A SET-BACK FOR O'CONNELL
Absorbed as he was in one phase of the game,--the success of the second
battery,--Rob felt no anxiety at all as to his own personal record
with the bat. He wanted to hit O'Connell, of course, but the chief
thing after all was that Patterson should not be hit. So he stood
coolly at the plate, ready for anything that O'Connell might send in,
but unworried and more than half expecting to get his base on balls.
The first one was high, the second he had to dodge, the third was a
called strike, the fourth a drop that dropped too far, the fifth an
unmanageable in, that hit him in the small of the back as he squirmed
away from it, and gave him the desirable gift of first base and the
undesirable one of a painful bruise.
Allis strode up, pounded the plate with his bat, and squared himself,
with legs apart, for a mighty deed. While Rob knew nothing of Allis's
powers, he did not like this form; and not wishing to be cut off at
second by an infield hit, he determined to make a dash at the first
pitch, when a steal would hardly be expected. So off he scampered at
the first movement of O'Connell's arm, and covered his distance so well
in spite of his bruise that when he slid safely to the bag, McPherson
was in the air taking Borland's high throw. In other respects also the
venture proved a lucky one, for Allis hit two fouls and then struck
out, and Rorbach made a scratch hit to short that would certainly
have cut Owen off at second if he had clung to first base. As it was,
Rorbach was safe at first, and Rob reached third before the ball got
back across the diamond. Then Reddy McGuffy sent up a little pop fly to
the first baseman, and long Ames appeared beside the plate, swinging
his bat like an axe.
The lads on the seats made merry as Ames smote terribly and in vain at
the first one over. The next he let go by; it was a ball. At the third
he smote again, this time with effect. The ball shot out over first
baseman's head, bounced hard on the running track, and made full speed
for the corner of the field.
Then for some seconds the onlookers saw lively running. Peters in right
field sprinted for the ball, the second baseman ran out to support him,
Rob trotted home, Rorbach fled along two bags behind him, and still
farther behind came Ames, galloping like a cart horse and constantly
twisting his head backward to make sure that the ball was not close
at hand. The fellows who had been jeering were now stamping and
yelling, the players of the Second were running up and down the lines,
brandishing their arms and shouting contradictory directions. Ames
rounded third base at full speed, saw the ball bounce into Borland's
hands, stopped, turned,--and was touched ignominiously out by Durand
two feet from third. And then the spectators hooted and jeered more
violently than ever.
"If it keeps up like this, there'll be more fun than practice," thought
Rob, as he buckled on his protector. And to Patterson, as the latter
started for the box, he said: "Don't worry about the bases; I'll throw
to them when it's necessary. Just try your hardest to put 'em where I
want 'em, and don't worry. If a batter's slow or timid, give him full
speed. And don't think because one happens to hit you they all will."
McPherson led off for the First nine. Patterson fixed the ball in his
two fingers and drove it hard and straight over the inner corner of the
plate just below the shoulder line. It struck with a resounding clap
in Owen's big mitt, and as it struck, McPherson realized that he had
lost a chance. As the next one looked exactly like the first, McPherson
whacked valiantly at it, but just before it reached the plate the ball
broke and lifted, while the bat swept the air beneath it. Two strikes!
"It's all his way now," thought McPherson. "This'll be a ball,"--and it
would have been if it had kept its first course. Unfortunately for the
batsman, however, it slanted down and in instead of down and out, and
the umpire called it a strike.
"Astonishing how a man loses his batting eye during the winter!"
thought Poole, as he took McPherson's place at the plate. "If I can't
hit that fellow I must be blind."
