, +dimming. +</P> + +<P> +"You want to go home?" I began slowly. "Why, Whit, I can't keep you. I +wouldn't try if you didn't want to stay. But I'll tell you +confidentially, if you leave me at this stage I'm ruined." +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" he inquired, keenly looking at me. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can't win the pennant without you. If I do win it there's a +big bonus for me. I can buy the house I want and get married this fall +if I capture the flag. You've met Milly. You can imagine what your +pitching means to me this year. That's all." +</P> + +<P> +He averted his face and looked out of the window. His big jaw quivered. +</P> + +<P> +"If it's that—why, I'll stay, I reckon," he said huskily. +</P> + +<P> +That moment bound Whit Hurtle and Frank Connelly into a far closer +relation than the one between player and manager. I sat silent for a +while, listening to the drowsy talk of the other players and the rush +and roar of the train as it sped on into the night. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, old chap," I replied. "It wouldn't have been like you to +throw me down at this stage. Whit, you're in trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Can I help you—in any way?"' +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon not." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be too sure of that. I'm a pretty wise guy, if I do say it +myself. I might be able to do as much for you as you're going to do +for me." +</P> + +<P> +The sight of his face convinced me that I had taken a wrong tack. It +also showed me how deep Whit's trouble really was. I bade him good +night and went to my berth, where sleep did not soon visit me. A +saucy, sparkling-eyed woman barred Whit Hurtle's baseball career at its +threshold. +</P> + +<P> +Women are just as fatal to ball players as to men in any other walk of +life. I had seen a strong athlete grow palsied just at a scornful +slight. It's a great world, and the women run it. So I lay awake +racking my brains to outwit a pretty disorganizer; and I plotted for +her sake. Married, she would be out of mischief. For Whit's sake, for +Milly's sake, for mine, all of which collectively meant for the sake of +the pennant, this would be the solution of the problem. +</P> + +<P> +I decided to take Milly into my confidence, and finally on the strength +of that I got to sleep. In the morning I went to my hotel, had +breakfast, attended to my mail, and then boarded a car to go out to +Milly's house. She was waiting for me on the porch, dressed as I liked +to see her, in blue and white, and she wore violets that matched the +color of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Connie. I haven't seen a morning paper, but I know from your +face that you lost the Rochester series," said Milly, with a gay laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess yes. The Rube blew up, and if we don't play a pretty smooth +game, young lady, he'll never come down." +</P> + +<P> +Then I told her. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Connie, I knew long ago. Haven't you seen the change in him +before this?" +</P> + +<P> +"What change?" I asked blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a man. Well, he was a gawky, slouchy, shy farmer boy when he +came to us. Of course the city life and popularity began to influence +him. Then he met Nan. She made the Rube a worshipper. I first +noticed a change in his clothes. He blossomed out in a new suit, white +negligee, neat tie and a stylish straw hat. Then it was evident he was +making heroic struggles to overcome his awkwardness. It was plain he +was studying and copying the other boys. He's wonderfully improved, but +still shy. He'll always be shy. Connie, Whit's a fine fellow, too +good for Nan Brown." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Milly," I interrupted, "the Rube's hard hit. Why is he too good +for her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nan is a natural-born flirt," Milly replied. "She can't help it. I'm +afraid Whit has a slim chance. Nan may not see deep enough to learn +his fine qualities. I fancy Nan tired quickly of him, though the one +time I saw them together she appeared to like him very well. This new +pitcher of yours, Henderson, is a handsome fellow and smooth. Whit is +losing to him. Nan likes flash, flattery, excitement." +</P> + +<P> +"McCall told me the Rube had been down in the mouth ever since +Henderson joined the team. Milly, I don't like Henderson a whole lot. +He's not in the Rube's class as a pitcher. What am I going to do? +Lose the pennant and a big slice of purse money just for a pretty +little flirt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Connie, it's not so bad as that. Whit will come around all right." +</P> + +<P> +"He won't unless we can pull some wires. I've got to help him win Nan +Brown. What do you think of that for a manager's job? I guess maybe +winning pennants doesn't call for diplomatic genius and cunning! But +I'll hand them a few tricks before I lose. My first move will be to +give Henderson his release." +</P> + +<P> +I left Milly, as always, once more able to make light of +discouragements and difficulties. +</P> + +<P> +Monday I gave Henderson his unconditional release. He celebrated the +occasion by verifying certain rumors I had heard from other managers. +He got drunk. But he did not leave town, and I heard that he was +negotiating with Providence for a place on that team. +</P> + +<P> +Radbourne pitched one of his gilt-edged games that afternoon against +Hartford and we won. And Milly sat in the grand stand, having contrived +by cleverness to get a seat next to Nan Brown. Milly and I were +playing a vastly deeper game than baseball—a game with hearts. But we +were playing it with honest motive, for the good of all concerned, we +believed, and on the square. I sneaked a look now and then up into the +grand stand. Milly and Nan appeared to be getting on famously. It was +certain that Nan was flushed and excited, no doubt consciously proud of +being seen with my affianced. After the game I chanced to meet them on +their way out. Milly winked at me, which was her sign that all was +working beautifully. +</P> + +<P> +I hunted up the Rube and bundled him off to the hotel to take dinner +with me. At first he was glum, but after a while he brightened up +somewhat to my persistent cheer and friendliness. Then we went out on +the hotel balcony to smoke, and there I made my play. +</P> + +<P> +"Whit, I'm pulling a stroke for you. Now listen and don't be offended. +I know what's put you off your feed, because I was the same way when +Milly had me guessing. You've lost your head over Nan Brown. That's +not so terrible, though I daresay you think it's a catastrophe. +Because you've quit. You've shown a yellow streak. You've lain down. +</P> + +<P> +"My boy, that isn't the way to win a girl. You've got to scrap. Milly +told me yesterday how she had watched your love affairs with Nan, and +how she thought you had given up just when things might have come your +way. Nan is a little flirt, but she's all right. What's more, she was +getting fond of you. Nan is meanest to the man she likes best. The +way to handle her, Whit, is to master her. Play high and mighty. Get +tragical. Then grab her up in your arms. I tell you, Whit, it'll all +come your way if you only keep your nerve. I'm your friend and so is +Milly. We're going out to her house presently—and Nan will be there." +</P> + +<P> +The Rube drew a long, deep breath and held out his hand. I sensed +another stage in the evolution of Whit Hurtle. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I've taken baseball coachin'," he said presently, "an' I +don't see why I can't take some other kind. I'm only a rube, an' +things come hard for me, but I'm a-learnin'." +</P> + +<P> +It was about dark when we arrived at the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Connie. You're late. Good evening, Mr. Hurtle. Come right +in. You've met Miss Nan Brown? Oh, of course; how stupid of me!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a trying moment for Milly and me. A little pallor showed under +the Rube's tan, but he was more composed than I had expected. Nan got +up from the piano. She was all in white and deliciously pretty. She +gave a quick, glad start of surprise. What a relief that was to my +troubled mind! Everything had depended upon a real honest liking for +Whit, and she had it. +</P> + +<P> +More than once I had been proud of Milly's cleverness, but this night +as hostess and an accomplice she won my everlasting admiration. She +contrived to give the impression that Whit was a frequent visitor at +her home and very welcome. She brought out his best points, and in her +skillful hands he lost embarrassment and awkwardness. Before the +evening was over Nan regarded Whit with different eyes, and she never +dreamed that everything had not come about naturally. Then Milly +somehow got me out on the porch, leaving Nan and Whit together. +</P> + +<P> +"Milly, you're a marvel, the best and sweetest ever," I whispered. +"We're going to win. It's a cinch." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Connie, not that—exactly," she whispered back demurely. "But +it looks hopeful." +</P> + +<P> +I could not help hearing what was said in the parlor. +</P> + +<P> +"Now I can roast you," Nan was saying, archly. She had switched back to +her favorite baseball vernacular. "You pitched a swell game last +Saturday in Rochester, didn't you? Not! You had no steam, no control, +and you couldn't have curved a saucer." +</P> + +<P> +"Nan, what could you expect?" was the cool reply. "You sat up in the +stand with your handsome friend. I reckon I couldn't pitch. I just +gave the game away." +</P> + +<P> +"Whit!—Whit!——" +</P> + +<P> +Then I whispered to Milly that it might be discreet for us to move a +little way from the vicinity. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the second day afterward that I got a chance to talk to Nan. +She reached the grounds early, before Milly arrived, and I found her in +the grand stand. The Rube was down on the card to pitch and when he +started to warm up Nan said confidently that he would shut out Hartford +that afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, Nan, but you're way off. We'd do well to win at all, let +alone get a shutout." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fine manager!" she retorted, hotly. "Why won't we win?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the Rube's not in good form. The Rube——" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop calling him that horrid name." +</P> + +<P> +"Whit's not in shape. He's not right. He's ill or something is wrong. +I'm worried sick about him." +</P> + +<P> +"Why—Mr. Connelly!" exclaimed Nan. She turned quickly toward me. +</P> + +<P> +I crowded on full canvas of gloom to my already long face. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm serious, Nan. The lad's off, somehow. He's in magnificent +physical trim, but he can't keep his mind on the game. He has lost his +head. I've talked with him, reasoned with him, all to no good. He only +goes down deeper in the dumps. Something is terribly wrong with him, +and if he doesn't brace, I'll have to release——" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Nan Brown suddenly lost a little of her rich bloom. "Oh! you +wouldn't—you couldn't release him!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to if he doesn't brace. It means a lot to me, Nan, for of +course I can't win the pennant this year without Whit being in shape. +But I believe I wouldn't mind the loss of that any more than to see him +fall down. The boy is a magnificent pitcher. If he can only be +brought around he'll go to the big league next year and develop into +one of the greatest pitchers the game has ever produced. But somehow +or other he has lost heart. He's quit. And I've done my best for him. +He's beyond me now. What a shame it is! For he's the making of such a +splendid man outside of baseball. Milly thinks the world of him. +Well, well; there are disappointments—we can't help them. There goes +the gong. I must leave you. Nan, I'll bet you a box of candy Whit +loses today. Is it a go?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is," replied Nan, with fire in her eyes. "You go to Whit Hurtle and +tell him I said if he wins today's game I'll kiss him!" +</P> + +<P> +I nearly broke my neck over benches and bats getting to Whit with that +message. He gulped once. +</P> + +<P> +Then he tightened his belt and shut out Hartford with two scratch +singles. It was a great exhibition of pitching. I had no means to +tell whether or not the Rube got his reward that night, but I was so +happy that I hugged Milly within an inch of her life. +</P> + +<P> +But it turned out that I had been a little premature in my elation. In +two days the Rube went down into the depths again, this time clear to +China, and Nan was sitting in the grand stand with Henderson. The Rube +lost his next game, pitching like a schoolboy scared out of his wits. +Henderson followed Nan like a shadow, so that I had no chance to talk +to her. The Rube lost his next game and then another. We were pushed +out of second place. +</P> + +<P> +If we kept up that losing streak a little longer, our hopes for the +pennant were gone. I had begun to despair of the Rube. For some +occult reason he scarcely spoke to me. Nan flirted worse than ever. +It seemed to me she flaunted her conquest of Henderson in poor Whit's +face. +</P> + +<P> +The Providence ball team came to town and promptly signed Henderson and +announced him for Saturday's game. Cairns won the first of the series +and Radbourne lost the second. It was Rube's turn to pitch the +Saturday game and I resolved to make one more effort to put the +love-sick swain in something like his old fettle. So I called upon Nan. +</P> + +<P> +She was surprised to see me, but received me graciously. I fancied her +face was not quite so glowing as usual. I came bluntly out with my +mission. She tried to freeze me but I would not freeze. I was out to +win or lose and not to be lightly laughed aside or coldly denied. I +played to make her angry, knowing the real truth of her feelings would +show under stress. +</P> + +<P> +For once in my life I became a knocker and said some unpleasant +things—albeit they were true—about Henderson. She championed +Henderson royally, and when, as a last card, I compared Whit's fine +record with Henderson's, not only as a ball player, but as a man, +particularly in his reverence for women, she flashed at me: +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about it? Mr. Henderson asked me to marry him. Can +a man do more to show his respect? Your friend never so much as hinted +such honorable intentions. What's more—he insulted me!" The blaze in +Nan's black eyes softened with a film of tears. She looked hurt. Her +pride had encountered a fall. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, Nan, Whit couldn't insult a lady," I protested. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't he? That's all you know about him. You know I—I promised to +kiss him if he beat Hartford that day. So when he came I—I did. Then +the big savage began to rave and he grabbed me up in his arms. He +smothered me; almost crushed the life out of me. He frightened me +terribly. When I got away from him—the monster stood there and coolly +said I belonged to him. I ran out of the room and wouldn't see him any +more. At first I might have forgiven him if he had apologized—said he +was sorry, but never a word. Now I never will forgive him." +</P> + +<P> +I had to make a strenuous effort to conceal my agitation. The Rube had +most carefully taken my fool advice in the matter of wooing a woman. +</P> + +<P> +When I had got a hold upon myself, I turned to Nan white-hot with +eloquence. Now I was talking not wholly for myself or the pennant, but +for this boy and girl who were at odds in that strangest game of +life—love. +</P> + +<P> +What I said I never knew, but Nan lost her resentment, and then her +scorn and indifference. Slowly she thawed and warmed to my reason, +praise, whatever it was, and when I stopped she was again the radiant +bewildering Nan of old. +</P> + +<P> +"Take another message to Whit for me," she said, audaciously. "Tell +him I adore ball players, especially pitchers. Tell him I'm going to +the game today to choose the best one. If he loses the game——" +</P> + +<P> +She left the sentence unfinished. In my state of mind I doubted not in +the least that she meant to marry the pitcher who won the game, and so +I told the Rube. He made one wild upheaval of his arms and shoulders, +like an erupting volcano, which proved to me that he believed it, too. +</P> + +<P> +When I got to the bench that afternoon I was tired. There was a big +crowd to see the game; the weather was perfect; Milly sat up in the box +and waved her score card at me; Raddy and Spears declared we had the +game; the Rube stalked to and fro like an implacable Indian chief—but +I was not happy in mind. Calamity breathed in the very air. +</P> + +<P> +The game began. McCall beat out a bunt; Ashwell sacrificed and +Stringer laced one of his beautiful triples against the fence. Then he +scored on a high fly. Two runs! Worcester trotted out into the field. +The Rube was white with determination; he had the speed of a bullet and +perfect control of his jump ball and drop. But Providence hit and had +the luck. Ashwell fumbled, Gregg threw wild. Providence tied the +score. +</P> + +<P> +The game progressed, growing more and more of a nightmare to me. It +was not Worcester's day. The umpire could not see straight; the boys +grumbled and fought among themselves; Spears roasted the umpire and was +sent to the bench; Bogart tripped, hurting his sore ankle, and had to +be taken out. Henderson's slow, easy ball baffled my players, and when +he used speed they lined it straight at a Providence fielder. +</P> + +<P> +In the sixth, after a desperate rally, we crowded the bases with only +one out. Then Mullaney's hard rap to left, seemingly good for three +bases, was pulled down by Stone with one hand. It was a wonderful +catch and he doubled up a runner at second. Again in the seventh we +had a chance to score, only to fail on another double play, this time +by the infield. +</P> + +<P> +When the Providence players were at bat their luck not only held good +but trebled and quadrupled. The little Texas-league hits dropped +safely just out of reach of the infielders. My boys had an off day in +fielding. What horror that of all days in a season this should be the +one for them to make errors! +</P> + +<P> +But they were game, and the Rube was the gamest of all. He did not +seem to know what hard luck was, or discouragement, or poor support. He +kept everlastingly hammering the ball at those lucky Providence +hitters. What speed he had! The ball streaked in, and somebody would +shut his eyes and make a safety. But the Rube pitched, on, tireless, +irresistibly, hopeful, not forgetting to call a word of cheer to his +fielders. +</P> + +<P> +It was one of those strange games that could not be bettered by any +labor or daring or skill. I saw it was lost from the second inning, yet +so deeply was I concerned, so tantalizingly did the plays reel +themselves off, that I groveled there on the bench unable to abide by +my baseball sense. +</P> + +<P> +The ninth inning proved beyond a shadow of doubt how baseball fate, in +common with other fates, loved to balance the chances, to lift up one, +then the other, to lend a deceitful hope only to dash it away. +</P> + +<P> +Providence had almost three times enough to win. The team let up in +that inning or grew over-confident or careless, and before we knew what +had happened some scratch hits, and bases on balls, and errors, gave us +three runs and left two runners on bases. The disgusted bleachers came +out of their gloom and began to whistle and thump. The Rube hit +safely, sending another run over the plate. McCall worked his old +trick, beating out a slow bunt. +</P> + +<P> +Bases full, three runs to tie! With Ashwell up and one out, the noise +in the bleachers mounted to a high-pitched, shrill, continuous sound. +I got up and yelled with all my might and could not hear my voice. +Ashwell was a dangerous man in a pinch. The game was not lost yet. A +hit, anything to get Ash to first—and then Stringer! +</P> + +<P> +Ash laughed at Henderson, taunted him, shook his bat at him and dared +him to put one over. Henderson did not stand under fire. The ball he +pitched had no steam. Ash cracked it—square on the line into the +shortstop's hands. The bleachers ceased yelling. +</P> + +<P> +Then Stringer strode grimly to the plate. It was a hundred to one, in +that instance, that he would lose the ball. The bleachers let out one +deafening roar, then hushed. I would rather have had Stringer at the +bat than any other player in the world, and I thought of the Rube and +Nan and Milly—and hope would not die. +</P> + +<P> +Stringer swung mightily on the first pitch and struck the ball with a +sharp, solid bing! It shot toward center, low, level, exceedingly +swift, and like a dark streak went straight into the fielder's hands. +A rod to right or left would have made it a home run. The crowd +strangled a victorious yell. I came out of my trance, for the game was +over and lost. It was the Rube's Waterloo. +</P> + +<P> +I hurried him into the dressing room and kept close to him. He looked +like a man who had lost the one thing worth while in his life. I +turned a deaf ear to my players, to everybody, and hustled the Rube out +and to the hotel. I wanted to be near him that night. +</P> + +<P> +To my amaze we met Milly and Nan as we entered the lobby. Milly wore a +sweet, sympathetic smile. Nan shone more radiant than ever. I simply +stared. It was Milly who got us all through the corridor into the +parlor. I heard Nan talking. +</P> + +<P> +"Whit, you pitched a bad game but—" there was the old teasing, arch, +coquettishness—"but you are the best pitcher!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nan!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="breaking"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BREAKING INTO FAST COMPANY +</H3> + +<P> +They may say baseball is the same in the minor leagues that it is in +the big leagues, but any old ball player or manager knows better. +Where the difference comes in, however, is in the greater excellence +and unity of the major players, a speed, a daring, a finish that can be +acquired only in competition with one another. +</P> + +<P> +I thought of this when I led my party into Morrisey's private box in +the grand stand of the Chicago American League grounds. We had come to +see the Rube's break into fast company. My great pitcher, Whittaker +Hurtle, the Rube, as we called him, had won the Eastern League Pennant +for me that season, and Morrisey, the Chicago magnate, had bought him. +Milly, my affianced, was with me, looking as happy as she was pretty, +and she was chaperoned by her mother, Mrs. Nelson. +</P> + +<P> +With me, also, were two veterans of my team, McCall and Spears, who +lived in Chicago, and who would have traveled a few miles to see the +Rube pitch. And the other member of my party was Mrs. Hurtle, the +Rube's wife, as saucy and as sparkling-eyed as when she had been Nan +Brown. Today she wore a new tailor-made gown, new bonnet, new +gloves—she said she had decorated herself in a manner befitting the +wife of a major league pitcher. +</P> + +<P> +Morrisey's box was very comfortable, and, as I was pleased to note, so +situated that we had a fine view of the field and stands, and yet were +comparatively secluded. The bleachers were filling. Some of the +Chicago players were on the field tossing and batting balls; the Rube, +however, had not yet appeared. +</P> + +<P> +A moment later a metallic sound was heard on the stairs leading up into +the box. I knew it for baseball spiked shoes clanking on the wood. