_The Final Game_
A frantic outburst of applause, followed by the ripping, crashing
Cascade yell aroused Larry Kirkland from the half daze in which he had
moved since his fiery interview with Major Lawrence. For an hour he had
been torn by a tumult of conflicting emotions in which he found it
difficult to think clearly. The hot anger in which he had parted with
his guardian had partially subsided and given way to stubborn
determination to carry out his part of the program.
His mind was made up; Major Lawrence had called him ungrateful, a
parasite and had hinted that he was incompetent to earn his own living.
He would no longer accept alms, he thought bitterly. He realized that he
had failed to lighten the supposed burden of woe for Helen Baldwin. She
must bear it bravely for a little while and he would go out into the big
world, fight the battles for himself and for her and return and claim
her. His mind had traveled in circles over and over the same ground.
Plainly he could not marry her at once because that would place him in a
position where they must accept aid from either Major Lawrence or from
the Baldwins—and to him the thought of either was hateful.
The roar of the crowd as the Cascade players trotted out onto the
playing field broke in upon his tumult of thought. His brain cleared as
if by magic, and a sudden grim resolve seized upon him. He would play
that day as never before. It was his last game of ball and he would show
them his ability. He jerked his belt more tightly and, diving sideways,
fielded a hard-hit ball and tossed it quickly to Jacobs, who, pivoting
as a dancer whirls, threw to first base. Another outburst of applause
greeted the lightning-like handling of the ball and the applause was
like balm to Larry’s sore nerves. The weariness from a sleepless night,
the mental strain of the morning passed; he felt quick return of
confidence in himself. He looked upon the crowd, volleying cheers back
and forth across the arena, and smiled cynically. They were all his foes
now—he was going to fight them all now, to force them to his own terms.
Larry found himself giving directions with a coolness that surprised
him. His low-toned advice to Katsura and Winans was given with the air
of one accustomed to commanding.
“These fellows have been hitting against speedy pitching all the time,”
he said. “I do not think they can hit your slow twisters Katty, keep the
fast curve low, pitch the javelin ball close to their hands and across
their chests, and tease them into hitting the slow twisters.”
“No breaks to-day, boys,” he called as his team left the bench. “On the
toes every minute. Remember, every man hits when he sees the runner
moving and every base runner runs. Make Herron pitch all the time. Don’t
hit until you have to, and then run it out to the limit.”
The spirit of the Cascade team was high and their confidence rising.
Katsura, pitching easily, puzzled the heavy hitters of Golden in the
first inning and three of them retired on easy chances.
“They’re swinging their heads off,” remarked Larry. “All three of them
hit at the ball before it got to the plate. Mix them up in the next,
Katty, and keep them guessing.”
Inspired by their success, Cascade rushed the attack. Jacobs, leading
off, reached first, and instead of waiting for a sacrifice or a hit and
run sign, he dashed for second; Dalmores swung viciously, missed, and
Jacobs was out at second.
“Great work, Jake,” said Larry, although the Cascade crowd was groaning.
“Keep it up and he’ll throw the game away.”
Dalmores went out and Trumbull, after hitting a hard single, was caught
trying to steal on the third ball pitched.
The Cascade crowd was vexed, thinking that two chances had been wasted;
but the players were satisfied. Katsura, cunningly mixing his “javelin”
throw with his slow, twisting curve held Golden at bay in the second
inning.
“Rush ’em again boys,” ordered Larry tersely. “Rush ’em. We’ve got to
upset them and get a bunch of runs in one inning. Keep at ’em.”
In vain they strove to smash the defense of Golden, and the third inning
passed, neither team having been able to gain any advantage. The crowd
was in an uproar and the excitement was growing. In the fourth, Cascade
had two men on bases, and both were lost in striving to take an extra
base on hits. The fifth found them in a deadlock. Cascade had had six
men on first base and each had gone out, four of them striving to steal
bases, and the others in attempting to go from first to third base on
short hits. Golden had only succeeded in reaching first base twice, and
both runners were left standing still.
The Cascade contingent in the stands was beginning to complain that the
players were throwing away their opportunities. They did not stop to
think that only twice had they succeeded in making two hits in an
inning, and that, had any runner succeeded in advancing an extra base,
each hit would have meant a score.
To Larry, keenly watching, forgetful of his own troubles and thinking
only of winning the game, it was evident that the rushing tactics of the
players were bothering both Herron, the pitcher and Langham, the
catcher. Herron was worrying as he pitched because he was constantly
compelled to watch the runners, and Langham was overanxious, and leaping
into position to throw with every ball that was pitched.