Now the captain was considered the best batter in school, and
deservedly so. In the fatal Hillbury game of the year before he had
proved almost the only Seaton man whom the Hillbury pitcher could not
deceive, and he and McPherson were responsible for all the hits the
defeated team had made. He had an excellent eye, watched the ball
closely, and was a patient waiter. All this Owen knew. He also knew
that a waist ball was the kind Poole always longed for, that he was
wary on high ones, and often hit a low one in a long fly. Patterson's
first attempt was clearly wide of the plate; his second was low. Poole
offered at neither, and both were called balls. By the next ball, the
same full-speed straight one which had fooled McPherson, Poole was
caught napping, and the sharp "Strike one!" of the umpire gave comfort
to both members of the battery. Rob now signalled for the slow ball, at
which Poole struck too soon. With two balls and two strikes, Patterson
put a low one over the outside of the plate, hoping to finish with the
captain immediately; but Poole caught it on the end of his bat and
sent it in a long arch to centre field, where Rorbach gathered it in.
Sudbury, who came next, struck at the first pitched ball and raised
a pop fly, which the second baseman, to Owen's surprise and McGuffy's
own immense satisfaction, managed to hold. Reddy tossed the ball over
to the pitcher's box with the best air of a professional, and strutted
complacently in. The first inning had ended with the score two to
nothing in favor of the scrub.
O'Connell pitched six times to strike out Smart. Meanwhile, Owen and
Patterson discussed the situation.
"Great luck, wasn't it!" began the pitcher, eagerly.
"The greatest luck was that McGuffy held that fly," Rob answered with
more coolness. With all his interest in the trying-out process, habit
and experience kept him philosophical. "I didn't believe he'd do it."
"He may be better than he looks," said Patterson.
Rob had no answer for this. "How's your arm?" he said.
"All right. I can give you a little more speed if you want it."
"We shall have to be careful about Durand. The rest ought to be easy."
Smart returned to the bench, having surrendered his place at the bat to
Peacock. Owen took a seat beside McGuffy. "You understand that you are
to cover second if a man on first tries to steal, don't you?"
"Of course!" answered McGuffy, indignantly.
"I simply want to avoid a misunderstanding," retorted Owen. "I don't
care to throw to centre field."
Peacock hit to Hayes, the shortstop, and was thrown out. Fletcher
reached first base on balls, but was left there when Patterson sent a
fly to Durand. The First team came in to bat once more.
Patterson put the first one over, and Durand met it, driving a grounder
to Smart. The shortstop fumbled, and then, when it was too late to
catch the fleet runner, threw wide and low to first. How Ames managed
to get his mitt on the ball was hard to understand, but the mitt was
there and the ball stopped. A new batsman came up, Peters, the right
fielder; and Rob, glancing at the pair at first base, made up his
mind that Durand was going to steal. So he signalled for a high out,
and Peters whacked at it, though it was beyond his reach. Even as the
ball struck in the pocket of his mitt, Rob's fingers clutched it; his
right leg went out and his arm came back simultaneously; like a flash
the arm returned, the wrist snapped forward, and the ball shot straight
and swift in a line for second. But alas! there was no one on second
to receive it! McGuffy was on the way there, but although he arrived
before Durand, the ball was already spinning toward centre field.
Fletcher let it slip between his ankles, and Durand jogged easily home.
This was poor work. Rob pounded his fist into the hole of his mitt,
disgusted and indignant. But Patterson was waiting for the signal, and
there was no chance to give to McGuffy the few forcible suggestions
which Rob felt that he ought to be privileged to make. Patterson
settled Peters with two high ones in succession; the first a poor one
which he struck at, the second a good one which he did not recognize.
Then Hayes hit to Patterson and was thrown out; and Borland, after
two fouls, was caught on a swift jump ball and retired, muttering hard
things at the umpire.
And now Rob had another opportunity at the bat. He still felt the
sore spot on his back where O'Connell had potted him on his first
appearance, but he stood up to the plate just as courageously as
before, confident that O'Connell would not repeat the offence. The
pitcher gave two balls, then put one squarely over, which Rob was
fortunate enough to hit "on the nose." It sped away in a line over
the third baseman's head out into the debatable ground, bounced just
inside the foul line, then out, and rolled away into the far corner
of the field. Rob raced past first and second, and reached third in
safety just before the ball bounded into Durand's hands. Here he stayed
while Allis went out on a hit to the second baseman, and Rorbach,
waiting patiently, heard two strikes and three balls called. O'Connell
dreaded a record of many bases on balls more than an additional run;
so he tried to satisfy the umpire by putting one directly over, and
Rorbach cracked it whizzing by O'Connell's head out over second base.