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube, looking enormous in his uniform, stalked into the box, +knocking over two chairs as he entered. He carried a fielder's glove +in one huge freckled hand, and a big black bat in the other. +</P> + +<P> +Nan, with much dignity and a very manifest pride, introduced him to +Mrs. Nelson. +</P> + +<P> +There was a little chatting, and then, upon the arrival of Manager +Morrisey, we men retired to the back of the box to talk baseball. +</P> + +<P> +Chicago was in fourth place in the league race, and had a fighting +chance to beat Detroit out for the third position. Philadelphia was +scheduled for that day, and Philadelphia had a great team. It was +leading the race, and almost beyond all question would land the flag. +In truth, only one more victory was needed to clinch the pennant. The +team had three games to play in Chicago and it was to wind up the +season with three in Washington. Six games to play and only one +imperatively important to win! But baseball is uncertain, and until +the Philadelphians won that game they would be a band of fiends. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Whit, this is where you break in," I said. "Now, tip us +straight. You've had more than a week's rest. How's that arm?" +</P> + +<P> +"Grand, Con, grand!" replied the Rube with his frank smile. "I was a +little anxious till I warmed up. But say! I've got more up my sleeve +today than I ever had." +</P> + +<P> +"That'll do for me," said Morrisey, rubbing his hands. "I'll spring +something on these swelled Quakers today. Now, Connelly, give Hurtle +one of your old talks—the last one—and then I'll ring the gong." +</P> + +<P> +I added some words of encouragement, not forgetting my old ruse to +incite the Rube by rousing his temper. And then, as the gong rang and +the Rube was departing, Nan stepped forward for her say. There was a +little white under the tan on her cheek, and her eyes had a darkling +flash. +</P> + +<P> +"Whit, it's a magnificent sight—that beautiful green field and the +stands. What a crowd of fans! Why, I never saw a real baseball crowd +before. There are twenty thousand here. And there's a difference in +the feeling. It's sharper—new to me. It's big league baseball. Not +a soul in that crowd ever heard of you, but, I believe, tomorrow the +whole baseball world will have heard of you. Mr. Morrisey knows. I +saw it in his face. Captain Spears knows. Connie knows. I know." +</P> + +<P> +Then she lifted her face and, pulling him down within reach, she kissed +him. Nan took her husband's work in dead earnest; she gloried in it, +and perhaps she had as much to do with making him a great pitcher as +any of us. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube left the box, and I found a seat between Nan and Milly. The +field was a splendid sight. Those bleachers made me glow with +managerial satisfaction. On the field both teams pranced and danced +and bounced around in practice. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the absolutely last degree of egotism manifested by the +Philadelphia players, I could not but admire such a splendid body of +men. +</P> + +<P> +"So these are the champions of last season and of this season, too," +commented Milly. "I don't wonder. How swiftly and cleanly they play! +They appear not to exert themselves, yet they always get the ball in +perfect time. It all reminds me of—of the rhythm of music. And that +champion batter and runner—that Lane in center—isn't he just +beautiful? He walks and runs like a blue-ribbon winner at the horse +show. I tell you one thing, Connie, these Quakers are on dress parade." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, these Quakers hate themselves, I don't think!" retorted Nan. +Being a rabid girl-fan it was, of course, impossible for Nan to speak +baseball convictions or gossip without characteristic baseball slang. +"Stuck on themselves! I never saw the like in my life. That fellow +Lane is so swelled that he can't get down off his toes. But he's a +wonder, I must admit that. They're a bunch of stars. Easy, fast, +trained—they're machines, and I'll bet they're Indians to fight. I +can see it sticking out all over them. This will certainly be some +game with Whit handing up that jump ball of his to this gang of champs. +But, Connie, I'll go you Whit beats them." +</P> + +<P> +I laughed and refused to gamble. +</P> + +<P> +The gong rang; the crowd seemed to hum and rustle softly to quiet +attention; Umpire McClung called the names of the batteries; then the +familiar "Play!" +</P> + +<P> +There was the usual applause from the grand stand and welcome cheers +from the bleachers. The Rube was the last player to go out. Morrisey +was a manager who always played to the stands, and no doubt he held the +Rube back for effect. If so, he ought to have been gratified. That +moment reminded me of my own team and audience upon the occasion of the +Rube's debut. It was the same only here it happened in the big league, +before a championship team and twenty thousand fans. +</P> + +<P> +The roar that went up from the bleachers might well have scared an +unseasoned pitcher out of his wits. And the Quakers lined up before +their bench and gazed at this newcomer who had the nerve to walk out +there to the box. Cogswell stood on the coaching line, looked at the +Rube and then held up both arms and turned toward the Chicago bench as +if to ask Morrisey: "Where did you get that?" +</P> + +<P> +Nan, quick as a flash to catch a point, leaned over the box-rail and +looked at the champions with fire in her eye. "Oh, you just wait! +wait!" she bit out between her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +Certain it was that there was no one who knew the Rube as well as I; +and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the hour before me would +see brightening of a great star pitcher on the big league horizon. It +was bound to be a full hour for me. I had much reason to be grateful +to Whit Hurtle. He had pulled my team out of a rut and won me the +pennant, and the five thousand dollars I got for his release bought the +little cottage on the hill for Milly and me. Then there was my pride +in having developed him. And all that I needed to calm me, settle me +down into assurance and keen criticism of the game, was to see the Rube +pitch a few balls with his old incomparable speed and control. +</P> + +<P> +Berne, first batter for the Quakers, walked up to the plate. He was +another Billy Hamilton, built like a wedge. I saw him laugh at the +long pitcher. +</P> + +<P> +Whit swayed back, coiled and uncoiled. Something thin, white, +glancing, shot at Berne. He ducked, escaping the ball by a smaller +margin than appeared good for his confidence. He spoke low to the +Rube, and what he said was probably not flavored with the milk of +friendly sweetness. +</P> + +<P> +"Wild! What'd you look for?" called out Cogswell scornfully. "He's +from the woods!" +</P> + +<P> +The Rube swung his enormously long arm, took an enormous stride toward +third base, and pitched again. It was one of his queer deliveries. +The ball cut the plate. +</P> + +<P> +"Ho! Ho!" yelled the Quakers. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube's next one was his out curve. It broke toward the corner of +the plate and would have been a strike had not Berne popped it up. +</P> + +<P> +Callopy, the second hitter, faced the Rube, and he, too, after the +manner of ball players, made some remark meant only for the Rube's +ears. Callopy was a famous waiter. He drove more pitchers mad with his +implacable patience than any hitter in the league. The first one of +the Rube's he waited on crossed the in-corner; the second crossed the +out-corner and the third was Rube's wide, slow, tantalizing +"stitch-ball," as we call it, for the reason that it came so slow a +batter could count the stitches. I believe Callopy waited on that +curve, decided to hit it, changed his mind and waited some more, and +finally the ball maddened him and he had to poke at it, the result +being a weak grounder. +</P> + +<P> +Then the graceful, powerful Lane, champion batter, champion base +runner, stepped to the plate. How a baseball crowd, any crowd, +anywhere, loves the champion batter! The ovation Lane received made me +wonder, with this impressive reception in a hostile camp, what could be +the manner of it on his home field? Any boy ball-player from the lots +seeing Lane knock the dirt out of his spikes and step into position +would have known he was a 400 hitter. +</P> + +<P> +I was curious to see what the Rube would pitch Lane. It must have been +a new and significant moment for Hurtle. Some pitchers actually wilt +when facing a hitter of Lane's reputation. But he, on his baseball +side, was peculiarly unemotional. Undoubtedly he could get furious, but +that only increased his effectiveness. To my amazement the Rube +pitched Lane a little easy ball, not in any sense like his floater or +stitch-ball, but just a little toss that any youngster might have +tossed. Of all possible balls, Lane was not expecting such as that, and +he let it go. If the nerve of it amazed me, what did it not do to +Lane? I saw his face go fiery red. The grand stand murmured; let out +one short yelp of pleasure; the Quaker players chaffed Lane. +</P> + +<P> +The pitch was a strike. I was gripping my chair now, and for the next +pitch I prophesied the Rube's wonderful jump ball, which he had not yet +used. He swung long, and at the end of his swing seemed to jerk +tensely. I scarcely saw the ball. It had marvelous speed. Lane did +not offer to hit it, and it was a strike. He looked at the Rube, then +at Cogswell. That veteran appeared amused. The bleachers, happy and +surprised to be able to yell at Lane, yelled heartily. +</P> + +<P> +Again I took it upon myself to interpret the Rube's pitching mind. He +had another ball that he had not used, a drop, an unhittable drop. I +thought he would use that next. He did, and though Lane reached it +with the bat, the hit was a feeble one. He had been fooled and the +side was out. +</P> + +<P> +Poole, the best of the Quaker's pitching staff, walked out to the slab. +He was a left-hander, and Chicago, having so many players who batted +left-handed, always found a southpaw a hard nut to crack. Cogswell, +field manager and captain of the Quakers, kicked up the dust around +first base and yelled to his men: "Git in the game!" +</P> + +<P> +Staats hit Poole's speed ball into deep short and was out; Mitchell +flew out to Berne; Rand grounded to second. +</P> + +<P> +While the teams again changed sides the fans cheered, and then indulged +in the first stretch of the game. I calculated that they would be +stretching their necks presently, trying to keep track of the Rube's +work. Nan leaned on the railing absorbed in her own hope and faith. +Milly chattered about this and that, people in the boxes, and the +chances of the game. +</P> + +<P> +My own interest, while it did not wholly preclude the fortunes of the +Chicago players at the bat, was mostly concerned with the Rube's +fortunes in the field. +</P> + +<P> +In the Rube's half inning he retired Bannister and Blandy on feeble +infield grounders, and worked Cogswell into hitting a wide curve high +in the air. +</P> + +<P> +Poole meant to win for the Quakers if his good arm and cunning did not +fail him, and his pitching was masterly. McCloskey fanned, Hutchinson +fouled out, Brewster got a short safe fly just out of reach, and +Hoffner hit to second, forcing Brewster. +</P> + +<P> +With Dugan up for the Quakers in the third inning, Cogswell and +Bannister, from the coaching lines, began to talk to the Rube. My +ears, keen from long practice, caught some of the remarks in spite of +the noisy bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, busher, you 've lasted longer'n we expected, but you don't know +it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Gol darn you city ball tossers! Now you jest let me alone!" +</P> + +<P> +"We're comin' through the rye!" +</P> + +<P> +"My top-heavy rustic friend, you'll need an airship presently, when you +go up!" +</P> + +<P> +All the badinage was good-natured, which was sure proof that the +Quakers had not arrived at anything like real appreciation of the Rube. +They were accustomed to observe the trying out of many youngsters, of +whom ninety-nine out of a hundred failed to make good. +</P> + +<P> +Dugan chopped at three strikes and slammed his bat down. Hucker hit a +slow fly to Hoffer. Three men out on five pitched balls! Cogswell, old +war horse that he was, stood a full moment and watched the Rube as he +walked in to the bench. An idea had penetrated Cogswell's brain, and I +would have given something to know what it was. Cogswell was a great +baseball general, and though he had a preference for matured +ball-players he could, when pressed, see the quality in a youngster. +He picked up his mitt and took his position at first with a gruff word +to his players. +</P> + +<P> +Rand for Chicago opened with a hit, and the bleachers, ready to strike +fire, began to cheer and stamp. When McCloskey, in an attempt to +sacrifice, beat out his bunt the crowd roared. Rand, being slow on his +feet, had not attempted to make third on the play. Hutchinson +sacrificed, neatly advancing the runners. Then the bleachers played +the long rolling drum of clattering feet with shrill whistling +accompaniment. Brewster batted a wicked ground ball to Blandy. He +dove into the dust, came up with the ball, and feinting to throw home +he wheeled and shot the ball to Cogswell, who in turn shot it to the +plate to head Rand. Runner and ball got there apparently together, but +Umpire McClung's decision went against Rand. It was fine, fast work, +but how the bleachers stormed at McClung! +</P> + +<P> +"Rob-b-ber!" +</P> + +<P> +Again the head of the Quakers' formidable list was up. I knew from the +way that Cogswell paced the coaching box that the word had gone out to +look the Rube over seriously. There were possibilities even in rubes. +</P> + +<P> +Berne carefully stepped into the batter's box, as if he wanted to be +certain to the breadth of a hair how close he was to the plate. He was +there this time to watch the Rube pitch, to work him out, to see what +was what. He crouched low, and it would have been extremely hard to +guess what he was up to. His great play, however, was his ability to +dump the ball and beat out the throw to first. It developed presently, +that this was now his intention and that the Rube knew it and pitched +him the one ball which is almost impossible to bunt—a high incurve, +over the inside corner. There was no mistaking the Rube's magnificent +control. True as a plumb line he shot up the ball—once, twice, and +Berne fouled both—two strikes. Grudgingly he waited on the next, but +it, too, was over the corner, and Berne went out on strikes. The great +crowd did not, of course, grasp the finesse of the play, but Berne had +struck out—that was enough for them. +</P> + +<P> +Callopy, the famous spiker, who had put many a player out of the game +for weeks at a time, strode into the batter's place, and he, too, was +not at the moment making any funny remarks. The Rube delivered a ball +that all but hit Callopy fair on the head. It was the second narrow +escape for him, and the roar he let out showed how he resented being +threatened with a little of his own medicine. As might have been +expected, and very likely as the Rube intended, Callopy hit the next +ball, a sweeping curve, up over the infield. +</P> + +<P> +I was trying to see all the intricate details of the motive and action +on the field, and it was not easy to watch several players at once. +But while Berne and Callopy were having their troubles with the Rube, I +kept the tail of my eye on Cogswell. He was prowling up and down the +third-base line. +</P> + +<P> +He was missing no signs, no indications, no probabilities, no +possibilities. But he was in doubt. Like a hawk he was watching the +Rube, and, as well, the crafty batters. The inning might not tell the +truth as to the Rube's luck, though it would test his control. The +Rube's speed and curves, without any head work, would have made him a +pitcher of no mean ability, but was this remarkable placing of balls +just accident? That was the question. +</P> + +<P> +When Berne walked to the bench I distinctly heard him say: "Come out +of it, you dubs. I say you can't work him or wait him. He's peggin' +'em out of a gun!" +</P> + +<P> +Several of the Quakers were standing out from the bench, all intent on +the Rube. He had stirred them up. First it was humor; then ridicule, +curiosity, suspicion, doubt. And I knew it would grow to wonder and +certainty, then fierce attack from both tongues and bats, and +lastly—for ball players are generous—unstinted admiration. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow, not only the first climaxes of a game but the decisions, the +convictions, the reputations of pitchers and fielders evolve around the +great hitter. Plain it was that the vast throng of spectators, eager +to believe in a new find, wild to welcome a new star, yet loath to +trust to their own impulsive judgments, held themselves in check until +once more the great Lane had faced the Rube. +</P> + +<P> +The field grew tolerably quiet just then. The Rube did not exert +himself. The critical stage had no concern for him. He pitched Lane a +high curve, over the plate, but in close, a ball meant to be hit and a +ball hard to hit safely. Lane knew that as well as any hitter in the +world, so he let two of the curves go by—two strikes. Again the Rube +relentlessly gave him the same ball; and Lane, hitting viciously, +spitefully, because he did not want to hit that kind of a ball, sent up +a fly that Rand easily captured. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know! Pretty fair, I guess!" yelled a tenor-voiced fan; +and he struck the key-note. And the bleachers rose to their feet and +gave the Rube the rousing cheer of the brotherhood of fans. +</P> + +<P> +Hoffer walked to first on a base on balls. Sweeney advanced him. The +Rube sent up a giant fly to Callopy. Then Staats hit safely, scoring +the first run of the game. Hoffer crossed the plate amid vociferous +applause. Mitchell ended the inning with a fly to Blandy. +</P> + +<P> +What a change had come over the spirit of that Quaker aggregation! It +was something to make a man thrill with admiration and, if he happened +to favor Chicago, to fire all his fighting blood. The players poured +upon the Rube a continuous stream of scathing abuse. They would have +made a raging devil of a mild-mannered clergyman. Some of them were +skilled in caustic wit, most of them were possessed of forked tongues; +and Cogswell, he of a thousand baseball battles, had a genius for +inflaming anyone he tormented. This was mostly beyond the ken of the +audience, and behind the back of the umpire, but it was perfectly plain +to me. The Quakers were trying to rattle the Rube, a trick of the game +as fair for one side as for the other. I sat there tight in my seat, +grimly glorying in the way the Rube refused to be disturbed. But the +lion in him was rampant. Fortunately, it was his strange gift to pitch +better the angrier he got; and the more the Quakers flayed him, the +more he let himself out to their crushing humiliation. +</P> + +<P> +The innings swiftly passed to the eighth with Chicago failing to score +again, with Philadelphia failing to score at all. One scratch hit and +a single, gifts to the weak end of the batting list, were all the lank +pitcher allowed them. Long since the bleachers had crowned the Rube. +He was theirs and they were his; and their voices had the peculiar +strangled hoarseness due to over-exertion. The grand stand, slower to +understand and approve, arrived later; but it got there about the +seventh, and ladies' gloves and men's hats were sacrificed. +</P> + +<P> +In the eighth the Quakers reluctantly yielded their meed of praise, +showing it by a cessation of their savage wordy attacks on the Rube. +It was a kind of sullen respect, wrung from the bosom of great foes. +</P> + +<P> +Then the ninth inning was at hand. As the sides changed I remembered +to look at the feminine group in our box. Milly was in a most +beautiful glow of happiness and excitement. Nan sat rigid, leaning +over the rail, her face white and drawn, and she kept saying in a low +voice: "Will it never end? Will it never end?" Mrs. Nelson stared +wearily. +</P> + +<P> +It was the Quakers' last stand. They faced it as a team that had won +many a game in the ninth with two men out. Dugan could do nothing with +the Rube's unhittable drop, for a drop curve was his weakness, and he +struck out. Hucker hit to Hoffer, who fumbled, making the first error +of the game. Poole dumped the ball, as evidently the Rube desired, for +he handed up a straight one, but the bunt rolled teasingly and the +Rube, being big and tall, failed to field it in time. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the whole field grew quiet. For the first time Cogswell's +coaching was clearly heard. +</P> + +<P> +"One out! Take a lead! Take a lead! Go through this time. Go +through!" +</P> + +<P> +Could it be possible, I wondered, that after such a wonderful +exhibition of pitching the Rube would lose out in the ninth? +</P> + +<P> +There were two Quakers on base, one out, and two of the best hitters in +the league on deck, with a chance of Lane getting up. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Oh! Oh!" moaned Nan. +</P> + +<P> +I put my hand on hers. "Don't quit, Nan. You'll never forgive yourself +if you quit. Take it from me, Whit will pull out of this hole!" +</P> + +<P> +What a hole that was for the Rube on the day of his break into fast +company! I measured it by his remarkable deliberation. He took a long +time to get ready to pitch to Berne, and when he let drive it was as if +he had been trifling all before in that game. I could think of no way +to figure it except that when the ball left him there was scarcely any +appreciable interval of time before it cracked in Sweeney's mitt. It +was the Rube's drop, which I believed unhittable. Berne let it go by, +shaking his head as McClung called it a strike. Another followed, +which Berne chopped at vainly. Then with the same upheaval of his +giant frame, the same flinging of long arms and lunging forward, the +Rube delivered a third drop. And Berne failed to hit it. +</P> + +<P> +The voiceless bleachers stamped on the benches and the grand stand +likewise thundered. +</P> + +<P> +Callopy showed his craft by stepping back and lining Rube's high pitch +to left. Hoffer leaped across and plunged down, getting his gloved +hand in front of the ball. The hit was safe, but Hoffer's valiant +effort saved a tie score. +</P> + +<P> +Lane up! Three men on bases! Two out! +</P> + +<P> +Not improbably there were many thousand spectators of that thrilling +moment who pitied the Rube for the fate which placed Lane at the bat +then. But I was not one of them. Nevertheless my throat was clogged, +my mouth dry, and my ears full of bells. I could have done something +terrible to Hurtle for his deliberation, yet I knew he was proving +himself what I had always tried to train him to be. +</P> + +<P> +Then he swung, stepped out, and threw his body with the ball. This was +his rarely used pitch, his last resort, his fast rise ball that jumped +up a little at the plate. Lane struck under it. How significant on +the instant to see old Cogswell's hands go up! Again the Rube pitched, +and this time Lane watched the ball go by. Two strikes! +</P> + +<P> +That whole audience leaped to its feet, whispering, yelling, screaming, +roaring, bawling. +</P> + +<P> +The Rube received the ball from Sweeney and quick as lightning he sped +it plateward. The great Lane struck out! The game was over—Chicago, +1; Philadelphia, 0. +</P> + +<P> +In that whirling moment when the crowd went mad and Milly was hugging +me, and Nan pounding holes in my hat, I had a queer sort of blankness, +a section of time when my sensations were deadlocked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Connie, look!" cried Nan. I saw Lane and Cogswell warmly shaking +hands with the Rube. Then the hungry clamoring fans tumbled upon the +field and swarmed about the players. +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Nan kissed me and Milly, and then kissed Mrs. Nelson. In +that radiant moment Nan was all sweetness. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the Rube's break into fast company," she said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="knocker"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE KNOCKER +</H3> + +<P> +"Yes, Carroll, I got my notice. Maybe it's no surprise to you. And +there's one more thing I want to say. You're 'it' on this team. +You're the topnotch catcher in the Western League and one of the best +ball players in the game—but you're a knocker!" +</P> + +<P> +Madge Ellston heard young Sheldon speak. She saw the flash in his gray +eyes and the heat of his bronzed face as he looked intently at the big +catcher. +</P> + +<P> +"Fade away, sonny. Back to the bush-league for yours!" replied +Carroll, derisively. "You're not fast enough for Kansas City. You +look pretty good in a uniform and you're swift on your feet, but you +can't hit. You've got a glass arm and you run bases like an ostrich +trying to side. That notice was coming to you. Go learn the game!" +</P> + +<P> +Then a crowd of players trooped noisily out of the hotel lobby and +swept Sheldon and Carroll down the porch steps toward the waiting +omnibus. +</P> + +<P> +Madge's uncle owned the Kansas City club. She had lived most of her +nineteen years in a baseball atmosphere, but accustomed as she was to +baseball talk and the peculiar banterings and bickerings of the +players, there were times when it seemed all Greek. If a player got +his "notice" it meant he would be released in ten days. A "knocker" +was a ball player who spoke ill of his fellow players. This scrap of +conversation, however, had an unusual interest because Carroll had paid +court to her for a year, and Sheldon, coming to the team that spring, +had fallen desperately in love with her. She liked Sheldon pretty +well, but Carroll fascinated her. She began to wonder if there were +bad feelings between the rivals—to compare them—to get away from +herself and judge them impersonally. +</P> + +<P> +When Pat Donahue, the veteran manager of the team came out, Madge +greeted him with a smile. She had always gotten on famously with Pat, +notwithstanding her imperious desire to handle the managerial reins +herself upon occasions. Pat beamed all over his round ruddy face. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Madge, you weren't to the park yesterday an' we lost without our +pretty mascot. We shure needed you. Denver's playin' at a fast clip." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm coming out today," replied Miss Ellston, thoughtfully. "Pat, +what's a knocker?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Miss Madge, are you askin' me that after I've been coachin' you +in baseball for years?" questioned Pat, in distress. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what a knocker is, as everybody else does. But I want to know +the real meaning, the inside-ball of it, to use your favorite saying." +</P> + +<P> +Studying her grave face with shrewd eyes Donahue slowly lost his smile. +</P> + +<P> +"The inside-ball of it, eh? Come, let's sit over here a bit—the sun's +shure warm today.... Miss Madge, a knocker is the strangest man +known in the game, the hardest to deal with an' what every baseball +manager hates most." +</P> + +<P> +Donahue told her that he believed the term "knocker" came originally +from baseball; that in general it typified the player who strengthened +his own standing by belittling the ability of his team-mates, and by +enlarging upon his own superior qualities. But there were many phases +of this peculiar type. Some players were natural born knockers; others +acquired the name in their later years in the game when younger men +threatened to win their places. Some of the best players ever produced +by baseball had the habit in its most violent form. There were players +of ridiculously poor ability who held their jobs on the strength of +this one trait. It was a mystery how they misled magnates and managers +alike; how for months they held their places, weakening a team, often +keeping a good team down in the race; all from sheer bold suggestion of +their own worth and other players' worthlessness. Strangest of all was +the knockers' power to disorganize; to engender a bad spirit between +management and team and among the players. The team which was without +one of the parasites of the game generally stood well up in the race +for the pennant, though there had been championship teams noted for +great knockers as well as great players. +</P> + +<P> +"It's shure strange, Miss Madge," said Pat in conclusion, shaking his +gray head. "I've played hundreds of knockers, an' released them, too. +Knockers always get it in the end, but they go on foolin' me and +workin' me just the same as if I was a youngster with my first team. +They're part an' parcel of the game." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you like these men off the field—outside of baseball, I mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I shure don't, an' I never seen one yet that wasn't the same off +the field as he was on." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Pat. I think I understand now. And—oh, yes, there's +another thing I want to ask you. What's the matter with Billie +Sheldon? Uncle George said he was falling off in his game. Then I've +read the papers. Billie started out well in the spring." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't he? I was sure thinkin' I had a find in Billie. Well, he's +lost his nerve. He's in a bad slump. It's worried me for days. I'm +goin' to release Billie. The team needs a shake-up. That's where +Billie gets the worst of it, for he's really the makin' of a star; but +he's slumped, an' now knockin' has made him let down. There, Miss +Madge, that's an example of what I've just been tellin' you. An' you +can see that a manager has his troubles. These hulkin' athletes are a +lot of spoiled babies an' I often get sick of my job." +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon Miss Ellston was in a brown study all the way out to the +baseball park. She arrived rather earlier than usual to find the +grand-stand empty. The Denver team had just come upon the field, and +the Kansas City players were practising batting at the left of the +diamond. Madge walked down the aisle of the grand stand and out along +the reporters' boxes. She asked one of the youngsters on the field to +tell Mr. Sheldon that she would like to speak with him a moment. +</P> + +<P> +Billie eagerly hurried from the players' bench with a look of surprise +and expectancy on his sun-tanned face. Madge experienced for the first +time a sudden sense of shyness at his coming. His lithe form and his +nimble step somehow gave her a pleasure that seemed old yet was new. +When he neared her, and, lifting his cap, spoke her name, the shade of +gloom in his eyes and lines of trouble on his face dispelled her +confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Billie, Pat tells me he's given you ten days' notice," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"It's true." +</P> + +<P> +"What's wrong with you, Billie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I've struck a bad streak—can't hit or throw." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a quitter?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not," he answered quickly, flushing a dark red. +</P> + +<P> +"You started off this spring with a rush. You played brilliantly and +for a while led the team in batting. Uncle George thought so well of +you. Then came this spell of bad form. But, Billie, it's only a slump; +you can brace." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," he replied, despondently. "Awhile back I got my mind +off the game. Then—people who don't like me have taken advantage of +my slump to——" +</P> + +<P> +"To knock," interrupted Miss Ellston. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not saying that," he said, looking away from her. +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm saying it. See here, Billie Sheldon, my uncle owns this team +and Pat Donahue is manager. I think they both like me a little. Now I +don't want to see you lose your place. Perhaps——" +</P> + +<P> +"Madge, that's fine of you—but I think—I guess it'd be best for me to +leave Kansas City." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know," he said huskily. "I've lost my head—I'm in love—I can't +think of baseball—I'm crazy about you." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ellston's sweet face grew rosy, clear to the tips of her ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Billie Sheldon," she replied, spiritedly. "You're talking nonsense. +Even if you were were that way, it'd be no reason to play poor ball. +Don't throw the game, as Pat would say. Make a brace! Get up on your +toes! Tear things! Rip the boards off the fence! Don't quit!" +</P> + +<P> +She exhausted her vocabulary of baseball language if not her +enthusiasm, and paused in blushing confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Madge!" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you brace up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will I—will I!" he exclaimed, breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +Madge murmured a hurried good-bye and, turning away, went up the +stairs. Her uncle's private box was upon the top of the grand stand +and she reached it in a somewhat bewildered state of mind. She had a +confused sense of having appeared to encourage Billie, and did not know +whether she felt happy or guilty. The flame in his eyes had warmed all +her blood. Then, as she glanced over the railing to see the powerful +Burns Carroll, there rose in her breast a panic at strange variance +with her other feelings. +</P> + +<P> +Many times had Madge Ellston viewed the field and stands and the +outlying country from this high vantage point; but never with the same +mingling emotions, nor had the sunshine ever been so golden, the woods +and meadows so green, the diamond so smooth and velvety, the whole +scene so gaily bright. +</P> + +<P> +Denver had always been a good drawing card, and having won the first +game of the present series, bade fair to draw a record attendance. The +long lines of bleachers, already packed with the familiar mottled +crowd, sent forth a merry, rattling hum. Soon a steady stream of +well-dressed men and women poured in the gates and up the grand-stand +stairs. The soft murmur of many voices in light conversation and +laughter filled the air. The peanut venders and score-card sellers +kept up their insistent shrill cries. The baseball park was alive now +and restless; the atmosphere seemed charged with freedom and pleasure. +The players romped like skittish colts, the fans shrieked their +witticisms—all sound and movements suggested play. +</P> + +<P> +Madge Ellston was somehow relieved to see her uncle sitting in one of +the lower boxes. During this game she wanted to be alone, and she +believed she would be, for the President of the League and directors of +the Kansas City team were with her uncle. When the bell rang to call +the Denver team in from practice the stands could hold no more, and the +roped-off side lines were filling up with noisy men and boys. From her +seat Madge could see right down upon the players' bench, and when she +caught both Sheldon and Carroll gazing upward she drew back with +sharply contrasted thrills. +</P> + +<P> +Then the bell rang again, the bleachers rolled out their welcoming +acclaim, and play was called with Kansas City at the bat. +</P> + +<P> +Right off the reel Hunt hit a short fly safely over second. The ten +thousand spectators burst into a roar. A good start liberated applause +and marked the feeling for the day. +</P> + +<P> +Madge was surprised and glad to see Billie Sheldon start next for the +plate. All season, until lately, he had been the second batter. +During his slump he had been relegated to the last place on the batting +list. Perhaps he had asked Pat to try him once more at the top. The +bleachers voiced their unstinted appreciation of this return, showing +that Billie still had a strong hold on their hearts. +</P> + +<P> +As for Madge, her breast heaved and she had difficulty in breathing. +This was going to be a hard game for her. The intensity of her desire +to see Billie brace up to his old form amazed her. And Carroll's rude +words beat thick in her ears. Never before had Billie appeared so +instinct with life, so intent and strung as when he faced Keene, the +Denver pitcher. That worthy tied himself up in a knot, and then, +unlimbering a long arm, delivered the brand new ball. +</P> + +<P> +Billie seemed to leap forward and throw his bat at it. There was a +sharp ringing crack—and the ball was like a white string marvelously +stretching out over the players, over the green field beyond, and then, +sailing, soaring, over the right-field fence. For a moment the stands, +even the bleachers, were stone quiet. No player had ever hit a ball +over that fence. It had been deemed impossible, as was attested to by +the many painted "ads" offering prizes for such a feat. Suddenly the +far end of the bleachers exploded and the swelling roar rolled up to +engulf the grand stand in thunder. Billie ran round the bases to +applause never before vented on that field. But he gave no sign that +it affected him; he did not even doff his cap. White-faced and stern, +he hurried to the bench, where Pat fell all over him and many of the +players grasped his hands. +</P> + +<P> +Up in her box Madge was crushing her score-card and whispering: "Oh! +Billie, I could hug you for that!" +</P> + +<P> +Two runs on two pitched balls! That was an opening to stir an exacting +audience to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. The Denver manager +peremptorily called Keene off the diamond and sent in Steele, a +south-paw, who had always bothered Pat's left-handed hitters. That +move showed his astute judgment, for Steele struck out McReady and +retired Curtis and Mahew on easy chances. +</P> + +<P> +It was Dalgren's turn to pitch and though he had shown promise in +several games he had not yet been tried out on a team of Denver's +strength. The bleachers gave him a good cheering as he walked into the +box, but for all that they whistled their wonder at Pat's assurance in +putting him against the Cowboys in an important game. +</P> + +<P> +The lad was visibly nervous and the hard-hitting and loud-coaching +Denver players went after him as if they meant to drive him out of the +game. Crane stung one to left center for a base, Moody was out on a +liner to short, almost doubling up Crane; the fleet-footed Bluett +bunted and beat the throw to first; Langly drove to left for what +seemed a three-bagger, but Curtis, after a hard run, caught the ball +almost off the left-field bleachers. Crane and Bluett advanced a base +on the throw-in. Then Kane batted up a high foul-fly. Burns Carroll, +the Kansas City catcher, had the reputation of being a fiend for +chasing foul flies, and he dashed at this one with a speed that +threatened a hard fall over the players' bench or a collision with the +fence. Carroll caught the ball and crashed against the grand stand, +but leaped back with an agility that showed that if there was any harm +done it had not been to him. +</P> + +<P> +Thus the sharp inning ended with a magnificent play. It electrified +the spectators into a fierce energy of applause. With one accord, by +baseball instinct, the stands and bleachers and roped-in-sidelines +realized it was to be a game of games and they answered to the stimulus +with a savage enthusiasm that inspired ballplayers to great plays. +</P> + +<P> +In the first half of the second inning, Steele's will to do and his arm +to execute were very like his name. Kansas City could not score. In +their half the Denver team made one run by clean hitting. +</P> + +<P> +Then the closely fought advantage see-sawed from one team to the other. +It was not a pitchers' battle, though both men worked to the limit of +skill and endurance. They were hit hard. Dazzling plays kept the +score down and the innings short. Over the fields hung the portent of +something to come, every player, every spectator felt the subtle +baseball chance; each inning seemed to lead closer and more thrillingly +up to the climax. But at the end of the seventh, with the score tied +six and six, with daring steals, hard hits and splendid plays, enough +to have made memorable several games, it seemed that the great +portentous moment was still in abeyance. +</P> + +<P> +The head of the batting list for Kansas City was up. Hunt caught the +first pitched ball squarely on the end of his bat. It was a mighty +drive and as the ball soared and soared over the center-field Hunt +raced down the base line, and the winged-footed Crane sped outward, the +bleachers split their throats. The hit looked good for a home run, but +Crane leaped up and caught the ball in his gloved hand. The sudden +silence and then the long groan which racked the bleachers was greater +tribute to Crane's play than any applause. +</P> + +<P> +Billie Sheldon then faced Steele. The fans roared hoarsely, for Billie +had hit safely three times out of four. Steele used his curve ball, +but he could not get the batter to go after it. When he had wasted +three balls, the never-despairing bleachers howled: "Now, Billie, in +your groove! Sting the next one!" But Billie waited. One strike! Two +strikes! Steele cut the plate. That was a test which proved Sheldon's +caliber. +</P> + +<P> +With seven innings of exciting play passed, with both teams on edge, +with the bleachers wild and the grand stands keyed up to the breaking +point, with everything making deliberation almost impossible, Billie +Sheldon had remorselessly waited for three balls and two strikes. +</P> + +<P> +"Now! ... Now! ... Now!" shrieked the bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +Steele had not tired nor lost his cunning. With hands before him he +grimly studied Billie, then whirling hard to get more weight into his +motion, he threw the ball. +</P> + +<P> +Billie swung perfectly and cut a curving liner between the first +baseman and the base. Like a shot it skipped over the grass out along +the foul-line into right field. Amid tremendous uproar Billie +stretched the hit into a triple, and when he got up out of the dust +after his slide into third the noise seemed to be the crashing down of +the bleachers. It died out with the choking gurgling yell of the most +leather-lunged fan. +</P> + +<P> +"O-o-o-o-you-Billie-e!" +</P> + +<P> +McReady marched up and promptly hit a long fly to the redoubtable +Crane. Billie crouched in a sprinter's position with his eye on the +graceful fielder, waiting confidently for the ball to drop. As if there +had not already been sufficient heart-rending moments, the chance that +governed baseball meted out this play; one of the keenest, most trying +known to the game. Players waited, spectators waited, and the instant +of that dropping ball was interminably long. Everybody knew Crane +would catch it; everybody thought of the wonderful throwing arm that +had made him famous. Was it possible for Billie Sheldon to beat the +throw to the plate? +</P> + +<P> +Crane made the catch and got the ball away at the same instant Sheldon +leaped from the base and dashed for home. Then all eyes were on the +ball. It seemed incredible that a ball thrown by human strength could +speed plateward so low, so straight, so swift. But it lost its force +and slanted down to bound into the catcher's hands just as Billie slid +over the plate. +</P> + +<P> +By the time the bleachers had stopped stamping and bawling, Curtis +ended the inning with a difficult grounder to the infield. +</P> + +<P> +Once more the Kansas City players took the field and Burns Carroll sang +out in his lusty voice: "Keep lively, boys! Play hard! Dig 'em up an' +get 'em!" Indeed the big catcher was the main-stay of the home team. +The bulk of the work fell upon his shoulders. Dalgren was wild and +kept his catcher continually blocking low pitches and wide curves and +poorly controlled high fast balls. But they were all alike to Carroll. +Despite his weight, he was as nimble on his feet as a goat, and if he +once got his hands on the ball he never missed it. It was his +encouragement that steadied Dalgren; his judgment of hitters that +carried the young pitcher through dangerous places; his lightning swift +grasp of points that directed the machine-like work of his team. +</P> + +<P> +In this inning Carroll exhibited another of his demon chases after a +foul fly; he threw the base-stealing Crane out at second, and by a +remarkable leap and stop of McReady's throw, he blocked a runner who +would have tied the score. +</P> + +<P> +The Cowboys blanked their opponents in the first half of the ninth, and +trotted in for their turn needing one run to tie, two runs to win. +</P> + +<P> +There had scarcely been a breathing spell for the onlookers in this +rapid-fire game. Every inning had held them, one moment breathless, +the next wildly clamorous, and another waiting in numb fear. What did +these last few moments hold in store? The only answer to that was the +dogged plugging optimism of the Denver players. To listen to them, to +watch them, was to gather the impression that baseball fortune always +favored them in the end. +</P> + +<P> +"Only three more, Dal. Steady boys, it's our game," rolled out +Carroll's deep bass. How virile he was! What a tower of strength to +the weakening pitcher! +</P> + +<P> +But valiantly as Dalgren tried to respond, he failed. The grind—the +strain had been too severe. When he finally did locate the plate Bluett +hit safely. Langley bunted along the base line and beat the ball. +</P> + +<P> +A blank, dead quiet settled down over the bleachers and stands. +Something fearful threatened. What might not come to pass, even at the +last moment of this nerve-racking game? There was a runner on first +and a runner on second. That was bad. Exceedingly bad was it that +these runners were on base with nobody out. Worst of all was the fact +that Kane was up. Kane, the best bunter, the fastest man to first, the +hardest hitter in the league! That he would fail to advance those two +runners was scarcely worth consideration. Once advanced, a fly to the +outfield, a scratch, anything almost, would tie the score. So this was +the climax presaged so many times earlier in the game. Dalgren seemed +to wilt under it. +</P> + +<P> +Kane swung his ash viciously and called on Dalgren to put one over. +Dalgren looked in toward the bench as if he wanted and expected to be +taken out. But Pat Donahue made