Larry, glancing toward the stands, saw Major Lawrence sitting with Paw
Lattiser. His face was purple from cheering and he applauded every play,
good or bad and keeping the spectators near him convulsed with laughter
by his display of ignorance of the game. Not far from them he espied
Helen Baldwin, surrounded by a bevy of St. Gertrude girls. She waved a
cane garnished with Cascade colors.
“She hides her troubles better than I do,” reflected Larry, watching her
gay chattering with her companions.
In the sixth inning, with two out, little Atchison reached first base
for Golden. Katsura, after having two strikes on Mortimer, tried his
javelin ball, and the big outfielder, lunging at the first fast ball he
had seen all day, drove it far to the right field corner of the field,
and scored behind Atchison.
The Cascade throng sat silent, while a sudden tempest seemed lashing
into golden waves the stands in which the University supporters sat.
“That’s all right,” called Larry. “We’ll get them back and then some.
Keep right at them. They’ll break soon.”
He glanced toward the stands, where Major Lawrence was protesting
frantically that the hit was foul by ten feet and, as he gazed, he saw
Helen Baldwin standing and waving a streamer of Golden ribbons that she
had snatched from one of her companions. The sight of this display of
disloyalty aroused him to the fighting point. He raced to the coacher’s
lines and led the team, cheering, coaching, pleading with them to get on
first base. Katsura managed to draw a base on balls. On the first ball
pitched, the fleet little brown boy was off far ahead of the pitch, and
he slid safely into second, only to be left.
Golden, scenting victory, attacked with new vigor; but Katsura, pitching
steadily and cunningly, prevented scoring, and the end of the seventh
saw the Cascade team seemingly beaten 2 to 0.
“Hit every ball he pitches now, fellows,” cautioned Larry quietly. “Hit
any ball he puts over the plate and run it to the limit. Don’t stop
until the ball is ahead of you.”
Dalmores was first. He rushed to the bat, smashed the first ball pitched
hard to left field. The fielder picked up the ball quickly and threw
back to the pitcher, over the shortstop’s head. Dalmores turned first
base in his stride and, before the pitcher could get the ball and throw
it back to second, he slid in safely and the Cascade “Waterfall yell”
arose in challenge to the waving of the golden banners. Trumbull hit the
ball viciously, Golden’s shortstop fumbled and he was safe on first,
with Dalmores perched on second. Winans hit a hard-line drive, straight
at Golden’s shortstop, and both base runners were compelled to dive back
to the bags to avert a double play.
Larry Kirkland came to bat with Cascade cheering wildly. He walked
slowly to the plate, determined to turn the tide. He sent a long foul
down the left field line. On the next ball he stepped forward, hit a
curve as it broke and as the ball flashed over the third baseman’s head,
he sprinted as never before. Dalmores scored and Winans, running at a
terrific pace, reached third. Larry by a desperate slide, reached second
in safety.
A hit meant the lead for Cascade and a sudden silence fell over the
contending forces. In the crisis, Torney flied out to the first baseman
and the chances seemed lost. Allen, the next batter was a poor hitter.
Larry was desperate. He was ranging up and down, almost to the
shortstop. Suddenly he called out and at that instant Herron, already
goaded and worried by the aggressive base-running attack, whirled and
threw the ball to the second baseman. Even as he threw Winans dashed for
the plate. Larry stood still until he saw the second baseman hurl the
ball back to the catcher to shut off the run. Then he raced for third.
Winans had slid safe to the plate with the tieing run and Larry,
sprinting at top speed, whirled around third, and racing twenty feet
toward the plate, suddenly stopped, dodged as if to return to the bag
and hesitated. Langham saw him and with frantic haste hurled the ball to
the third baseman hoping to trap the runner. As he threw, Larry whirled
again and was in full flight toward the plate. The third baseman,
leaping, dragged down the high-thrown ball and hurled it back to
Langham, low and wild, and as Larry slid across the plate the Cascade
yell poured down from stands and bleachers, and the Golden banners
dropped.
Golden, in panic and broken by the dazzling, daring base-running attack,
went to pieces. Before the rushing assault ended, two more runners had
crossed the plate, and in the eighth inning Larry led the assault with a
three-base hit that gave Cascade the victory 7 to 2.
Cascade was the champion. Years of defeat at the hands of Golden
University were avenged. The Cascade crowd swarmed upon the field, even
while the players were cheering their overthrown rivals, and Larry
Kirkland found himself borne aloft and carried around the field on the
shoulders of the students, he found no joy in it. The reaction had set
in and with a rush he recalled his troubles. The victory seemed a hollow
one.