Rob came home at his leisure. Then stubby McGuffy turned his freckled
face toward the pitcher, and by hitting to O'Connell unintentionally
sacrificed Rorbach to second; and big Ames, with his woodchopper's
swing, drove another long hit into right field and brought Rorbach in.
Smart, with the resignation of a fatalist, struck out.
The tail end of the school batting list now appeared at the plate,
Weaver, first baseman, and O'Connell. Neither proved a hard problem for
the Second battery to solve. Weaver hit a pop foul which Ames caught,
and O'Connell struck three times ingloriously. McPherson, sending a
long fly to Allis, made the last out. So the third inning ended with
the score four to one against the school.
Peacock, Fletcher, and Patterson all went out in the fourth on feeble
infield hits, and Poole came to bat a second time, manifestly disturbed
by the course of events. It was not merely the fact that the Second
hit O'Connell that worried him, but the failure of the First to hit
Patterson. It seemed hardly possible that a man who had so little
experience in actual play should prove so clever in the balls he
used, and so effective in holding off old batsmen. Poole could not or
would not understand it. He came up fiercely eager, determined to turn
Patterson's luck.
The first pitch he let go by, and had the satisfaction of hearing it
called a ball. The second--a straight one--he struck under and fouled.
"One strike!" The third came hot, just at the level of his breast, but
lifted with a sudden break as his bat swung beneath it. The fourth was
obviously a ball, the fifth just as obviously ditto, but it slanted in
over the corner, and from the umpire's sharp "Strike three!" there was
no appeal, even for Captain Poole.
Sudbury followed, and after balls and strikes, tipped a kindergarten
bounder to McGuffy, who, with the air of Little Jack Horner, stopped it
and threw it within Ames's long reach. Durand profited by a fumble of
Smart's to reach first, but he was caught here a minute later by Owen's
quick snap to Ames--and the fourth inning was over.
In the fifth, by an error, a base on balls, and a hit, another run was
added to the Second's score. The First too gained a run on a hit by
Hayes and errors. But the end came when Borland drove the ball right
into Ames's hands; and Weaver, after slashing twice in vain, dropped
a fair ball in front of the plate, and found Ames holding it when he
reached first.
The game was over. The spectators drifted moodily down toward the
school buildings, exchanging sarcastic and pessimistic comments on
the work of the school nine and its prospects: "A lot of duffers;"
"Couldn't hit a balloon;" "The only players on the field were the
Second;" "The Clippers wouldn't have done a thing to 'em;" "Worst
exhibition of baseball ever seen." Some, especially Patterson's
surprised classmates, looked at the matter from a different point of
view and vowed that all the trouble was due to Patterson, who was too
good a pitcher for the school batters. Poole had a short talk with
Lyford, and then called Patterson aside and thanked him for his good
work; he must take good care of himself, for he would certainly be used
frequently in the box. Lyford followed with similar compliments, and a
troop of others followed Lyford. Even O'Connell came heroically with
his meed of praise; and while offering congratulations on his rival's
success contrived to explain that he himself had not felt at his best
that day, and that it always took time for him to get his arm into
shape in the spring. Unquestionably Patterson was the hero of the day.
And what of Owen? He, too, had his share of attention. Lyford assured
him that he had played a good game, Poole informed him that he had hit
well, some one else spoke of his throwing. But this was all. No one
held him in any sense responsible for the pitching, not even those
to whom Patterson protested that the credit belonged to Owen. Such
statements were to be expected from a modest, reticent fellow like
Patterson, who had kept his light hidden under a bushel all the year.