no sign. Pat had trained many a +pitcher by forcing him to take his medicine. Then Carroll, mask under +his arm, rolling his big hand in his mitt, sauntered down to the +pitcher's box. The sharp order of the umpire in no wise disconcerted +him. He said something to Dalgren, vehemently nodding his head the +while. Players and audience alike supposed he was trying to put a +little heart into Dalgren, and liked him the better, notwithstanding +the opposition to the umpire. +</P> + +<P> +Carroll sauntered back to his position. He adjusted his breast +protector, and put on his mask, deliberately taking his time. Then he +stepped behind the plate, and after signing for the pitch, he slowly +moved his right hand up to his mask. +</P> + +<P> +Dalgren wound up, took his swing, and let drive. Even as he delivered +the ball Carroll bounded away from his position, flinging off the mask +as he jumped. For a single fleeting instant, the catcher's position +was vacated. But that instant was long enough to make the audience +gasp. Kane bunted beautifully down the third base line, and there +Carroll stood, fifteen feet from the plate, agile as a huge monkey. He +whipped the ball to Mahew at third. Mahew wheeled quick as thought and +lined the ball to second. Sheldon came tearing for the bag, caught the +ball on the run, and with a violent stop and wrench threw it like a +bullet to first base. Fast as Kane was, the ball beat him ten feet. A +triple play! +</P> + +<P> +The players of both teams cheered, but the audience, slower to grasp +the complex and intricate points, needed a long moment to realize what +had happened. They needed another to divine that Carroll had +anticipated Kane's intention to bunt, had left his position as the ball +was pitched, had planned all, risked all, played all on Kane's sure +eye; and so he had retired the side and won the game by creating and +executing the rarest play in baseball. +</P> + +<P> +Then the audience rose in a body to greet the great catcher. What a +hoarse thundering roar shook the stands and waved in a blast over the +field! Carroll stood bowing his acknowledgment, and then swaggered a +little with the sun shining on his handsome heated face. Like a +conqueror conscious of full blown power he stalked away to the +clubhouse. +</P> + +<P> +Madge Ellston came out of her trance and viewed the ragged score-card, +her torn parasol, her battered gloves and flying hair, her generally +disheveled state with a little start of dismay, but when she got into +the thick and press of the moving crowd she found all the women more or +less disheveled. And they seemed all the prettier and friendlier for +that. It was a happy crowd and voices were conspicuously hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +When Madge entered the hotel parlor that evening she found her uncle +with guests and among them was Burns Carroll. The presence of the +handsome giant affected Madge more impellingly than ever before, yet in +some inexplicably different way. She found herself trembling; she +sensed a crisis in her feelings for this man and it frightened her. +She became conscious suddenly that she had always been afraid of him. +Watching Carroll receive the congratulations of many of those present, +she saw that he dominated them as he had her. His magnetism was +over-powering; his great stature seemed to fill the room; his easy +careless assurance emanated from superior strength. When he spoke +lightly of the game, of Crane's marvelous catch, of Dalgren's pitching +and of his own triple play, it seemed these looming features retreated +in perspective—somehow lost their vital significance because he +slighted them. +</P> + +<P> +In the light of Carroll's illuminating talk, in the remembrance of +Sheldon's bitter denunciation, in the knowledge of Pat Donahue's +estimate of a peculiar type of ball-player, Madge Ellston found herself +judging the man—bravely trying to resist his charm, to be fair to him +and to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Carroll soon made his way to her side and greeted her with his old +familiar manner of possession. However irritating it might be to Madge +when alone, now it held her bound. +</P> + +<P> +Carroll possessed the elemental attributes of a conqueror. When with +him Madge whimsically feared that he would snatch her up in his arms +and carry her bodily off, as the warriors of old did with the women +they wanted. But she began to believe that the fascination he +exercised upon her was merely physical. That gave her pause. Not only +was Burns Carroll on trial, but also a very foolish fluttering little +moth—herself. It was time enough, however, to be stern with herself +after she had tried him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't that a splendid catch of Crane's today?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"A lucky stab! Crane has a habit of running round like an ostrich and +sticking out a hand to catch a ball. It's a grand-stand play. Why, a +good outfielder would have been waiting under that fly." +</P> + +<P> +"Dalgren did fine work in the box, don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the kid's all right with an old head back of the plate. He's +wild, though, and will never make good in fast company. I won his game +today. He wouldn't have lasted an inning without me. It was dead wrong +for Pat to pitch him. Dalgren simply can't pitch and he hasn't sand +enough to learn." +</P> + +<P> +A hot retort trembled upon Madge Ellston's lips, but she withheld it +and quietly watched Carroll. How complacent he was, how utterly +self-contained! +</P> + +<P> +"And Billie Sheldon—wasn't it good to see him brace? What hitting! . +.. That home run!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sheldon flashed up today. That's the worst of such players. This +talk of his slump is all rot. When he joined the team he made some +lucky hits and the papers lauded him as a comer, but he soon got down +to his real form. Why, to break into a game now and then, to shut his +eyes and hit a couple on the nose—that's not baseball. Pat's given him +ten days' notice, and his release will be a good move for the team. +Sheldon's not fast enough for this league." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry. He seemed so promising," replied Madge. "I liked +Billy—pretty well." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that was evident," said Carroll, firing up. "I never could +understand what you saw in him. Why, Sheldon's no good. He——" +</P> + +<P> +Madge turned a white face that silenced Carroll. She excused herself +and returned to the parlor, where she had last seen her uncle. Not +finding him there, she went into the long corridor and met Sheldon, +Dalgren and two more of the players. Madge congratulated the young +pitcher and the other players on their brilliant work; and they, not to +be outdone, gallantly attributed the day's victory to her presence at +the game. Then, without knowing in the least how it came about, she +presently found herself alone with Billy, and they were strolling into +the music-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Madge, did I brace up?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl risked one quick look at him. How boyish he seemed, how +eager! What an altogether different Billie! But was the difference +all in him! Somehow, despite a conscious shyness in the moment she +felt natural and free, without the uncertainty and restraint that had +always troubled her while with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Billie, that glorious home run!" +</P> + +<P> +"Madge, wasn't that hit a dandy? How I made it is a mystery, but the +bat felt like a feather. I thought of you. Tell me—what did you +think when I hit that ball over the fence?" +</P> + +<P> +"Billie, I'll never, never tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—please—I want to know. Didn't you think something—nice of me?" +</P> + +<P> +The pink spots in Madge's cheeks widened to crimson flames. +</P> + +<P> +"Billie, are you still—crazy about me? Now, don't come so close. +Can't you behave yourself? And don't break my fingers with you terrible +baseball hands.... Well, when you made that hit I just collapsed +and I said——" +</P> + +<P> +"Say it! Say it!" implored Billie. +</P> + +<P> +She lowered her face and then bravely raised it. +</P> + +<P> +"I said, 'Billie, I could hug you for that!' ... Billie, let me go! +Oh, you mustn't!—please!" +</P> + +<P> +Quite a little while afterward Madge remembered to tell Billie that she +had been seeking her uncle. They met him and Pat Donahue, coming out +of the parlor. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been all evening?" demanded Mr. Ellston. +</P> + +<P> +"Shure it looks as if she's signed a new manager," said Pat, his shrewd +eyes twinkling. +</P> + +<P> +The soft glow in Madge's cheeks deepened into tell-tale scarlet; Billie +resembled a schoolboy stricken in guilt. +</P> + +<P> +"Aha! so that's it?" queried her uncle. +</P> + +<P> +"Ellston," said Pat. "Billie's home-run drive today recalled his +notice an' if I don't miss guess it won him another game—the best game +in life." +</P> + +<P> +"By George!" exclaimed Mr. Ellston. "I was afraid it was Carroll!" +</P> + +<P> +He led Madge away and Pat followed with Billie. +</P> + +<P> +"Shure, it was good to see you brace, Billie," said the manager, with a +kindly hand on the young man's arm. "I'm tickled to death. That ten +days' notice doesn't go. See? I've had to shake up the team but your +job is good. I released McReady outright an' traded Carroll to Denver +for a catcher and a fielder. Some of the directors hollered murder, +an' I expect the fans will roar, but I'm running this team, I'll have +harmony among my players. Carroll is a great catcher, but he's a +knocker." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="winning"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WINNING BALL +</H3> + +<P> +One day in July our Rochester club, leader in the Eastern League, had +returned to the hotel after winning a double-header from the Syracuse +club. For some occult reason there was to be a lay-off next day and +then on the following another double-header. These double-headers we +hated next to exhibition games. Still a lay-off for twenty-four hours, +at that stage of the race, was a Godsend, and we received the news with +exclamations of pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +After dinner we were all sitting and smoking comfortably in front of +the hotel when our manager, Merritt, came hurriedly out of the lobby. +It struck me that he appeared a little flustered. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, you fellars," he said brusquely. "Pack your suits and be ready +for the bus at seven-thirty." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was a blank, ominous silence, while we assimilated +the meaning of his terse speech. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got a good thing on for tomorrow," continued the manager. "Sixty +per cent gate receipts if we win. That Guelph team is hot stuff, +though." +</P> + +<P> +"Guelph!" exclaimed some of the players suspiciously. "Where's Guelph?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's in Canada. We'll take the night express an' get there tomorrow +in time for the game. An' we'll hev to hustle." +</P> + +<P> +Upon Merritt then rained a multiplicity of excuses. Gillinger was not +well, and ought to have that day's rest. Snead's eyes would profit by +a lay-off. Deerfoot Browning was leading the league in base running, +and as his legs were all bruised and scraped by sliding, a manager who +was not an idiot would have a care of such valuable runmakers for his +team. Lake had "Charley-horse." Hathaway's arm was sore. Bane's +stomach threatened gastritis. Spike Doran's finger needed a chance to +heal. I was stale, and the other players, three pitchers, swore their +arms should be in the hospital. +</P> + +<P> +"Cut it out!" said Merritt, getting exasperated. "You'd all lay down on +me—now, wouldn't you? Well, listen to this: McDougal pitched today; +he doesn't go. Blake works Friday, he doesn't go. But the rest of you +puffed-up, high-salaried stiffs pack your grips quick. See? It'll +cost any fresh fellar fifty for missin' the train." +</P> + +<P> +So that was how eleven of the Rochester team found themselves moodily +boarding a Pullman en route for Buffalo and Canada. We went to bed +early and arose late. +</P> + +<P> +Guelph lay somewhere in the interior of Canada, and we did not expect +to get there until 1 o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +As it turned out, the train was late; we had to dress hurriedly in the +smoking room, pack our citizen clothes in our grips and leave the train +to go direct to the ball grounds without time for lunch. +</P> + +<P> +It was a tired, dusty-eyed, peevish crowd of ball players that climbed +into a waiting bus at the little station. +</P> + +<P> +We had never heard of Guelph; we did not care anything about Rube +baseball teams. Baseball was not play to us; it was the hardest kind +of work, and of all things an exhibition game was an abomination. +</P> + +<P> +The Guelph players, strapping lads, met us with every mark of respect +and courtesy and escorted us to the field with a brass band that was +loud in welcome, if not harmonious in tune. +</P> + +<P> +Some 500 men and boys trotted curiously along with us, for all the +world as if the bus were a circus parade cage filled with striped +tigers. What a rustic, motley crowd massed about in and on that ball +ground. There must have been 10,000. +</P> + +<P> +The audience was strange to us. The Indians, half-breeds, +French-Canadians; the huge, hulking, bearded farmers or traders, or +trappers, whatever they were, were new to our baseball experience. +</P> + +<P> +The players themselves, however, earned the largest share of our +attention. By the time they had practiced a few moments we looked at +Merritt and Merritt looked at us. +</P> + +<P> +These long, powerful, big-handed lads evidently did not know the +difference between lacrosse and baseball; but they were quick as cats +on their feet, and they scooped up the ball in a way wonderful to see. +And throw!—it made a professional's heart swell just to see them line +the ball across the diamond. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord! what whips these lads have!" exclaimed Merritt. "Hope we're not +up against it. If this team should beat us we wouldn't draw a handful +at Toronto. We can't afford to be beaten. Jump around and cinch the +game quick. If we get in a bad place, I'll sneak in the 'rabbit.'" +</P> + +<P> +The "rabbit" was a baseball similar in appearance to the ordinary +league ball; under its horse-hide cover, however, it was remarkably +different. +</P> + +<P> +An ingenious fan, a friend of Merritt, had removed the covers from a +number of league balls and sewed them on rubber balls of his own +making. They could not be distinguished from the regular article, not +even by an experienced professional—until they were hit. Then! The +fact that after every bounce one of these rubber balls bounded swifter +and higher had given it the name of the "rabbit." +</P> + +<P> +Many a game had the "rabbit" won for us at critical stages. Of course +it was against the rules of the league, and of course every player in +the league knew about it; still, when it was judiciously and cleverly +brought into a close game, the "rabbit" would be in play, and very +probably over the fence, before the opposing captain could learn of it, +let alone appeal to the umpire. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellars, look at that guy who's goin' to pitch," suddenly spoke up one +of the team. +</P> + +<P> +Many as were the country players whom we seasoned and traveled +professionals had run across, this twirler outclassed them for +remarkable appearance. Moreover, what put an entirely different tinge +to our momentary humor was the discovery that he was as wild as a March +hare and could throw a ball so fast that it resembled a pea shot from a +boy's air gun. +</P> + +<P> +Deerfoot led our batting list, and after the first pitched ball, which +he did not see, and the second, which ticked his shirt as it shot past, +he turned to us with an expression that made us groan inwardly. +</P> + +<P> +When Deerfoot looked that way it meant the pitcher was dangerous. +Deerfoot made no effort to swing at the next ball, and was promptly +called out on strikes. +</P> + +<P> +I was second at bat, and went up with some reluctance. I happened to +be leading the league in both long distance and safe hitting, and I +doted on speed. But having stopped many mean in-shoots with various +parts of my anatomy, I was rather squeamish about facing backwoods yaps +who had no control. +</P> + +<P> +When I had watched a couple of his pitches, which the umpire called +strikes, I gave him credit for as much speed as Rusie. These balls +were as straight as a string, singularly without curve, jump, or +variation of any kind. I lined the next one so hard at the shortstop +that it cracked like a pistol as it struck his hands and whirled him +half off his feet. Still he hung to the ball and gave opportunity for +the first crash of applause. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys, he's a trifle wild," I said to my team-mates, "but he has the +most beautiful ball to hit you ever saw. I don't believe he uses a +curve, and when we once time that speed we'll kill it." +</P> + +<P> +Next inning, after old man Hathaway had baffled the Canadians with his +wide, tantalizing curves, my predictions began to be verified. Snead +rapped one high and far to deep right field. To our infinite surprise, +however, the right fielder ran with fleetness that made our own +Deerfoot seem slow, and he got under the ball and caught it. +</P> + +<P> +Doran sent a sizzling grasscutter down toward left. The lanky third +baseman darted over, dived down, and, coming up with the ball, +exhibited the power of a throwing arm that made as all green with envy. +</P> + +<P> +Then, when the catcher chased a foul fly somewhere back in the crowd +and caught it, we began to take notice. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucky stabs!" said Merritt cheerfully. "They can't keep that up. +We'll drive him to the woods next time." +</P> + +<P> +But they did keep it up; moreover, they became more brilliant as the +game progressed. What with Hathaway's heady pitching we soon disposed +of them when at the bat; our turns, however, owing to the wonderful +fielding of these backwoodsmen, were also fruitless. +</P> + +<P> +Merritt, with his mind ever on the slice of gate money coming if we +won, began to fidget and fume and find fault. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a swell lot of champions, now, ain't you?" he observed between +innings. +</P> + +<P> +All baseball players like to bat, and nothing pleases them so much as +base hits; on the other hand, nothing is quite so painful as to send +out hard liners only to see them caught. And it seemed as if every man +on our team connected with that lanky twirler's fast high ball and hit +with the force that made the bat spring only to have one of these rubes +get his big hands upon it. +</P> + +<P> +Considering that we were in no angelic frame of mind before the game +started, and in view of Merritt's persistently increasing ill humor, +this failure of ours to hit a ball safely gradually worked us into a +kind of frenzy. From indifference we passed to determination, and from +that to sheer passionate purpose. +</P> + +<P> +Luck appeared to be turning in the sixth inning. With one out, Lake hit +a beauty to right. Doran beat an infield grounder and reached first. +Hathaway struck out. +</P> + +<P> +With Browning up and me next, the situation looked rather precarious +for the Canadians. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Deerfoot," whispered Merritt, "dump one down the third-base line. +He's playin' deep. It's a pipe. Then the bases will be full an' +Reddy'll clean up." +</P> + +<P> +In a stage like that Browning was a man absolutely to depend upon. He +placed a slow bunt in the grass toward third and sprinted for first. +The third baseman fielded the ball, but, being confused, did not know +where to throw it. +</P> + +<P> +"Stick it in your basket," yelled Merritt, in a delight that showed how +hard he was pulling for the gate money, and his beaming smile as he +turned to me was inspiring. "Now, Reddy, it's up to you! I'm not +worrying about what's happened so far. I know, with you at bat in a +pinch, it's all off!" +</P> + +<P> +Merritt's compliment was pleasing, but it did not augment my purpose, +for that already had reached the highest mark. Love of hitting, if no +other thing, gave me the thrilling fire to arise to the opportunity. +Selecting my light bat, I went up and faced the rustic twirler and +softly said things to him. +</P> + +<P> +He delivered the ball, and I could have yelled aloud, so fast, so +straight, so true it sped toward me. Then I hit it harder than I had +ever hit a ball in my life. The bat sprung, as if it were whalebone. +And the ball took a bullet course between center and left. So +beautiful a hit was it that I watched as I ran. +</P> + +<P> +Out of the tail of my eye I saw the center fielder running. When I +rounded first base I got a good look at this fielder, and though I had +seen the greatest outfielders the game ever produced, I never saw one +that covered ground so swiftly as he. +</P> + +<P> +On the ball soared, and began to drop; on the fielder sped, and began +to disappear over a little hill back of his position. Then he reached +up with a long arm and marvelously caught the ball in one hand. He +went out of sight as I touched second base, and the heterogeneous crowd +knew about a great play to make more noise than a herd of charging +buffalo. +</P> + +<P> +In the next half inning our opponents, by clean drives, scored two runs +and we in our turn again went out ignominiously. When the first of the +eighth came we were desperate and clamored for the "rabbit." +</P> + +<P> +"I've sneaked it in," said Merritt, with a low voice. "Got it to the +umpire on the last passed ball. See, the pitcher's got it now. Boys, +it's all off but the fireworks! Now, break loose!" +</P> + +<P> +A peculiarity about the "rabbit" was the fact that though it felt as +light as the regulation league ball it could not be thrown with the +same speed and to curve it was an impossibility. +</P> + +<P> +Bane hit the first delivery from our hoosier stumbling block. The ball +struck the ground and began to bound toward short. With every bound it +went swifter, longer and higher, and it bounced clear over the +shortstop's head. Lake chopped one in front of the plate, and it +rebounded from the ground straight up so high that both runners were +safe before it came down. +</P> + +<P> +Doran hit to the pitcher. The ball caromed his leg, scooted fiendishly +at the second baseman, and tried to run up all over him like a tame +squirrel. Bases full! +</P> + +<P> +Hathaway got a safe fly over the infield and two runs tallied. The +pitcher, in spite of the help of the umpire, could not locate the plate +for Balknap, and gave him a base on balls. Bases full again! +</P> + +<P> +Deerfoot slammed a hot liner straight at the second baseman, which, +striking squarely in his hands, recoiled as sharply as if it had struck +a wall. Doran scored, and still the bases were filled. +</P> + +<P> +The laboring pitcher began to get rattled; he could not find his usual +speed; he knew it, but evidently could not account for it. +</P> + +<P> +When I came to bat, indications were not wanting that the Canadian team +would soon be up in the air. The long pitcher delivered the "rabbit," +and got it low down by my knees, which was an unfortunate thing for +him. I swung on that one, and trotted round the bases behind the +runners while the center and left fielders chased the ball. +</P> + +<P> +Gillinger weighed nearly two hundred pounds, and he got all his weight +under the "rabbit." It went so high that we could scarcely see it. +All the infielders rushed in, and after staggering around, with heads +bent back, one of them, the shortstop, managed to get under it. The +"rabbit" bounded forty feet out of his hands! +</P> + +<P> +When Snead's grounder nearly tore the third baseman's leg off; when +Bane's hit proved as elusive as a flitting shadow; when Lake's liner +knocked the pitcher flat, and Doran's fly leaped high out of the center +fielder's glove—then those earnest, simple, country ballplayers +realized something was wrong. But they imagined it was in themselves, +and after a short spell of rattles, they steadied up and tried harder +than ever. The motions they went through trying to stop that jumping +jackrabbit of a ball were ludicrous in the extreme. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, through a foul, a short fly, and a scratch hit to first, they +retired the side and we went into the field with the score 14 to 2 in +our favor. +</P> + +<P> +But Merritt had not found it possible to get the "rabbit" out of play! +</P> + +<P> +We spent a fatefully anxious few moments squabbling with the umpire and +captain over the "rabbit." At the idea of letting those herculean +railsplitters have a chance to hit the rubber ball we felt our blood +run cold. +</P> + +<P> +"But this ball has a rip in it," blustered Gillinger. He lied +atrociously. A microscope could not have discovered as much as a +scratch in that smooth leather. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure it has," supplemented Merritt, in the suave tones of a stage +villain. "We're used to playing with good balls." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you ring this one in on us?" asked the captain. "We never +threw out this ball. We want a chance to hit it." +</P> + +<P> +That was just the one thing we did not want them to have. But fate +played against us. +</P> + +<P> +"Get up on your toes, now an' dust," said Merritt. "Take your +medicine, you lazy sit-in-front-of-the-hotel stiffs! Think of pay day!" +</P> + +<P> +Not improbably we all entertained the identical thought that old man +Hathaway was the last pitcher under the sun calculated to be effective +with the "rabbit." He never relied on speed; in fact, Merritt often +scornfully accused him of being unable to break a pane of glass; he +used principally what we called floaters and a change of pace. Both +styles were absolutely impractical with the "rabbit." +</P> + +<P> +"It's comin' to us, all right, all right!" yelled Deerfoot to me, +across the intervening grass. I was of the opinion that it did not +take any genius to make Deerfoot's ominous prophecy. +</P> + +<P> +Old man Hathaway gazed at Merritt on the bench as if he wished the +manager could hear what he was calling him and then at his +fellow-players as if both to warn and beseech them. Then he pitched the +"rabbit." +</P> + +<P> +Crack! +</P> + +<P> +The big lumbering Canadian rapped the ball at Crab Bane. I did not see +it, because it went so fast, but I gathered from Crab's actions that it +must have been hit in his direction. At any rate, one of his legs +flopped out sidewise as if it had been suddenly jerked, and he fell in +a heap. The ball, a veritable "rabbit" in its wild jumps, headed on for +Deerfoot, who contrived to stop it with his knees. +</P> + +<P> +The next batter resembled the first one, and the hit likewise, only it +leaped wickedly at Doran and went through his hands as if they had been +paper. The third man batted up a very high fly to Gillinger. He +clutched at it with his huge shovel hands, but he could not hold it. +The way he pounced upon the ball, dug it out of the grass, and hurled +it at Hathaway, showed his anger. +</P> + +<P> +Obviously Hathaway had to stop the throw, for he could not get out of +the road, and he spoke to his captain in what I knew were no +complimentary terms. +</P> + +<P> +Thus began retribution. Those husky lads continued to hammer the +"rabbit" at the infielders and as it bounced harder at every bounce so +they batted harder at every bat. +</P> + +<P> +Another singular feature about the "rabbit" was the seeming +impossibility for professionals to hold it. Their familiarity with it, +their understanding of its vagaries and inconsistencies, their mortal +dread made fielding it a much more difficult thing than for their +opponents. +</P> + +<P> +By way of variety, the lambasting Canadians commenced to lambast a few +over the hills and far away, which chased Deerfoot and me until our +tongues lolled out. +</P> + +<P> +Every time a run crossed the plate the motley crowd howled, roared, +danced and threw up their hats. The members of the batting team +pranced up and down the side lines, giving a splendid imitation of +cannibals celebrating the occasion of a feast. +</P> + +<P> +Once Snead stooped down to trap the "rabbit," and it slipped through +his legs, for which his comrades jeered him unmercifully. Then a +brawny batter sent up a tremendously high fly between short and third. +</P> + +<P> +"You take it!" yelled Gillinger to Bane. +</P> + +<P> +"You take it!" replied the Crab, and actually walked backward. That +ball went a mile high. The sky was hazy, gray, the most perplexing in +which to judge a fly ball. An ordinary fly gave trouble enough in the +gauging. +</P> + +<P> +Gillinger wandered around under the ball for what seemed an age. It +dropped as swiftly as a rocket shoots upward. Gillinger went forward +in a circle, then sidestepped, and threw up his broad hands. He +misjudged the ball, and it hit him fairly on the head and bounced +almost to where Doran stood at second. +</P> + +<P> +Our big captain wilted. Time was called. But Gillinger, when he came +to, refused to leave the game and went back to third with a lump on his +head as large as a goose egg. +</P> + +<P> +Every one of his teammates was sorry, yet every one howled in glee. To +be hit on the head was the unpardonable sin for a professional. +</P> + +<P> +Old man Hathaway gradually lost what little speed he had, and with it +his nerve. Every time he pitched the "rabbit" he dodged. That was +about the funniest and strangest thing ever seen on a ball field. Yet +it had an element of tragedy. +</P> + +<P> +Hathaway's expert contortions saved his head and body on divers +occasions, but presently a low bounder glanced off the grass and +manifested an affinity for his leg. +</P> + +<P> +We all knew from the crack and the way the pitcher went down that the +"rabbit" had put him out of the game. The umpire called time, and +Merritt came running on the diamond. +</P> + +<P> +"Hard luck, old man," said the manager. "That'll make a green and +yellow spot all right. Boys, we're still two runs to the good. There's +one out, an' we can win yet. Deerfoot, you're as badly crippled as +Hathaway. The bench for yours. Hooker will go to center, an' I'll +pitch." +</P> + +<P> +Merritt's idea did not strike us as a bad one. He could pitch, and he +always kept his arm in prime condition. We welcomed him into the fray +for two reasons—because he might win the game, and because he might be +overtaken by the baseball Nemesis. +</P> + +<P> +While Merritt was putting on Hathaway's baseball shoes, some of us +endeavored to get the "rabbit" away from the umpire, but he was too +wise. +</P> + +<P> +Merritt received the innocent-looking ball with a look of mingled +disgust and fear, and he summarily ordered us to our positions. +</P> + +<P> +Not far had we gone, however, when we were electrified by the umpire's +sharp words: +</P> + +<P> +"Naw! Naw, you don't. I saw you change the ball I gave you fer one in +your pocket! Naw! You don't come enny of your American dodges on us! +Gimmee thet ball, an' you use the other, or I'll stop the game." +</P> + +<P> +Wherewith the shrewd umpire took the ball from Merritt's hand and +fished the "rabbit" from his pocket. Our thwarted manager stuttered +his wrath. "Y-you be-be-wh-whiskered y-yap! I'll g-g-give——" +</P> + +<P> +What dire threat he had in mind never materialized, for he became +speechless. He glowered upon the cool little umpire, and then turned +grandly toward the plate. +</P> + +<P> +It may have been imagination, yet I made sure Merritt seemed to shrink +and grow smaller before he pitched a ball. For one thing the plate was +uphill from the pitcher's box, and then the fellow standing there +loomed up like a hill and swung a bat that would have served as a wagon +tongue. No wonder Merritt evinced nervousness. Presently he whirled +and delivered the ball. +</P> + +<P> +Bing! +</P> + +<P> +A dark streak and a white puff of dust over second base showed how safe +that hit was. By dint of manful body work, Hooker contrived to stop +the "rabbit" in mid-center. Another run scored. Human nature was +proof against this temptation, and Merritt's players tendered him +manifold congratulations and dissertations. +</P> + +<P> +"Grand, you old skinflint, grand!" +</P> + +<P> +"There was a two-dollar bill stickin' on thet hit. Why didn't you stop +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Merritt, what little brains you've got will presently be ridin' +on the 'rabbit.'" +</P> + +<P> +"You will chase up these exhibition games!" +</P> + +<P> +"Take your medicine now. Ha! Ha! Ha!" +</P> + +<P> +After these merciless taunts, and particularly after the next slashing +hit that tied the score, Merritt looked appreciably smaller and humbler. +</P> + +<P> +He threw up another ball, and actually shied as it neared the plate. +</P> + +<P> +The giant who was waiting to slug it evidently thought better of his +eagerness as far as that pitch was concerned, for he let it go by. +</P> + +<P> +Merritt got the next ball higher. With a mighty swing, the batsman hit +a terrific liner right at the pitcher. +</P> + +<P> +Quick as lightning, Merritt wheeled, and the ball struck him with the +sound of two boards brought heavily together with a smack. +</P> + +<P> +Merritt did not fall; he melted to the ground and writhed while the +runners scored with more tallies than they needed to win. +</P> + +<P> +What did we care! Justice had been done us, and we were unutterably +happy. Crabe Bane stood on his head; Gillinger began a war dance; old +man Hathaway hobbled out to the side lines and whooped like an Indian; +Snead rolled over and over in the grass. All of us broke out into +typical expressions of baseball frenzy, and individual ones +illustrating our particular moods. +</P> + +<P> +Merritt got up and made a dive for the ball. With face positively +flaming he flung it far beyond the merry crowd, over into a swamp. +Then he limped for the bench. Which throw ended the most memorable +game ever recorded to the credit of the "rabbit." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="colors"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FALSE COLORS +</H3> + +<P> +"Fate has decreed more bad luck for Salisbury in Saturday's game with +Bellville. It has leaked out that our rivals will come over +strengthened by a 'ringer,' no less than Yale's star pitcher, Wayne. +We saw him shut Princeton out in June, in the last game of the college +year, and we are not optimistic in our predictions as to what Salisbury +can do with him. This appears a rather unfair procedure for Bellville +to resort to. Why couldn't they come over with their regular team? +They have won a game, and so have we; both games were close and +brilliant; the deciding game has roused unusual interest. We are +inclined to resent Bellville's methods as unsportsmanlike. All our +players can do is to go into this game on Saturday and try the harder +to win." +</P> + +<P> +Wayne laid down the Salisbury Gazette, with a little laugh of +amusement, yet feeling a vague, disquieting sense of something akin to +regret. +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty decent of that chap not to roast me," he soliloquized. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere he had heard that Salisbury maintained an unsalaried team. +It was notorious among college athletes that the Bellville Club paid +for the services of distinguished players. And this in itself rather +inclined Wayne to sympathize with Salisbury. He knew something of the +struggles of a strictly amateur club to cope with its semi-professional +rivals. +</P> + +<P> +As he was sitting there, idly tipped back in a comfortable chair, +dreaming over some of the baseball disasters he had survived before his +college career, he saw a young man enter the lobby of the hotel, speak +to the clerk, and then turn and come directly toward the window where +Wayne was sitting. +</P> + +<P> +"Are yon Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher?" he asked eagerly. He was a +fair-haired, clean-cut young fellow, and his voice rang pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Guilty," replied Wayne. +</P> + +<P> +"My name's Huling. I'm captain of the Salisbury nine. Just learned +you were in town and are going to pitch against us tomorrow. Won't you +walk out into the grounds with me now? You might want to warm up a +little." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, yes, I will. Guess I won't need my suit. I'll just limber +up, and give my arm a good rub." +</P> + +<P> +It struck Wayne before they had walked far that Huling was an amiable +and likable chap. As the captain of the Salisbury nine, he certainly +had no reason to be agreeable to the Morristown "ringer," even though +Wayne did happen to be a famous Yale pitcher. +</P> + +<P> +The field was an oval, green as an emerald, level as a billiard table +and had no fences or stands to obstruct the open view of the +surrounding wooded country. On each side of the diamond were rows of +wooden benches, and at one end of the field stood a little clubhouse. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne took off his coat, and tossed a ball for a while to an ambitious +youngster, and then went into the clubhouse, where Huling introduced +him to several of his players. After a good rubdown, Wayne thanked +Huling for his courtesy, and started out, intending to go back to town. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not stay to see us practice?" asked the captain. "We're not +afraid you'll size up our weaknesses. As a matter of fact, we don't +look forward to any hitting stunts tomorrow, eh, Burns? Burns, here, +is our leading hitter, and he's been unusually noncommittal since he +heard who was going to pitch for Bellville." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I wouldn't give a whole lot for my prospects of a home run +tomorrow," said Burns, with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne went outside, and found a seat in the shade. A number of urchins +had trooped upon the green field, and carriages and motors were already +in evidence. By the time the players came out of the dressing room, +ready for practice, there was quite a little crowd in attendance. +</P> + +<P> +Despite Wayne's hesitation, Huling insisted upon introducing him to +friends, and finally hauled him up to a big touring car full of girls. +Wayne, being a Yale pitcher, had seen several thousand pretty girls, +but the group in that automobile fairly dazzled him. And the last one +to whom Huling presented him—with the words: "Dorothy, this is Mr. +Wayne, the Yale pitcher, who is to play with Bellville tomorrow; Mr. +Wayne, my sister"—was the girl he had known he would meet some day. +</P> + +<P> +"Climb up, Mr. Wayne. We can make room," invited Miss Huling. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne thought the awkwardness with which he found a seat beside her was +unbecoming to a Yale senior. But, considering she was the girl he had +been expecting to discover for years, his clumsiness bespoke the +importance of the event. The merry laughter of the girls rang in his +ears. Presently, a voice detached itself from the others, and came +floating softly to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Wayne, so you're going to wrest our laurels from us?" asked Miss +Huling. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know—I'm not infallible—I've been beaten." +</P> + +<P> +"When? Not this season?" she inquired quickly, betraying a knowledge +of his record that surprised and pleased him. "Mr. Wayne, I was at the +Polo Grounds on June fifteenth." +</P> + +<P> +Her white hand lightly touched the Princeton pin at her neck. Wayne +roused suddenly out of his trance. The girl was a Princeton girl! The +gleam of her golden hair, the flash of her blue eyes, became clear in +sight. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm very pleased to hear it," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"It was a great game, Mr. Wayne, and you may well be proud of your part +in winning it. I shouldn't be surprised if you treated the Salisbury +team to the same coat of whitewash. We girls are up in arms. Our boys +stood a fair chance to win this game, but now there's a doubt. By the +way, are you acquainted in Bellville?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I met Reed, the Bellville captain, in New York this week. He had +already gotten an extra pitcher—another ringer—for this game, but he +said he preferred me, if it could be arranged." +</P> + +<P> +While conversing, Wayne made note of the fact that the other girls +studiously left him to Miss Huling. If the avoidance had not been so +marked, he would never have thought of it. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Wayne, if your word is not involved—will you change your mind and +pitch tomorrow's game for us instead of Bellville?" +</P> + +<P> +Quite amazed, Wayne turned squarely to look at Miss Huling. Instead of +disarming his quick suspicion, her cool, sweet voice, and brave, blue +eyes confirmed it. The charms of the captain's sister were to be used +to win him away from the Bellville nine. He knew the trick; it had +been played upon him before. +</P> + +<P> +But never had any other such occasion given him a feeling of regret. +This case was different. She was the girl. And she meant to flirt with +him, to use her eyes for all they were worth to encompass the Waterloo +of the rival team. +</P> + +<P> +No, he had made a mistake, after all—she was not the real girl. +Suddenly conscious of a little shock of pain, he dismissed that dream +girl from his mind, and determined to meet Miss Huling half way in her +game. He could not flirt as well as he could pitch; still, he was no +novice. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Miss Huling, my word certainly is not involved. But as to +pitching for Salisbury—that depends." +</P> + +<P> +"Upon what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Upon what there is in it." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Wayne, you mean—money? Oh, I know. My brother Rex told me how +you college men are paid big sums. Our association will not give a +dollar, and, besides, my brother knows nothing of this. But we girls +are heart and soul on winning this game. We'll——" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Huling, I didn't mean remuneration in sordid cash," interrupted +Wayne, in a tone that heightened the color in her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne eyed her keenly with mingled emotions. Was that rose-leaf flush +in her cheeks natural? Some girls could blush at will. Were the +wistful eyes, the earnest lips, only shamming? It cost him some +bitterness to decide that they were. Her beauty fascinated, while it +hardened him. Eternally, the beauty of women meant the undoing of men, +whether they played the simple, inconsequential game of baseball, or +the great, absorbing, mutable game of life. +</P> + +<P> +The shame of the situation for him was increasingly annoying, inasmuch +as this lovely girl should stoop to flirtation with a stranger, and the +same time draw him, allure him, despite the apparent insincerity. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Huling, I'll pitch your game for two things," he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Name them." +</P> + +<P> +"Wear Yale blue in place of that orange-and-black Princeton pin." +</P> + +<P> +"I will." She said it with a shyness, a look in her eyes that made +Wayne wince. What a perfect little actress! But there seemed just a +chance that this was not deceit. For an instant he wavered, held back +by subtle, finer intuition; then he beat down the mounting influence of +truth in those dark-blue eyes, and spoke deliberately: +</P> + +<P> +"The other thing is—if I win the game—a kiss." +</P> + +<P> +Dorothy Huling's face flamed scarlet. But this did not affect Wayne so +deeply, though it showed him his mistake, as the darkening shadow of +disappointment in her eyes. If she had been a flirt, she would have +been prepared for rudeness. He began casting about in his mind for +some apology, some mitigation of his offense; but as he was about to +speak, the sudden fading of her color, leaving her pale, and the look +in her proud, dark eyes disconcerted him out of utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, Mr. Wayne. I agree to your price if you win the game." +</P> + +<P> +But how immeasurable was the distance between the shy consent to wear +Yale blue, and the pale, surprised agreement to his second proposal! +Wayne experienced a strange sensation of personal loss. +</P> + +<P> +While he endeavored to find his tongue, Miss Huling spoke to one of the +boys standing near, and he started off on a run for the field. +Presently Huling and the other players broke for the car, soon +surrounding it in breathless anticipation. +</P> + +<P> +"Wayne, is it straight? You'll pitch for us tomorrow?" demanded the +captain, with shining eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely I will. Bellville don't need me. They've got Mackay, of +Georgetown," replied Wayne. +</P> + +<P> +Accustomed as he was to being mobbed by enthusiastic students and +admiring friends, Wayne could not but feel extreme embarrassment at the +reception accorded him now. He felt that he was sailing under false +colors. The boys mauled him, the girls fluttered about him with glad +laughter. He had to tear himself away; and when he finally reached his +hotel, he went to his room, with his mind in a tumult. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne cursed himself roundly; then he fell into deep thought. He began +to hope he could retrieve the blunder. He would win the game; he would +explain to her the truth; he would ask for an opportunity to prove he +was worthy of her friendship; he would not mention the kiss. This last +thought called up the soft curve of her red lips and that it was +possible for him to kiss her made the temptation strong. +</P> + +<P> +His sleep that night was not peaceful and dreamless. He awakened late, +had breakfast sent to his room, and then took a long walk out into the +country. After lunch he dodged the crowd in the hotel lobby, and +hurried upstairs, where he put on his baseball suit. The first person +he met upon going down was Reed, the Bellville man. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this I hear, Wayne, about your pitching for Salisbury today? I +got your telegram." +</P> + +<P> +"Straight goods," replied Wayne. +</P> + +<P> +"But I thought you intended to pitch for us?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't promise, did I?