THE GREAT REBELLION.
Two of the pitchers, Sweet and Keene, were now behind Cranch, watching
the freshman’s curves.
“I don’t see that he has anything in particular, do you?” muttered
Swett.
“Nothing remarkable,” said Keene.
“He has good control for one thing,” observed Cranch. “He can put the
ball just where he wants to.”
“I don’t know,” came from Swett. “He doesn’t put them all over.”
“He doesn’t want to.”
“Most pitchers try to in batting practice.”
“But you seem to forget that the freshman was up against a challenge.
Pumper made some talk about pounding him all over the field.”
“Oh, Pumper’s great on making talk,” said Swett. “He doesn’t mean half
he says.”
“But he’s sore now,” declared Keene, as Welch hurled his bat aside and
walked toward the bench.
“Now take a lesson by that fellow,” muttered Cranch. “I’ve told him time
after time that his temper spoiled his pitching. When things go wrong in
a game he acts just as he’s acting now. A pitcher who permits himself to
get wrathy never can do his best.”
“Well, we’ll see what Henderson can do to the freshie,” said Swett. “Old
Hen ought to biff him some.”
Dick knew he was up against the crack batter of the varsity, and his
first inclination was not to attempt to strike Henderson out. The first
ball he delivered was straight over, and Carl smashed it out on a line.
“Clean hit!” cried Leyden.
“Oh, it’s different now! it’s different now!” shouted a voice. “The
freshie will find he’s pitching against a real batter!”
“What fool said that?” snarled Welch, glaring around in search of the
speaker.
Whoever it was, the fellow kept himself out of sight for the time being.
Dick saw Swett and Keene laughing behind Cranch. There were other
players behind those fellows, all eager to watch the work of young
Merriwell. The boy was now spurred to do his best.
When the ball was returned to him Dick settled himself for business.
Three times he pitched the jump to Henderson and three times Henderson
fouled. Then a sharp twisting drop caused the batter to make a clean
miss, and Merriwell secured the credit of a strike-out.
“Well! well! well!” shouted a fellow on the bleachers. “What’s the
matter with Hen?”
Welch sat up and took notice.
“If he can strike Henderson out again,” thought Pumper, “I won’t feel so
bad over my own batting.”
The great Yale hitter leaned over the rubber plate and thumped it with
the end of his “slugger.”
“That was first-rate, Merriwell,” he nodded. “You certainly caught me
napping.”
A moment later Henderson batted a slow grounder into the diamond. It was
gathered cleanly and snapped to first.
“No hit,” came from Leyden. “That would have been an easy out at first.”
“Well, what do you think of that, Swett?” muttered Wilbur Keene. “Hen
doesn’t seem to be hitting the freshman very hard.”
“Wait,” said Swett, “Carl is taking Merriwell’s measure. I reckon he’ll
baste it next time he swings.”
But Dick was taking Henderson’s measure, and by this time he had learned
something of the great batter’s weak points. Two fouls followed, and
then, for the first time that day, Dick used the combination ball. It
started like a rise, but shifted into a drop, and once more Henderson
experienced the mortification of striking out.
“Here, give me a chance,” laughed Captain Emery, seizing a bat and
trotting out to the plate. “Of course I don’t expect to do any better
than you fellows, but I want to see why it is you can’t hit him. He
looks easy enough.”
Emery was a left-hand hitter. The moment he saw this, Dick shifted his
position, took the ball in his left hand, and pitched in that manner.
“Hold on! hold on!” cried Emery. “You’re right-handed. What are you
doing, anyhow, Merriwell?”
“I pitch with either hand,” smiled Dick. “As a rule, I use my left hand
when I find myself up against a left-hand hitter.”
“Well, by Jove, I knew that, but I’d forgotten it!” said Emery. “You’re
the only pitcher I ever saw who could really do that trick. Have you any
speed with your left?”
“Not much,” answered Dick; but a moment later he sent over a left-hander
that seemed to make the air smoke.
“Oh, not a bit of speed—not a bit!” cried Emery, who struck and missed.
Having struck the Yale captain out, Dick seemed satisfied, for he made
no further effort to secure strike-outs, although he continued pitching
for ten minutes or more. Once in a while he would send in a queer shoot
or curve that would bewilder the man at bat, but he did not keep himself
constantly at his best.
