THE FRESHMAN PITCHER.
Dick had not come out for that purpose, and he gave Billings a
good-natured frown, receiving in return an equally good-natured smile of
satisfaction. Things had happened exactly the way Billings had hoped
they would. It was his belief that Merriwell could show the varsity
pitchers a few tricks, but the boy was not the kind voluntarily to show
off, and the pride and prejudice of the varsity pitchers would prevent
them from seeking any tips of a freshman.
It must be confessed that Merriwell’s blood had been warmed a little by
the unconcealed sneering of Welch and Towne. He knew both of these
fellows disliked him heartily, and, to tell the truth, he was not
inclined to waste any love on them.
Having practically stated that he would do all sorts of things to Dick’s
delivery, Welch sought permission to lead off in the batting and was
given a nod by Emery.
For the first time Billings was a trifle worried, for he feared the
freshman might not be up to his usual form. If this should be the case
and the boy was batted freely and heavily, Billings knew he would “get
the laugh” from those chaps who were eagerly watching for him to make a
mistake in judgment.
“As this is not to be ordinary batting practice, Emery,” he said, “why
don’t you appoint an umpire to call balls and strikes? That’s the only
way to make a fair test of it.”
“You might do that, Leyden,” suggested Emery. “It will give you a chance
to watch the kid’s curves. You can tell in a few moments if he has
anything up his sleeve.”
The coach jogged out and took his position back of the pitcher’s stand.
A few of the regulars and a number of subs were placed on bases and in
the field. Del Cranch, the catcher, leisurely sauntered into position
some twenty-five feet behind the batter. There was no reason why he
should get under the stick where he might be hurt, just to limber his
arm a bit, Dick threw a few balls to the chap on first.
“Now watch me pound this wonderful freshman’s curves,” invited Welch, in
a low tone, as he walked out to the plate.
“Pumper is too confident,” muttered Dudley Towne. “I’ve batted against
Merriwell, and he isn’t easy, although I wouldn’t tell him so for the
world.”
The first ball delivered by Dick looked good to Welch, but it took a
queer inward twist, passing close to his knees, and he did not even foul
it.
“One strike,” called Leyden. “You’ll have to use better judgment than
that, Welch. It didn’t even cross the inside corner.”
Pumper shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“Just wanted to encourage him, that’s all,” he said. “Now he’ll have to
put ’em over.”
But the next two balls were wide, which made it seem that Dick’s control
was rather poor.
“Oh, come! come!” cried the batter. “You can’t fool me, kid. Don’t wear
yourself out. Don’t waste your strength. Get ’em over, get ’em over.”
Even as Pumper was speaking Dick delivered a speedy one that seemed to
make the air sizzle.
Welch struck under it at least a foot.
“Hello, hello,” muttered Leyden, “that was a pretty jump ball. Can you
throw it when you wish, youngster?”
“If I’m in proper form, I can. Occasionally I can’t make it jump as much
as I would like. It’s one of the hardest balls to pitch, because there
seems to be no regular way to throw it that will give positive and
consistent results. Sometimes when I try hardest to make it jump it pans
out to be merely a high straight ball.”
“Do you pitch a raise ball the same as you do the jump?”
“Oh, no,” answered Dick quickly. “The two are pitched in entirely
different ways. The jump is the result of extreme speed with an overhand
delivery. I’ll pitch the raise ball now.”
These final words were spoken in such a low tone that they did not reach
the ears of Welch. Grasping the ball exactly as if he meant to pitch an
outcurve, Dick swung his arm, dropping his hand nearly to the level of
his knee. The ball left his hand and came floating up toward the
batter’s shoulder in a most deceptive manner. There was no great speed,
and it seemed easy enough to hit the ball. Nevertheless, Welch struck
under it, for, even though he knew it was a rise, he found it something
he could not accurately gauge.
“One strike-out,” called Leyden. “Try again, Pumper. Perhaps you’ll do
better next time.”
A tinge of red leaped into the cheeks of Welch, and he bit his lips
angrily.
“Yes, that’s once,” he admitted. “I’m all through encouraging the kid.”
“You’ve been very kind,” said Dick, with mock gratitude.
“He’s laughing at you, Welch,” whispered Towne behind his outspread
hand.