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Still, it looks fishy to me." +</P> + +<P> +"You've got Mackay, haven't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. The truth is, I intended to use you both." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll try to win for Salisbury. Hope there's no hard feeling." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. Only if I didn't have the Georgetown crack, I'd yell +murder. As it is, we'll trim Salisbury anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe," answered Wayne, laughing. "It's a hot day, and my arm feels +good." +</P> + +<P> +When Wayne reached the ball grounds, he thought he had never seen a +more inspiring sight. The bright green oval was surrounded by a +glittering mass of white and blue and black. Out along the foul lines +were carriages, motors, and tally-hos, brilliant with waving fans and +flags. Over the field murmured the low hum of many voices. +</P> + +<P> +"Here you are!" cried Huling, making a grab for Wayne. "Where were you +this morning? We couldn't find you. Come! We've got a minute before +the practice whistle blows, and I promised to exhibit you." +</P> + +<P> +He hustled Wayne down the first-base line, past the cheering crowd, out +among the motors, to the same touring car that he remembered. A bevy +of white-gowned girls rose like a covey of ptarmigans, and whirled +flags of maroon and gray. +</P> + +<P> +Dorothy Huling wore a bow of Yale blue upon her breast, and Wayne saw +it and her face through a blur. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurry, girls; get it over. We've got to practice," said the captain. +</P> + +<P> +In the merry melee some one tied a knot of ribbon upon Wayne. Who it +was he did not know; he saw only the averted face of Dorothy Huling. +And as he returned to the field with a dull pang, he determined he +would make her indifference disappear with the gladness of a victory +for her team. +</P> + +<P> +The practice was short, but long enough for Wayne to locate the glaring +weakness of Salisbury at shortstop and third base. In fact, most of +the players of his team showed rather poor form; they were +overstrained, and plainly lacked experience necessary for steadiness in +an important game. +</P> + +<P> +Burns, the catcher, however, gave Wayne confidence. He was a short, +sturdy youngster, with all the earmarks of a coming star. Huling, the +captain, handled himself well at first base. The Bellville players +were more matured, and some of them were former college cracks. Wayne +saw that he had his work cut out for him. +</P> + +<P> +The whistle blew. The Bellville team trotted to their position in the +field; the umpire called play, and tossed a ball to Mackay, the long, +lean Georgetown pitcher. +</P> + +<P> +Wells, the first batter, fouled out; Stamford hit an easy bounce to the +pitcher, and Clews put up a little Texas leaguer—all going out, one, +two, three, on three pitched balls. +</P> + +<P> +The teams changed from bat to field. Wayne faced the plate amid +vociferous cheering. He felt that he could beat this team even without +good support. He was in the finest condition, and his arm had been +resting for ten days. He knew that if he had control of his high +inshoot, these Bellville players would feel the whiz of some speed +under their chins. +</P> + +<P> +He struck Moore out, retired Reed on a measly fly, and made Clark hit a +weak grounder to second; and he walked in to the bench assured of the +outcome. On some days he had poor control; on others his drop ball +refused to work properly; but, as luck would have it, he had never had +greater speed or accuracy, or a more bewildering fast curve than on +this day, when he meant to win a game for a girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys, I've got everything," he said to his fellow-players, calling +them around him. "A couple of runs will win for us. Now, listen, I +know Mackay. He hasn't any speed, or much of a curve. All he's got is +a teasing slow ball and a foxy head. Don't be too anxious to hit. Make +him put 'em over." +</P> + +<P> +But the Salisbury players were not proof against the tempting slow +balls that Mackay delivered. They hit at wide curves far off the plate +and when they did connect with the ball it was only to send an easy +chance to the infielders. +</P> + +<P> +The game seesawed along, inning after inning; it was a pitcher's battle +that looked as if the first run scored would win the game. Mackay +toyed with the Salisbury boys; it was his pleasure to toss up twisting, +floating balls that could scarcely be hit out of the diamond. Wayne +had the Bellville players utterly at his mercy; he mixed up his high +jump and fast drop so cleverly, with his sweeping out-curve, that his +opponents were unable to gauge his delivery at all. +</P> + +<P> +In the first of the seventh, Barr for Bellville hit a ball which the +third baseman should have fielded. But he fumbled. The second batter +sent a fly to shortstop, who muffed it. The third hitter reached his +base on another error by an infielder. Here the bases were crowded, +and the situation had become critical all in a moment. Wayne believed +the infield would go to pieces, and lose the game, then and there, if +another hit went to short or third. +</P> + +<P> +"Steady up, boys," called Wayne, and beckoned for his catcher. +</P> + +<P> +"Burns, it's up to you and me," he said, in a low tone. "I've got to +fan the rest of these hitters. You're doing splendidly. Now, watch +close for my drop. Be ready to go down on your knees. When I let +myself out, the ball generally hits the ground just back of the plate." +</P> + +<P> +"Speed 'em over!" said Burns, his sweaty face grim and determined. +"I'll get in front of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +The head of the batting list was up for Bellville, and the whole +Bellville contingent on the side lines rose and yelled and cheered. +</P> + +<P> +Moore was a left handed hitter, who choked his bat up short, and poked +at the ball. He was a good bunter, and swift on his feet. Wayne had +taken his measure, as he had that of the other players, earlier in the +game; and he knew it was good pitching to keep the ball in close to +Moore's hands, so that if he did hit it, the chances were it would not +go safe. +</P> + +<P> +Summoning all his strength, Wayne took his long swing and shot the ball +over the inside corner with terrific speed. +</P> + +<P> +One strike! +</P> + +<P> +Wayne knew it would not do to waste any balls if he wished to maintain +that speed, so he put the second one in the same place. Moore struck +too late. +</P> + +<P> +Two strikes! +</P> + +<P> +Then Burns signed for the last drop. Wayne delivered it with +trepidation, for it was a hard curve to handle. Moore fell all over +himself trying to hit it. Little Burns dropped to his knees to block +the vicious curve. It struck the ground, and, glancing, boomed deep on +the breast protector. +</P> + +<P> +How the Salisbury supporters roared their approval! One man out—the +bases full—with Reed, the slugging captain, at bat! +</P> + +<P> +If Reed had a weakness, Wayne had not discovered it yet, although Reed +had not hit safely. The captain stood somewhat back from the plate, a +fact that induced Wayne to try him with the speedy outcurve. Reed +lunged with a powerful swing, pulling away from the plate, and he +missed the curve by a foot. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne did not need to know any more. Reed had made his reputation +slugging straight balls from heedless pitchers. He chopped the air +twice more, and flung his bat savagely to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Two out—play the hitter!" called Wayne to his team. +</P> + +<P> +Clark, the third man up, was the surest batter on the Bellville team. +He looked dangerous. He had made the only hit so far to the credit of +his team. Wayne tried to work him on a high, fast ball close in. +Clark swung freely and cracked a ripping liner to left. Half the crowd +roared, and then groaned, for the beautiful hit went foul by several +yards. Wayne wisely decided to risk all on his fast drop. Clark +missed the first, fouled the second. +</P> + +<P> +Two strikes! +</P> + +<P> +Then he waited. He cooly let one, two, three of the fast drops go by +without attempting to hit them. Burns valiantly got his body in front +of them. These balls were all over the plate, but too low to be called +strikes. With two strikes, and three balls, and the bases full, Clark +had the advantage. +</P> + +<P> +Tight as the place was, Wayne did not flinch. The game depended +practically upon the next ball delivered. Wayne craftily and daringly +decided to use another fast drop, for of all his assortment that would +be the one least expected by Clark. But it must be started higher, so +that in case Clark made no effort to swing, it would still be a strike. +</P> + +<P> +Gripping the ball with a clinched hand, Wayne swung sharply, and drove +it home with the limit of his power. It sped like a bullet, waist +high, and just before reaching the plate darted downward, as if it had +glanced on an invisible barrier. +</P> + +<P> +Clark was fooled completely and struck futilely. But the ball caromed +from the hard ground, hit Burns with a resounding thud, and bounced +away. Clark broke for first, and Moore dashed for home. Like a tiger +the little catcher pounced upon the ball, and, leaping back into line, +blocked the sliding Moore three feet from the plate. +</P> + +<P> +Pandemonium burst loose among the Salisbury adherents. The men bawled, +the women screamed, the boys shrieked, and all waved their hats and +flags, and jumped up and down, and manifested symptoms of baseball +insanity. +</P> + +<P> +In the first of the eighth inning, Mackay sailed up the balls like +balloons, and disposed of three batters on the same old weak hits to +his clever fielders. In the last of the eighth, Wayne struck out three +more Bellville players. +</P> + +<P> +"Burns, you're up," said Wayne, who, in his earnestness to win, kept +cheering his comrades. "Do something. Get your base any way you can. +Get in front of one. We must score this inning." +</P> + +<P> +Faithful, battered Burns cunningly imposed his hip over the plate and +received another bruise in the interests of his team. The opposing +players furiously stormed at the umpire for giving him his base, but +Burns' trick went through. Burnett bunted skilfully, sending Burns to +second. Cole hit a fly to center. Then Huling singled between short +and third. +</P> + +<P> +It became necessary for the umpire to delay the game while he put the +madly leaping boys back off the coaching lines. The shrill, hilarious +cheering gradually died out, and the field settled into a forced quiet. +</P> + +<P> +Wayne hurried up to the plate and took his position. He had always +been a timely hitter, and he gritted his teeth in his resolve to settle +this game. Mackay whirled his long arm, wheeled, took his long stride, +and pitched a slow, tantalizing ball that seemed never to get anywhere. +But Wayne waited, timed it perfectly, and met it squarely. +</P> + +<P> +The ball flew safely over short, and but for a fine sprint and stop by +the left fielder, would have resulted in a triple, possibly a home run. +As it was, Burns and Huling scored; and Wayne, by a slide, reached +second base. When he arose and saw the disorderly riot, and heard the +noise of that well-dressed audience, he had a moment of exultation. +Then Wells flew out to center ending the chances for more runs. +</P> + +<P> +As Wayne received the ball in the pitcher's box, he paused and looked +out across the field toward a white-crowned motor car, and he caught a +gleam of Dorothy Huling's golden hair, and wondered if she were glad. +</P> + +<P> +For nothing short of the miraculous could snatch this game from him +now. Burns had withstood a severe pounding, but he would last out the +inning, and Wayne did not take into account the rest of the team. He +opened up with no slackening of his terrific speed, and he struck out +the three remaining batters on eleven pitched balls. Then in the rising +din he ran for Burns and gave him a mighty hug. +</P> + +<P> +"You made the gamest stand of any catcher I ever pitched to," he said +warmly. +</P> + +<P> +Burns looked at his quivering, puffed, and bleeding hands, and smiled +as if to say that this was praise to remember, and reward enough. Then +the crowd swooped down on them, and they were swallowed up in the +clamor and surge of victory. When Wayne got out of the thick and press +of it, he made a bee line for his hotel, and by running a gauntlet +managed to escape. +</P> + +<P> +Resting, dressing, and dining were matters which he went through +mechanically, with his mind ever on one thing. Later, he found a dark +corner of the porch and sat there waiting, thinking. There was to be a +dance given in honor of the team that evening at the hotel. He watched +the boys and girls pass up the steps. When the music commenced, he +arose and went into the hall. It was bright with white gowns, and gay +with movement. +</P> + +<P> +"There he is. Grab him, somebody," yelled Huling. +</P> + +<P> +"Do something for me, quick," implored Wayne of the captain, as he saw +the young people wave toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"Salisbury is yours tonight," replied Huling +</P> + +<P> +"Ask your sister to save me one dance." +</P> + +<P> +Then he gave himself up. He took his meed of praise and flattery, and +he withstood the battery of arch eyes modestly, as became the winner of +many fields. But even the reception after the Princeton game paled in +comparison with this impromptu dance. +</P> + +<P> +She was here. Always it seemed, while he listened or talked or danced, +his eyes were drawn to a slender, graceful form, and a fair face +crowned with golden hair. Then he was making his way to where she +stood near one of the open windows. +</P> + +<P> +He never knew what he said to her, nor what reply she made, but she put +her arm in his, and presently they were gliding over the polished +floor. To Wayne the dance was a dream. He led her through the hall +and out upon the balcony, where composure strangely came to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Wayne, I have to thank you for saving the day for us. You pitched +magnificently." +</P> + +<P> +"I would have broken my arm to win that game," burst out Wayne. "Miss +Huling, I made a blunder yesterday. I thought there was a conspiracy +to persuade me to throw down Bellville. I've known of such things, and +I resented it. You understand what I thought. I humbly offer my +apologies, and beg that you forget the rude obligation I forced upon +you." +</P> + +<P> +How cold she was! How unattainable in that moment! He caught his +breath, and rushed on. +</P> + +<P> +"Your brother and the management of the club have asked me to pitch for +Salisbury the remainder of the season. I shall be happy to—if——" +</P> + +<P> +"If what?" She was all alive now, flushing warmly, dark eyes alight, +the girl of his dreams. +</P> + +<P> +"If you will forgive me—if you will let me be your friend—if—Miss +Huling, you will again wear that bit of Yale blue." +</P> + +<P> +"If, Mr. Wayne, you had very sharp eyes you would have noticed that I +still wear it!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="manager"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MANAGER OF MADDEN'S HILL +</H3> + +<P> +Willie Howarth loved baseball. He loved it all the more because he was +a cripple. The game was more beautiful and wonderful to him because he +would never be able to play it. For Willie had been born with one leg +shorter than the other; he could not run and at 11 years of age it was +all he could do to walk with a crutch. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless Willie knew more about baseball than any other boy on +Madden's Hill. An uncle of his had once been a ballplayer and he had +taught Willie the fine points of the game. And this uncle's ballplayer +friends, who occasionally visited him, had imparted to Willie the +vernacular of the game. So that Willie's knowledge of players and +play, and particularly of the strange talk, the wild and whirling words +on the lips of the real baseball men, made him the envy of every boy on +Madden's Hill, and a mine of information. Willie never missed +attending the games played on the lots, and he could tell why they were +won or lost. +</P> + +<P> +Willie suffered considerable pain, mostly at night, and this had given +him a habit of lying awake in the dark hours, grieving over that +crooked leg that forever shut him out of the heritage of youth. He had +kept his secret well; he was accounted shy because he was quiet and had +never been able to mingle with the boys in their activity. No one +except his mother dreamed of the fire and hunger and pain within his +breast. His school-mates called him "Daddy." It was a name given for +his bent shoulders, his labored gait and his thoughtful face, too old +for his years. And no one, not even his mother, guessed how that name +hurt Willie. +</P> + +<P> +It was a source of growing unhappiness with Willie that the Madden's +Hill boys were always beaten by the other teams of the town. He really +came to lose his sadness over his own misfortune in pondering on the +wretched play of the Madden's Hill baseball club. He had all a boy's +pride in the locality where he lived. And when the Bogg's Farm team +administered a crushing defeat to Madden's Hill, Willie grew desperate. +</P> + +<P> +Monday he met Lane Griffith, the captain of the Madden's Hill nine. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Daddy," said Lane. He was a big, aggressive boy, and in a way +had a fondness for Willie. +</P> + +<P> +"Lane, you got an orful trimmin' up on the Boggs. What 'd you wanter +let them country jakes beat you for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, Daddy, they was lucky. Umpire had hay-seed in his eyes! Robbed +us! He couldn't see straight. We'll trim them down here Saturday." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you won't—not without team work. Lane, you've got to have a +manager." +</P> + +<P> +"Durn it! Where 're we goin' to get one?" Lane blurted out. +</P> + +<P> +"You can sign me. I can't play, but I know the game. Let me coach the +boys." +</P> + +<P> +The idea seemed to strike Capt. Griffith favorably. He prevailed upon +all the boys living on Madden's Hill to come out for practice after +school. Then he presented them to the managing coach. The boys were +inclined to poke fun at Daddy Howarth and ridicule him; but the idea +was a novel one and they were in such a state of subjection from many +beatings that they welcomed any change. Willie sat on a bench +improvised from a soap box and put them through a drill of batting and +fielding. The next day in his coaching he included bunting and +sliding. He played his men in different positions and for three more +days he drove them unmercifully. +</P> + +<P> +When Saturday came, the day for the game with Bogg's Farm, a wild +protest went up from the boys. Willie experienced his first bitterness +as a manager. Out of forty aspirants for the Madden's Hill team he +could choose but nine to play the game. And as a conscientious manager +he could use no favorites. Willie picked the best players and assigned +them to positions that, in his judgment, were the best suited to them. +Bob Irvine wanted to play first base and he was down for right field. +Sam Wickhart thought he was the fastest fielder, and Willie had him +slated to catch. Tom Lindsay's feelings were hurt because he was not to +play in the infield. Eddie Curtis suffered a fall in pride when he +discovered he was not down to play second base. Jake Thomas, Tay-Tay +Mohler and Brick Grace all wanted to pitch. The manager had chosen +Frank Price for that important position, and Frank's one ambition was +to be a shortstop. +</P> + +<P> +So there was a deadlock. For a while there seemed no possibility of a +game. Willie sat on the bench, the center of a crowd of discontented, +quarreling boys. Some were jealous, some were outraged, some tried to +pacify and persuade the others. All were noisy. Lane Griffith stood +by his manager and stoutly declared the players should play the +positions to which they had been assigned or not at all. And he was +entering into a hot argument with Tom Lindsay when the Bogg's Farm team +arrogantly put in an appearance. +</P> + +<P> +The way that team from the country walked out upon the field made a +great difference. The spirit of Madden's Hill roused to battle. The +game began swiftly and went on wildly. It ended almost before the Hill +boys realized it had commenced. They did not know how they had won but +they gave Daddy Howarth credit for it. They had a bonfire that night +to celebrate the victory and they talked baseball until their parents +became alarmed and hunted them up. +</P> + +<P> +Madden's Hill practiced all that next week and on Saturday beat the +Seventh Ward team. In four more weeks they had added half a dozen more +victories to their record. Their reputation went abroad. They got +uniforms, and baseball shoes with spikes, and bats and balls and +gloves. They got a mask, but Sam Wickhart refused to catch with it. +</P> + +<P> +"Sam, one of these days you'll be stoppin' a high inshoot with your +eye," sagely remarked Daddy Howarth. "An' then where'll I get a +catcher for the Natchez game?" +</P> + +<P> +Natchez was the one name on the lips of every Madden's Hill boy. For +Natchez had the great team of the town and, roused by the growing +repute of the Hill club, had condescended to arrange a game. When that +game was scheduled for July Fourth Daddy Howarth set to driving his +men. Early and late he had them out. This manager, in keeping with all +other famous managers, believed that batting was the thing which won +games. He developed a hard-hitting team. He kept everlastingly at +them to hit and run, hit and run. +</P> + +<P> +On the Saturday before the Fourth, Madden's Hill had a game to play +that did not worry Daddy and he left his team in charge of the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, I'm goin' down to the Round House to see Natchez play. I'll +size up their game," said Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +When he returned he was glad to find that his team had won its ninth +straight victory, but he was not communicative in regard to the playing +of the Natchez club. He appeared more than usually thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +The Fourth fell on Tuesday. Daddy had the boys out Monday and he let +them take only a short, sharp practice. Then he sent them home. In his +own mind, Daddy did not have much hope of beating Natchez. He had been +greatly impressed by their playing, and one inning toward the close of +the Round House game they had astonished him with the way they suddenly +seemed to break loose and deluge their opponents in a flood of hits and +runs. He could not understand this streak of theirs—for they did the +same thing every time they played—and he was too good a baseball +student to call it luck. +</P> + +<P> +He had never wanted anything in his life, not even to have two good +legs, as much as he wanted to beat Natchez. For the Madden's Hill boys +had come to believe him infallible. He was their idol. They imagined +they had only to hit and run, to fight and never give up, and Daddy +would make them win. There was not a boy on the team who believed that +Natchez had a chance. They had grown proud and tenacious of their +dearly won reputation. First of all, Daddy thought of his team and +their loyalty to him; then he thought of the glory lately come to +Madden's Hill, and lastly of what it meant to him to have risen from a +lonely watcher of the game—a cripple who could not even carry a +bat—to manager of the famous Hill team. It might go hard with the boys +to lose this game, but it would break his heart. +</P> + +<P> +From time out of mind there had always been rivalry between Madden's +Hill and Natchez. And there is no rivalry so bitter as that between +boys. So Daddy, as he lay awake at night planning the system of play he +wanted to use, left out of all account any possibility of a peaceful +game. It was comforting to think that if it came to a fight Sam and +Lane could hold their own with Bo Stranathan and Slugger Blandy. +</P> + +<P> +In the managing of his players Daddy observed strict discipline. It +was no unusual thing for him to fine them. On practice days and off +the field they implicitly obeyed him. During actual play, however, +they had evinced a tendency to jump over the traces. It had been his +order for them not to report at the field Tuesday until 2 o'clock. He +found it extremely difficult to curb his own inclination to start +before the set time. And only the stern duty of a man to be an example +to his players kept Daddy at home. +</P> + +<P> +He lived near the ball grounds, yet on this day, as he hobbled along on +his crutch, he thought the distance interminably long, and for the +first time in weeks the old sickening resentment at his useless leg +knocked at his heart. Manfully Daddy refused admittance to that old +gloomy visitor. He found comfort and forgetfulness in the thought that +no strong and swift-legged boy of his acquaintance could do what he +could do. +</P> + +<P> +Upon arriving at the field Daddy was amazed to see such a large crowd. +It appeared that all the boys and girls in the whole town were in +attendance, and, besides, there was a sprinkling of grown-up people +interspersed here and there around the diamond. Applause greeted +Daddy's appearance and members of his team escorted him to the soap-box +bench. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy cast a sharp eye over the Natchez players practicing on the +field. Bo Stranathan had out his strongest team. They were not a +prepossessing nine. They wore soiled uniforms that did not match in +cut or color. But they pranced and swaggered and strutted! They were +boastful and boisterous. It was a trial for any Madden's Hill boy just +to watch them. +</P> + +<P> +"Wot a swelled bunch!" exclaimed Tom Lindsay. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, if Slugger Blandy tries to pull any stunt on me today he'll +get a swelleder nut," growled Lane Griffith. +</P> + +<P> +"T-t-t-t-t-te-te-tell him t-t-t-to keep out of m-m-m-my way an' not +b-b-b-b-bl-block me," stuttered Tay-Tay Mohler. +</P> + +<P> +"We're a-goin' to skin 'em," said Eddie Curtis. +</P> + +<P> +"Cheese it, you kids, till we git in the game," ordered Daddy. "Now, +Madden's Hill, hang round an' listen. I had to sign articles with +Natchez—had to let them have their umpire. So we're up against it. +But we'll hit this pitcher Muckle Harris. He ain't got any steam. An' +he ain't got much nerve. Now every feller who goes up to bat wants to +talk to Muck. Call him a big swelled stiff. Tell him he can't break a +pane of glass—tell him he can't put one over the pan—tell him it he +does you'll slam it down in the sand bank. Bluff the whole team. Keep +scrappy all the time. See! That's my game today. This Natchez bunch +needs to be gone after. Holler at the umpire. Act like you want to +fight." +</P> + +<P> +Then Daddy sent his men out for practice. +</P> + +<P> +"Boss, enny ground rules?" inquired Bo Stranathan. He was a big, +bushy-haired boy with a grin and protruding teeth. "How many bases on +wild throws over first base an' hits over the sand bank?" +</P> + +<P> +"All you can get," replied Daddy, with a magnanimous wave of hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! Lemmee see your ball?" +</P> + +<P> +Daddy produced the ball that he had Lane had made for the game. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! Watcher think? We ain 't goin' to play with no mush ball like +thet," protested Bo. "We play with a hard ball. Looka here! We'll +trow up the ball." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy remembered what he had heard about the singular generosity of the +Natchez team to supply the balls for the games they played. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't hev to pay nothin' fer them balls. A man down at the Round +House makes them for us. They ain't no balls as good," explained Bo, +with pride. +</P> + +<P> +However, as Bo did not appear eager to pass over the balls for +examination Daddy simply reached out and took them. They were small, +perfectly round and as hard as bullets. They had no covers. The yarn +had been closely and tightly wrapped and then stitched over with fine +bees-waxed thread. Daddy fancied he detected a difference in the +weight of the ball, but Bo took them back before Daddy could be sure of +that point. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't have to fan about it. I know a ball when I see one," +observed Daddy. "But we're on our own grounds an' we'll use our own +ball. Thanks all the same to you, Stranathan." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! All I gotta say is we'll play with my ball er there won't be no +game," said Bo suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy shrewdly eyed the Natchez captain. Bo did not look like a fellow +wearing himself thin from generosity. It struck Daddy that Bo's habit +of supplying the ball for the game might have some relation to the fact +that he always carried along his own umpire. There was a strange +feature about this umpire business and it was that Bo's man had earned +a reputation for being particularly fair. No boy ever had any real +reason to object to Umpire Gale's decisions. When Gale umpired away +from the Natchez grounds his close decisions always favored the other +team, rather than his own. It all made Daddy keen and thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +"Stranathan, up here on Madden's Hill we know how to treat visitors. +We'll play with your ball.... Now keep your gang of rooters from +crowdin' on the diamond." +</P> + +<P> +"Boss, it's your grounds. Fire 'em off if they don't suit you.... +Come on, let's git in the game. Watcher want—field er bat?" +</P> + +<P> +"Field," replied Daddy briefly. +</P> + +<P> +Billy Gale called "Play," and the game began with Slugger Blandy at +bat. The formidable way in which he swung his club did not appear to +have any effect on Frank Price or the player back of him. Frank's most +successful pitch was a slow, tantalizing curve, and he used it. Blandy +lunged at the ball, missed it and grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"Frank, you got his alley," called Lane. +</P> + +<P> +Slugger fouled the next one high in the air back of the plate. Sam +Wickhart, the stocky bowlegged catcher, was a fiend for running after +foul flies, and now he plunged into the crowd of boys, knocking them +right and left, and he caught the ball. Whisner came up and hit safely +over Griffith, whereupon the Natchez supporters began to howl. Kelly +sent a grounder to Grace at short stop. Daddy's weak player made a +poor throw to first base, so the runner was safe. Then Bo Stranathan +batted a stinging ball through the infield, scoring Whisner. +</P> + +<P> +"Play the batter! Play the batter!" sharply called Daddy from the +bench. +</P> + +<P> +Then Frank struck out Molloy and retired Dundon on an easy fly. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, git in the game now," ordered Daddy, as his players eagerly +trotted in. "Say things to that Muckle Harris! We'll walk through +this game like sand through a sieve." +</P> + +<P> +Bob Irvin ran to the plate waving his bat at Harris. +</P> + +<P> +"Put one over, you freckleface! I 've been dyin' fer this chanst. +You're on Madden's Hill now." +</P> + +<P> +Muckle evidently was not the kind of pitcher to stand coolly under such +bantering. Obviously he was not used to it. His face grew red and his +hair waved up. Swinging hard, he threw the ball straight at Bob's +head. Quick as a cat, Bob dropped flat. +</P> + +<P> +"Never touched me!" he chirped, jumping up and pounding the plate with +his bat. "You couldn't hit a barn door. Come on. I'll paste one a +mile!" +</P> + +<P> +Bob did not get an opportunity to hit, for Harris could not locate the +plate and passed him to first on four balls. +</P> + +<P> +"Dump the first one," whispered Daddy in Grace's ear. Then he gave Bob +a signal to run on the first pitch. +</P> + +<P> +Grace tried to bunt the first ball, but he missed it. His attempt, +however, was so violent that he fell over in front of the catcher, who +could not recover in time to throw, and Bob got to second base. At +this juncture, the Madden's Hill band of loyal supporters opened up +with a mingling of shrill yells and whistles and jangling of tin cans +filled with pebbles. Grace hit the next ball into second base and, +while he was being thrown out, Bob raced to third. With Sam Wickhart +up it looked good for a score, and the crowd yelled louder. Sam was +awkward yet efficient, and he batted a long fly to right field. The +fielder muffed the ball. Bob scored, Sam reached second base, and the +crowd yelled still louder. Then Lane struck out and Mohler hit to +shortstop, retiring the side. +</P> + +<P> +Natchez scored a run on a hit, a base on balls, and another error by +Grace. Every time a ball went toward Grace at short Daddy groaned. In +their half of the inning Madden's Hill made two runs, increasing the +score 3 to 2. +</P> + +<P> +The Madden's Hill boys began to show the strain of such a close +contest. If Daddy had voiced aloud his fear it would have been: +"They'll blow up in a minnit!" Frank Price alone was slow and cool, +and he pitched in masterly style. Natchez could not beat him. On the +other hand, Madden's Hill hit Muck Harris hard, but superb fielding +kept runners off the bases. As Daddy's team became more tense and +excited Bo Stranathan's players grew steadier and more arrogantly +confident. Daddy saw it with distress, and he could not realize just +where Natchez had license for such confidence. Daddy watched the game +with the eyes of a hawk. +</P> + +<P> +As the Natchez players trooped in for their sixth inning at bat, Daddy +observed a marked change in their demeanor. Suddenly they seemed to +have been let loose; they were like a band of Indians. Daddy saw +everything. He did not miss seeing Umpire Gale take a ball from his +pocket and toss it to Frank, and Daddy wondered if that was the ball +which had been in the play. Straightway, however, he forgot that in +the interest of the game. +</P> + +<P> +Bo Stranathan bawled: "Wull, Injuns, hyar's were we do 'em. We've +jest ben loafin' along. Git ready to tear the air, you rooters!" +</P> + +<P> +Kelly hit a wonderfully swift ball through the infield. Bo batted out +a single. Malloy got up in the way of one of Frank's pitches, and was +passed to first base. Then, as the Natchez crowd opened up in shrill +clamor, the impending disaster fell. Dundon hit a bounder down into +the infield. The ball appeared to be endowed with life. It bounded +low, then high and, cracking into Grace's hands, bounced out and rolled +away. The runners raced around the bases. +</P> + +<P> +Pickens sent up a tremendous fly, the highest ever batted on Madden's +Hill. It went over Tom Lindsay in center field, and Tom ran and ran. +The ball went so far up that Tom had time to cover the ground, but he +could not judge it. He ran round in a little circle, with hands up in +bewilderment. And when the ball dropped it hit him on the head and +bounded away. +</P> + +<P> +"Run, you Injun, run!" bawled Bo. "What'd I tell you? We ain't got +'em goin', oh, no! Hittin' 'em on the head!" +</P> + +<P> +Bill dropped a slow, teasing ball down the third-base line. Jake +Thomas ran desperately for it, and the ball appeared to strike his +hands and run up his arms and caress his nose and wrap itself round his +neck and then roll gently away. All the while, the Natchez runners +tore wildly about the bases and the Natchez supporters screamed and +whistled. Muck Harris could not bat, yet he hit the first ball and it +shot like a bullet over the infield. Then Slugger Blandy came to the +plate. +</P> + +<P> +The ball he sent out knocked Grace's leg from under him as if it were a +ten-pin. Whisner popped a fly over Tay Tay Mohler's head. Now Tay Tay +was fat and slow, but he was a sure catch. He got under the ball. It +struck his hands and jumped back twenty feet up into the air. It was a +strangely live ball. Kelly again hit to shortstop, and the ball +appeared to start slow, to gather speed with every bound and at last to +dart low and shoot between Grace's legs. +</P> + +<P> +"Haw! Haw!" roared Bo. "They've got a hole at short. Hit fer the +hole, fellers. Watch me! Jest watch me!" +</P> + +<P> +And he swung hard on the first pitch. The ball glanced like a streak +straight at Grace, took a vicious jump, and seemed to flirt with the +infielder's hands, only to evade them. +</P> + +<P> +Malloy fouled a pitch and the ball hit Sam Wickhart square over the +eye. Sam's eye popped out and assumed the proportions and color of a +huge plum. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey!" yelled Blandy, the rival catcher. "Air you ketchin' with yer +mug?" +</P> + +<P> +Sam would not delay the game nor would he don the mask. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy sat hunched on his soap-box, and, as in a hateful dream, he saw +his famous team go to pieces. He put his hands over his ears to shut +out some of the uproar. And he watched that little yarn ball fly and +shoot and bound and roll to crush his fondest hopes. Not one of his +players appeared able to hold it. And Grace had holes in his hands and +legs and body. The ball went right through him. He might as well have +been so much water. Instead of being a shortstop he was simply a hole. +After every hit Daddy saw that ball more and more as something alive. +It sported with his infielders. It bounded like a huge jack-rabbit, +and went swifter and higher at every bound. It was here, there, +everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +And it became an infernal ball. It became endowed with a fiendish +propensity to run up a player's leg and all about him, as if trying to +hide in his pocket. Grace's efforts to find it were heartbreaking to +watch. Every time it bounded out to center field, which was of +frequent occurrence, Tom would fall on it and hug it as if he were +trying to capture a fleeing squirrel. Tay Tay Mohler could stop the +ball, but that was no great credit to him, for his hands took no part +in the achievement. Tay Tay was fat and the ball seemed to like him. +It boomed into his stomach and banged against his stout legs. When Tay +saw it coming he dropped on his knees and valorously sacrificed his +anatomy to the cause of the game. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy tried not to notice the scoring of runs by his opponents. But he +had to see them and he had to count. Ten runs were as ten blows! +After that each run scored was like a stab in his heart. The play went +on, a terrible fusilade of wicked ground balls that baffled any attempt +to field them. Then, with nineteen runs scored, Natchez appeared to +tire. Sam caught a foul fly, and Tay Tay, by obtruding his wide person +to the path of infield hits, managed to stop them, and throw out the +runners. +</P> + +<P> +Score—Natchez, 21; Madden Hill, 3. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy's boys slouched and limped wearily in. +</P> + +<P> +"Wot kind of a ball's that?" panted Tom, as he showed his head with a +bruise as large as a goose-egg. +</P> + +<P> +"T-t-t-t-ta-ta-tay-tay-tay-tay——" began Mohler, in great excitement, +but as he could not finish what he wanted to say no one caught his +meaning. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy's watchful eye had never left that wonderful, infernal little +yarn ball. Daddy was crushed under defeat, but his baseball brains +still continued to work. He saw Umpire Gale leisurely step into the +pitcher's box, and leisurely pick up the ball and start to make a +motion to put it in his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly fire flashed all over Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +"Hyar! Don't hide that ball!" he yelled, in his piercing tenor. +</P> + +<P> +He jumped up quickly, forgetting his crutch, and fell headlong. Lane +and Sam got him upright and handed the crutch to him. Daddy began to +hobble out to the pitcher's box. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you hide that ball. See! I've got my eye on this game. That +ball was in play, an' you can't use the other." +</P> + +<P> +Umpire Gale looked sheepish, and his eyes did not meet Daddy's. Then +Bo came trotting up. +</P> + +<P> +"What's wrong, boss?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, nuthin'. You're tryin' to switch balls on me. That's all. You +can't pull off any stunts on Madden's Hill." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, boss, thet ball's all right. What you hollerin' about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure that ball's all right," replied Daddy. "It's a fine ball. An' we +want a chanst to hit it! See?" +</P> + +<P> +Bo flared up and tried to bluster, but Daddy cut him short. +</P> + +<P> +"Give us our innin'—let us git a whack at that ball, or I'll run you +off Madden's Hill." +</P> + +<P> +Bo suddenly looked a little pale and sick. +</P> + +<P> +"Course youse can git a whack at it," he said, in a weak attempt to be +natural and dignified. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy tossed the ball to Harris, and as he hobbled off the field he +heard Bo calling out low and cautiously to his players. Then Daddy was +certain he had discovered a trick. He called his players around him. +</P> + +<P> +"This game ain't over yet. It ain't any more'n begun. I'll tell you +what. Last innin' Bo's umpire switched balls on us. That ball was +lively. An' they tried to switch back on me. But nix! We're goin' to +git a chanst to hit that lively ball, An' they're goin' to git a dose +of their own medicine. Now, you dead ones—come back to life! Show me +some hittin' an' runnin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy, you mean they run in a trick on us?" demanded Lane, with +flashing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Funny about Natchez's strong finishes!" replied Daddy, coolly, as he +eyed his angry players. +</P> + +<P> +They let out a roar, and then ran for the bats. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd, quick to sense what was in the air, thronged to the diamond +and manifested alarming signs of outbreak. +</P> + +<P> +Sam Wickhart leaped to the plate and brandished his club. +</P> + +<P> +"Sam, let him pitch a couple," called Daddy from the bench. "Mebbe +we'll git wise then." +</P> + +<P> +Harris had pitched only twice when the fact became plain that he could +not throw this ball with the same speed as the other. The ball was +heavier; besides Harris was also growing tired. The next pitch Sam hit +far out over the center fielder's head for a home run. It was a longer +hit than any Madden's Hill boy had ever made. The crowd shrieked its +delight. Sam crossed the plate and then fell on the bench beside Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +"Say! that ball nearly knocked the bat out of my hands," panted Sam. +"It made the bat spring!" +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, don't wait," ordered Daddy. "Don't give the umpire a chanst +to roast us now. Slam the first ball!" +</P> + +<P> +The aggressive captain lined the ball at Bo Stranathan. The Natchez +shortstop had a fine opportunity to make the catch, but he made an +inglorious muff. Tay Tay hurried to bat. Umpire Gale called the first +pitch a strike. Tay slammed down his club. "T-t-t-t-to-to-twasn't +over," he cried. "T-t-t-tay——" +</P> + +<P> +"Shut up," yelled Daddy. "We want to git this game over today." +</P> + +<P> +Tay Tay was fat and he was also strong, so that when beef and muscle +both went hard against the ball it traveled. It looked as if it were +going a mile straight up. All the infielders ran to get under it. +They got into a tangle, into which the ball descended. No one caught +it, and thereupon the Natchez players began to rail at one another. Bo +stormed at them, and they talked back to him. Then when Tom Lindsay hit +a little slow grounder into the infield it seemed that a just +retribution had overtaken the great Natchez team. +</P> + +<P> +Ordinarily this grounder of Tom's would have been easy for a novice to +field. But this peculiar grounder, after it has hit the ground once, +seemed to wake up and feel lively. It lost its leisurely action and +began to have celerity. When it reached Dundon it had the strange, +jerky speed so characteristic of the grounders that had confused the +Madden's Hill team. Dundon got his hands on the ball and it would not +stay in them. When finally he trapped it Tom had crossed first base +and another runner had scored. Eddie Curtis cracked another at Bo. +The Natchez captain dove for it, made a good stop, bounced after the +rolling ball, and then threw to Kelly at first. The ball knocked +Kelly's hands apart as if they had been paper. Jake Thomas batted left +handed and he swung hard on a slow pitch and sent the ball far into +right field. Runners scored. Jake's hit was a three-bagger. Then +Frank Price hit up an infield fly. Bo yelled for Dundon to take it and +Dundon yelled for Harris. They were all afraid to try for it. It +dropped safely while Jake ran home. +</P> + +<P> +With the heavy batters up the excitement increased. A continuous +scream and incessant rattle of tin cans made it impossible to hear what +the umpire called out. But that was not important, for he seldom had a +chance to call either ball or strike. Harris had lost his speed and +nearly every ball he pitched was hit by the Madden's Hill boys. Irvine +cracked one down between short and third. Bo and Pickens ran for it +and collided while the ball jauntily skipped out to left field and, +deftly evading Bell, went on and on. Bob reached third. Grace hit +another at Dundon, who appeared actually to stop it four times before +he could pick it up, and then he was too late. The doughty bow-legged +Sam, with his huge black eye, hung over the plate and howled at Muckle. +In the din no one heard what he said, but evidently Muck divined it. +For he roused to the spirit of a pitcher who would die of shame if he +could not fool a one-eyed batter. But Sam swooped down and upon the +first ball and drove it back toward the pitcher. Muck could not get +out of the way and the ball made his leg buckle under him. Then that +hit glanced off to begin a marvelous exhibition of high and erratic +bounding about the infield. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy hunched over his soap-box bench and hugged himself. He was +farsighted and he saw victory. Again he watched the queer antics of +that little yarn ball, but now with different feelings. Every hit +seemed to lift him to the skies. He kept silent, though every time the +ball fooled a Natchez player Daddy wanted to yell. And when it started +for Bo and, as if in revenge, bounded wickeder at every bounce to skip +off the grass and make Bo look ridiculous, then Daddy experienced the +happiest moments of his baseball career. Every time a tally crossed +the plate he would chalk it down on his soap box. +</P> + +<P> +But when Madden's Hill scored the nineteenth run without a player being +put out, then Daddy lost count. He gave himself up to revel. He sat +motionless and silent; nevertheless his whole internal being was in the +state of wild tumult. It was as if he was being rewarded in joy for +all the misery he had suffered because he was a cripple. He could never +play baseball, but he had baseball brains. He had been too wise for +the tricky Stranathan. He was the coach and manager and general of the +great Madden's Hill nine. If ever he had to lie awake at night again he +would not mourn over his lameness; he would have something to think +about. To him would be given the glory of beating the invincible +Natchez team. So Daddy felt the last bitterness leave him. And he +watched that strange little yarn ball, with its wonderful skips and +darts and curves. The longer the game progressed and the wearier +Harris grew, the harder the Madden's Hill boys batted the ball and the +crazier it bounced at Bo and his sick players. Finally, Tay Tay Mohler +hit a teasing grounder down to Bo. +</P> + +<P> +Then it was as if the ball, realizing a climax, made ready for a final +spurt. When Bo reached for the ball it was somewhere else. Dundon +could not locate it. And Kelly, rushing down to the chase, fell all +over himself and his teammates trying to grasp the illusive ball, and +all the time Tay Tay was running. He never stopped. But as he was +heavy and fat he did not make fast time on the bases. Frantically the +outfielders ran in to head off the bouncing ball, and when they had +succeeded Tay Tay had performed the remarkable feat of making a home +run on a ball batted into the infield. +</P> + +<P> +That broke Natchez's spirit. They quit. They hurried for their bats. +Only Bo remained behind a moment to try to get his yarn ball. But Sam +had pounced upon it and given it safely to Daddy. Bo made one sullen +demand for it. +</P> + +<P> +"Funny about them fast finishes of yours!" said Daddy scornfully. +"Say! the ball's our'n. The winnin' team gits the ball. Go home an' +look up the rules of the game!" +</P> + +<P> +Bo slouched off the field to a shrill hooting and tin canning. +</P> + +<P> +"Fellers, what was the score?" asked Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +Nobody knew the exact number of runs made by Madden's Hill. +</P> + +<P> +"Gimme a knife, somebody," said the manager. +</P> + +<P> +When it had been produced Daddy laid down the yarn ball and cut into +it. The blade entered readily for a inch and then stopped. Daddy cut +all around the ball, and removed the cover of tightly wrapped yarn. +Inside was a solid ball of India rubber. +</P> + +<P> +"Say! it ain't so funny now—how that ball bounced," remarked Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +"Wot you think of that!" exclaimed Tom, feeling the lump on his head. +</P> + +<P> +"T-t-t-t-t-t-t-ta-tr——" began Tay Tay Mohler. +</P> + +<P> +"Say it! Say it!" interrupted Daddy. +</P> + +<P> +"Ta-ta-ta-tr-trimmed them wa-wa-wa-wa-with their own +b-b-b-b-b-ba-ba-ball," finished Tay. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="wellwell"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OLD WELL-WELL +</H3> + +<P> +He bought a ticket at the 25-cent window, and edging his huge bulk +through the turnstile, laboriously followed the noisy crowd toward the +bleachers. I could not have been mistaken. He was Old Well-Well, +famous from Boston to Baltimore as the greatest baseball fan in the +East. His singular yell had pealed into the ears of five hundred +thousand worshippers of the national game and would never be forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +At sight of him I recalled a friend's baseball talk. "You remember Old +Well-Well? He's all in—dying, poor old fellow! It seems young Burt, +whom the Phillies are trying out this spring, is Old Well-Well's nephew +and protege. Used to play on the Murray Hill team; a speedy youngster. +When the Philadelphia team was here last, Manager Crestline announced +his intention to play Burt in center field. Old Well-Well was too ill +to see the lad get his tryout. He was heart-broken and said: 'If I +could only see one more game!'" +</P> + +<P> +The recollection of this random baseball gossip and the fact that +Philadelphia was scheduled to play New York that very day, gave me a +sudden desire to see the game with Old Well-Well. I did not know him, +but where on earth were introductions as superfluous as on the +bleachers? It was a very easy matter to catch up with him. He walked +slowly, leaning hard on a cane and his wide shoulders sagged as he +puffed along. I was about to make some pleasant remark concerning the +prospects of a fine game, when the sight of his face shocked me and I +drew back. If ever I had seen shadow of pain and shade of death they +hovered darkly around Old Well-Well. +</P> + +<P> +No one accompanied him; no one seemed to recognize him. The majority +of that merry crowd of boys and men would have jumped up wild with +pleasure to hear his well-remembered yell. Not much longer than a year +before, I had seen ten thousand fans rise as one man and roar a +greeting to him that shook the stands. So I was confronted by a +situation strikingly calculated to rouse my curiosity and sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +He found an end seat on a row at about the middle of the right-field +bleachers and I chose one across the aisle and somewhat behind him. No +players were yet in sight. The stands were filling up and streams of +men were filing into the aisles of the bleachers and piling over the +benches. Old Well-Well settled himself comfortably in his seat and +gazed about him with animation. There had come a change to his massive +features. The hard lines had softened; the patches of gray were no +longer visible; his cheeks were ruddy; something akin to a smile shone +on his face as he looked around, missing no detail of the familiar +scene. +</P> + +<P> +During the practice of the home team Old Well-Well sat still with his +big hands on his knees; but when the gong rang for the Phillies, he +grew restless, squirming in his seat and half rose several times. I +divined the importuning of his old habit to greet his team with the +yell that had made him famous. I expected him to get up; I waited for +it. Gradually, however, he became quiet as a man governed by severe +self-restraint and directed his attention to the Philadelphia center +fielder. +</P> + +<P> +At a glance I saw that the player was new to me and answered the +newspaper description of young Burt. What a lively looking athlete! +He was tall, lithe, yet sturdy. He did not need to chase more than two +fly balls to win me. His graceful, fast style reminded me of the great +Curt Welch. Old Well-Well's face wore a rapt expression. I discovered +myself hoping Burt would make good; wishing he would rip the boards off +the fence; praying he would break up the game. +</P> + +<P> +It was Saturday, and by the time the gong sounded for the game to begin +the grand stand and bleachers were packed. The scene was glittering, +colorful, a delight to the eye. Around the circle of bright faces +rippled a low, merry murmur. The umpire, grotesquely padded in front +by his chest protector, announced the batteries, dusted the plate, and +throwing out a white ball, sang the open sesame of the game: "Play!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Old Well-Well arose as if pushed from his seat by some strong +propelling force. It had been his wont always when play was ordered or +in a moment of silent suspense, or a lull in the applause, or a +dramatic pause when hearts heat high and lips were mute, to bawl out +over the listening, waiting multitude his terrific blast: +"Well-Well-Well!" +</P> + +<P> +Twice he opened his mouth, gurgled and choked, and then resumed his +seat with a very red, agitated face; something had deterred him from +his purpose, or he had been physically incapable of yelling. +</P> + +<P> +The game opened with White's sharp bounder to the infield. Wesley had +three strikes called on him, and Kelly fouled out to third base. The +Phillies did no better, being retired in one, two, three order. The +second inning was short and no tallies were chalked up. Brain hit +safely in the third and went to second on a sacrifice. The bleachers +began to stamp and cheer. He reached third on an infield hit that the +Philadelphia short-stop knocked down but could not cover in time to +catch either runner. The cheer in the grand stand was drowned by the +roar in the bleachers. Brain scored on a fly-ball to left. A double +along the right foul line brought the second runner home. Following +that the next batter went out on strikes. +</P> + +<P> +In the Philadelphia half of the inning young Burt was the first man up. +He stood left-handed at the plate and looked formidable. Duveen, the +wary old pitcher for New York, to whom this new player was an unknown +quantity, eyed his easy position as if reckoning on a possible +weakness. Then he took his swing and threw the ball. Burt never moved +a muscle and the umpire called strike. The next was a ball, the next a +strike; still Burt had not moved. +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody wake him up!" yelled a wag in the bleachers. "He's from +Slumbertown, all right, all right!" shouted another. +</P> + +<P> +Duveen sent up another ball, high and swift. Burt hit straight over the +first baseman, a line drive that struck the front of the right-field +bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +"Peacherino!" howled a fan. +</P> + +<P> +Here the promise of Burt's speed was fulfilled. Run! He was fleet as a +deer. He cut through first like the wind, settled to a driving strides +rounded second, and by a good, long slide beat the throw in to third. +The crowd, who went to games to see long hits and daring runs, gave him +a generous hand-clapping. +</P> + +<P> +Old Well-Well appeared on the verge of apoplexy. His ruddy face turned +purple, then black; he rose in his seat; he gave vent to smothered +gasps; then he straightened up and clutched his hands into his knees. +</P> + +<P> +Burt scored his run on a hit to deep short, an infielder's choice, with +the chances against retiring a runner at the plate. Philadelphia could +not tally again that inning. New York blanked in the first of the +next. For their opponents, an error, a close decision at second +favoring the runner, and a single to right tied the score. Bell of New +York got a clean hit in the opening of the fifth. With no one out and +chances for a run, the impatient fans let loose. Four subway trains in +collision would not have equalled the yell and stamp in the bleachers. +Maloney was next to bat and he essayed a bunt. This the fans derided +with hoots and hisses. No team work, no inside ball for them. +</P> + +<P> +"Hit it out!" yelled a hundred in unison. +</P> + +<P> +"Home run!" screamed a worshipper of long hits. +</P> + +<P> +As if actuated by the sentiments of his admirers Maloney lined the ball +over short. It looked good for a double; it certainly would advance +Bell to third; maybe home. But no one calculated on Burt. His +fleetness enabled him to head the bounding ball. He picked it up +cleanly, and checking his headlong run, threw toward third base. Bell +was half way there. The ball shot straight and low with terrific force +and beat the runner to the bag. +</P> + +<P> +"What a great arm!" I exclaimed, deep in my throat. "It's the lad's +day! He can't be stopped." +</P> + +<P> +The keen newsboy sitting below us broke the amazed silence in the +bleachers. +</P> + +<P> +"Wot d'ye tink o' that?" +</P> + +<P> +Old Well-Well writhed in his seat. To him if was a one-man game, as it +had come to be for me. I thrilled with him; I gloried in the making +good of his protege; it got to be an effort on my part to look at the +old man, so keenly did his emotion communicate itself to me. +</P> + +<P> +The game went on, a close, exciting, brilliantly fought battle. Both +pitchers were at their best. The batters batted out long flies, low +liners, and sharp grounders; the fielders fielded these difficult +chances without misplay. Opportunities came for runs, but no runs were +scored for several innings. Hopes were raised to the highest pitch +only to be dashed astonishingly away. The crowd in the grand stand +swayed to every pitched ball; the bleachers tossed like surf in a storm. +</P> + +<P> +To start the eighth, Stranathan of New York tripled along the left foul +line. Thunder burst from the fans and rolled swellingly around the +field. Before the hoarse yelling, the shrill hooting, the hollow +stamping had ceased Stranathan made home on an infield hit. Then +bedlam broke loose. It calmed down quickly, for the fans sensed +trouble between Binghamton, who had been thrown out in the play, and +the umpire who was waving him back to the bench. +</P> + +<P> +"You dizzy-eyed old woman, you can't see straight!" called Binghamton. +</P> + +<P> +The umpire's reply was lost, but it was evident that the offending +player had been ordered out of the grounds. +</P> + +<P> +Binghamton swaggered along the bleachers while the umpire slowly +returned to his post. The fans took exception to the player's +objection and were not slow in expressing it. Various witty enconiums, +not to be misunderstood, attested to the bleachers' love of fair play +and their disgust at a player's getting himself put out of the game at +a critical stage. +</P> + +<P> +The game proceeded. A second batter had been thrown out. Then two +hits in succession looked good for another run. White, the next +batter, sent a single over second base. Burt scooped the ball on the +first bounce and let drive for the plate. It was another extraordinary +throw. Whether ball or runner reached home base first was most +difficult to decide. The umpire made his sweeping wave of hand and the +breathless crowd caught his decision. +</P> + +<P> +"Out!" +</P> + +<P> +In action and sound the circle of bleachers resembled a long curved +beach with a mounting breaker thundering turbulently high. +</P> + +<P> +"Rob—b—ber—r!" bawled the outraged fans, betraying their marvelous +inconsistency. +</P> + +<P> +Old Well-Well breathed hard. Again the wrestling of his body signified +an inward strife. I began to feel sure that the man was in a mingled +torment of joy and pain, that he fought the maddening desire to yell +because he knew he had not the strength to stand it. Surely, in all +the years of his long following of baseball he had never had the +incentive to express himself in his peculiar way that rioted him now. +Surely, before the game ended he would split the winds with his +wonderful yell. +</P> + +<P> +Duveen's only base on balls, with the help of a bunt, a steal, and a +scratch hit, resulted in a run for Philadelphia, again tying the score. +How the fans raged at Fuller for failing to field the lucky scratch. +</P> + +<P> +"We had the game on ice!" one cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Get him a basket!" +</P> + +<P> +New York men got on bases in the ninth and made strenuous efforts to +cross the plate, but it was not to be. Philadelphia opened up with two +scorching hits and then a double steal. Burt came up with runners on +second and third. Half the crowd cheered in fair appreciation of the +way fate was starring the ambitious young outfielder; the other half, +dyed-in-the-wool home-team fans, bent forward in a waiting silent gloom +of fear. Burt knocked the dirt out of his spikes and faced Duveen. +The second ball pitched he met fairly and it rang like a bell. +</P> + +<P> +No one in the stands saw where it went. But they heard the crack, saw +the New York shortstop stagger and then pounce forward to pick up the +ball and speed it toward the plate. The catcher was quick to tag the +incoming runner, and then snap the ball to first base, completing a +double play. +</P> + +<P> +When the crowd fully grasped this, which was after an instant of +bewilderment, a hoarse crashing roar rolled out across the field to +bellow back in loud echo from Coogan's Bluff. The grand stand +resembled a colored corn field waving in a violent wind; the bleachers +lost all semblance of anything. Frenzied, flinging action—wild +chaos—shrieking cries—manifested sheer insanity of joy. +</P> + +<P> +When the noise subsided, one fan, evidently a little longer-winded than +his comrades, cried out hysterically: +</P> + +<P> +"O-h! I don't care what becomes of me—now-w!" +</P> + +<P> +Score tied, three to three, game must go ten innings—that was the +shibboleth; that was the overmastering truth. The game did go ten +innings—eleven—twelve, every one marked by masterly pitching, full of +magnificent catches, stops and throws, replete with reckless +base-running and slides like flashes in the dust. But they were +unproductive of runs. Three to three! Thirteen innings! +</P> + +<P> +"Unlucky thirteenth," wailed a superstitious fan. +</P> + +<P> +I had got down to plugging, and for the first time, not for my home +team. I wanted Philadelphia to win, because Burt was on the team. +With Old Well-Well sitting there so rigid in his seat, so obsessed by +the playing of the lad, I turned traitor to New York. +</P> + +<P> +White cut a high twisting bounder inside the third base, and before the +ball could be returned he stood safely on second. The fans howled with +what husky voice they had left. The second hitter batted a +tremendously high fly toward center field. Burt wheeled with the crack +of the ball and raced for the ropes. Onward the ball soared like a +sailing swallow; the fleet fielder ran with his back to the stands. +What an age that ball stayed in the air! Then it lost its speed, +gracefully curved and began to fall. Burt lunged forward and upwards; +the ball lit in his hands and stuck there as he plunged over the ropes +into the crowd. White had leisurely trotted half way to third; he saw +the catch, ran back to touch second and then easily made third on the +throw-in. The applause that greeted Burt proved the splendid spirit of +the game. Bell placed a safe little hit over short, scoring White. +Heaving, bobbing bleachers—wild, broken, roar on roar! +</P> + +<P> +Score four to three—only one half inning left for Philadelphia to +play—how the fans rooted for another run! A swift double-play, +however, ended the inning. +</P> + +<P> +Philadelphia's first hitter had three strikes called on him. +</P> + +<P> +"Asleep at the switch!" yelled a delighted fan. +</P> + +<P> +The next batter went out on a weak pop-up fly to second. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' to it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I hate to take this money!" +</P> + +<P> +"All-l o-over!" +</P> + +<P> +Two men at least of all that vast assemblage had not given up victory +for Philadelphia. I had not dared to look at Old Well-Well for a long, +while. I dreaded the nest portentious moment. I felt deep within me +something like clairvoyant force, an intangible belief fostered by hope. +</P> + +<P> +Magoon, the slugger of the Phillies, slugged one against the left field +bleachers, but, being heavy and slow, he could not get beyond second +base. Cless swung with all his might at the first pitched ball, and +instead of hitting it a mile as he had tried, he scratched a mean, +slow, teasing grounder down the third base line. It was as safe as if +it had been shot out of a cannon. Magoon went to third. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd suddenly awoke to ominous possibilities; sharp commands came +from the players' bench. The Philadelphia team were bowling and +hopping on the side lines, and had to be put down by the umpire. +</P> + +<P> +An inbreathing silence fell upon stands and field, quiet, like a lull +before a storm. +</P> + +<P> +When I saw young Burt start for the plate and realized it was his turn +at bat, I jumped as if I had been shot. Putting my hand on Old +Well-Well's shoulder I whispered: "Burt's at bat: He'll break up this +game! I know he's going to lose one!" +</P> + +<P> +The old fellow did not feel my touch; he did not hear my voice; he was +gazing toward the field with an expression on his face to which no +human speech could render justice. He knew what was coming. It could +not be denied him in that moment. +</P> + +<P> +How confidently young Burt stood up to the plate! None except a +natural hitter could have had his position. He might have been Wagner +for all he showed of the tight suspense of that crisis. Yet there was +a tense alert poise to his head and shoulders which proved he was alive +to his opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +Duveen plainly showed he was tired. Twice he shook his head to his +catcher, as if he did not want to pitch a certain kind of ball. He had +to use extra motion to get his old speed, and he delivered a high +straight ball that Burt fouled over the grand stand. The second ball +met a similar fate. All the time the crowd maintained that strange +waiting silence. The umpire threw out a glistening white ball, which +Duveen rubbed in the dust and spat upon. Then he wound himself up into +a knot, slowly unwound, and swinging with effort, threw for the plate. +</P> + +<P> +Burt's lithe shoulders swung powerfully. The meeting of ball and bat +fairly cracked. The low driving hit lined over second a rising +glittering streak, and went far beyond the center fielder. +</P> + +<P> +Bleachers and stands uttered one short cry, almost a groan, and then +stared at the speeding runners. For an instant, approaching doom could +not have been more dreaded. Magoon scored. Cless was rounding second +when the ball lit. If Burt was running swiftly when he turned first he +had only got started, for then his long sprinter's stride lengthened +and quickened. At second he was flying; beyond second he seemed to +merge into a gray flitting shadow. +</P> + +<P> +I gripped my seat strangling the uproar within me. Where was the +applause? The fans were silent, choked as I was, but from a different +cause. Cless crossed the plate with the score that defeated New York; +still the tension never laxed until Burt beat the ball home in as +beautiful a run as ever thrilled an audience. +</P> + +<P> +In the bleak dead pause of amazed disappointment Old Well-Well lifted +his hulking figure and loomed, towered over the bleachers. His wide +shoulders spread, his broad chest expanded, his breath whistled as he +drew it in. One fleeting instant his transfigured face shone with a +glorious light. Then, as he threw back his head and opened his lips, +his face turned purple, the muscles of his cheeks and jaw rippled and +strung, the veins on his forehead swelled into bulging ridges. Even +the back of his neck grew red. +</P> + +<P> +"Well!—Well!—Well!!!" +</P> + +<P> +Ear-splitting stentorian blast! For a moment I was deafened. But I +heard the echo ringing from the cliff, a pealing clarion call, +beautiful and wonderful, winding away in hollow reverberation, then +breaking out anew from building to building in clear concatenation. +</P> + +<P> +A sea of faces whirled in the direction of that long unheard yell. +Burt had stopped statue-like as if stricken in his tracks; then he came +running, darting among the spectators who had leaped the fence. +</P> + +<P> +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. +</P> + +<P> +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. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Redheaded Outfield and Other +Baseball Stories, by Zane Grey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REDHEADED OUTFIELD, OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 385-h.htm or 385-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/385/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. 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