Bill Toleman had arrived on the field as Dick walked out to pitch. After
watching Merriwell a while, Toleman retired to the bleachers and
listened to the comments of the spectators. What he overheard did not
seem to please him, and finally, in a surly manner, he left the field.
Keene was called out to pitch when Dick stopped. Leyden walked in to the
bench with the freshman.
“Well, what do you think about the boy, Bill?” asked Billings, who was
smiling with a great deal of satisfaction.
The coach scratched his head.
“He certainly has the kinks and the control,” he admitted. “I’ve never
seen him pitch in a game, but if he has a level head I should say he’s
all the mustard.”
This pleased Billings, who proceeded to call Emery and Leyden aside
where he could speak to them privately.
“I don’t want you gentlemen to think I’m butting in,” he said, “but, of
course, you know that I have the interest of the team at heart just as
much as any one. I’m not here to give you any advice, but if you won’t
be offended, I’ll make a suggestion.”
They exchanged glances, and then Emery said:
“We’ll listen to your suggestion, Billings.”
“Sure,” nodded Leyden. “We don’t have to accept it.”
“Certainly not,” said Walter quickly. “It’s rather unusual, I will
admit; but why not get Merriwell to coach the varsity pitchers?”
Emery looked astounded.
“Unusual?” he cried. “I should say so. Whoever heard of such a thing?
Whoever heard of a freshman coaching men on the varsity nine?”
“But there’s no reason why a freshman should not do such a thing if he’s
capable, is there? I don’t know of any reason.”
“Nor I,” admitted Emery, turning to Leyden. “What do you think of this
peculiar proposition, Bill?”
Leyden was a Yale grad. Had he been a professional coach, it is likely
he would have received Billings’ proposal with scornful derision; but,
really having the good of the team at heart, he now admitted that there
was, to his knowledge, no reason why a freshman should not coach any
member of any varsity team.
“Will he do it?” asked Emery.
“I think he’ll do anything in his power to help his college. He has the
right spirit. He’s a true Yale man.”
“He must be pretty busy on his own team,” said Leyden.
“He is,” nodded Billings. “Still, I think he would find a little time to
do this work I’ve suggested.”
“If he undertook to coach all our pitchers, it would take his entire
time,” said Leyden. “We must pick out a man and turn him over to
Merriwell.”
“A good suggestion,” nodded Emery. “Let’s see what the youngster can do
with one man.”
“Whom will you choose?” questioned Billings.
“Welch is our best pitcher. If he could get some of Merriwell’s kinks,
it would make us strong in the box. I suggest Welch.”
A moment later Pumper was called by Emery. Wondering what they wanted,
he sauntered up and joined them.
The captain of the nine quickly explained Billings’ proposal. Before
Emery had finished speaking the lips of Welch had begun to curl
disdainfully.
“Preposterous!” he exclaimed, giving Walter a scornful look. “Why, there
isn’t a man on the team who’ll be coached by that freshman. The fellow
has a terrible swelled head, anyhow. If he got a chance to coach a
member of the varsity nine, he’d be simply intolerable.”
Billings surveyed Pumper from head to heels.
“Welch,” he said, “I’ve never yet seen a fellow as capable as Merriwell
who was so absolutely modest and unassuming. When you say he has a
swelled head you do so without reason.”
“Perhaps I do,” growled Welch. “But what made him come out here and show
off to-day?”
“I induced him to come, and as for showing off he was literally baited
into doing what he did. I believe that you announced that you were going
to show what you would do to some pitcher who resembles Merriwell. Well,
you demonstrated precisely what you will do. If you ever get up against
a pitcher like Merriwell, you’ll strike out. If that boy wasn’t a
freshman and barred from the varsity on that account, Yale would have a
cinch at the college baseball championship this year.”
The flush had left Pumper’s face, and he was now quite pale.
“I don’t know what business you have to meddle with baseball affairs,
Billings!” he cried hotly. “You’re always spying around to get hold of
something you can write up for the papers. You betray Yale’s athletic
secrets in order to get a few paltry dollars for your greedy pockets.
It’s mighty contemptible business, I think. This coaching idea was
suggested by you, and, therefore, I wouldn’t accept it, anyhow.”
“Hold on, Welch,” came quickly from Emery; “you forget yourself. I’m
captain of the team. What I say——”
“What you say goes, captain,” interrupted Pumper. “It goes with me as
long as I remain on the team; but if you attempt to put that freshman
over me as a coach, I’ll get off the team. I beg your pardon for
speaking like this, but I was forced into it.”