Pumper set his teeth and squared his jaw, gripping the bat fiercely. An
outcurve nearly led him into reaching, but he checked himself just in
time for Leyden to call a ball instead of a strike. Another outcurve
followed and Welch edged up close to the rubber, his toes almost
touching it.
Dick now grasped the ball firmly with two fingers, while his curved
thumb touched it very lightly. Keeping his hand in an upright position
as he swung, he let the ball go over the tips of his fingers with a
lateral motion. All the speed he could command was put into this
delivery. When the ball left his fingers it was turning from right to
left and apparently aimed to cross the outside corner of the plate.
Just as Welch swung the sphere took a sudden inshoot, and he actually
felt its breath as it twisted past his ear.
Realizing he had been deceived by a high inshoot that had nearly hit
him, Welch snarled at the freshman:
“Look out there! You came near hitting me in the head then! You want to
be careful!”
“If you’d been hit in the head, Pumper, you might have blamed yourself,”
said Leyden. “You’re standing on top of the rubber. Get back the proper
distance.”
By this time Welch was both angry and ashamed. He sullenly moved back
from the plate, feeling his blood leaping hotly in his veins.
“I’ve got to hit the next one I swing at,” he thought. “I’ve got to—and
I will.”
In spite of this determination, he merely fouled the next ball he went
after.
“Saved yourself by touching it,” said Leyden. “You still have a chance.”
Thus far, with the single exception of the raise ball, Dick had been
using speed. He now swung overhand as if intending to throw a swift one,
but when the ball left his fingers it seemed to hang in the air as if
some invisible force was retarding it. Welch saw it coming and knew it
would cross the pan fairly. He was impatient to hit at it, and, in spite
of himself, he could not wait until the ball was near enough. Swinging
far too soon, he missed it entirely. Some of the spectators laughed.
Welch longed to send his bat spinning at Dick Merriwell’s head, for
there is nothing so provoking to a batter as to be fooled by a slow
ball. It makes him feel foolish, and the laughter that invariably greets
his ears arouses his ire.
“That’s two strike-outs, and you haven’t even hit a little one into the
diamond, Welch,” reminded Leyden. “The youngster is fooling you.”
Welch was at a loss for words.
“Where’s Henderson?” cried some one. “Carl’s the man to bump that sort
of pitching.”
Carl Henderson was the most reliable batter on the Yale team. The
pitcher who could strike him out had good reason to plume himself on his
feat.
“I’m not through yet,” declared Welch hastily. “I’m just getting his
measure. In batting practice we always have three hits at the ball.”
“But there are others who wish to try their skill some time this
afternoon, you know,” drawled Billings. “If they wait for you to get
three hits, Welch, I’m afraid they won’t have a chance to try their luck
at all.”
“Yar!” muttered Pumper to himself. “That bighead Billings always did
make me sick! He says the varsity is weak in the box. I suppose the next
thing that will happen he’ll write an article claiming the freshmen have
a better pitcher than the varsity.”
“Don’t go off in a trance, Welch!” cried Leyden, as the ball whistled
past the batter. “That ball was straight over the heart of the pan, but
you didn’t see it, and I won’t call a strike on you.”
Again Pumper heard a titter, and by this time his blood was being pumped
through his veins in such a manner that it caused a hammering sound in
his ears. He glared at Dick with the most malicious hatred.
“Come on! come on!” he snapped. “I’m waiting! When you get through
showing off and playing your monkey tricks perhaps you’ll settle down
and pitch in a decent manner!”
Merriwell made no retort, but deliberately tossed up a straight ball
that cut the plate in two equal halves.
Welch, however, could not believe Merriwell had thrown a straight one,
and swinging in anticipation of a curve, he made another clean miss.
After all his boasting he was making a sorry spectacle of himself.
Following this Pumper managed to foul the ball twice, but he ended by
biting at another jump and being again declared out by Leyden.
“Here, give somebody else a chance, Welch,” called Captain Emery. “Let’s
see if the freshman is invincible. Come on, Henderson, show us what you
can do.”
Pumper turned and savagely flung his bat toward the pile lying near the
bench. Even Towne joined in the chaffing that was tossed after him as he
retired from the plate.