INSIDE STUFF
The first hadn’t been getting along very well of late. It had lost to
Greenville, won from Cupples and then, last Saturday, had been again
defeated, at Clear Lake, by Peebles School. Peebles was not considered
strong, yet Wyndham had made but six scattered hits during the contest
and had failed to score a run. And Peebles had tallied thrice in the
early innings, off Moore, and had fairly walloped Jeff Ogden in the
eighth and added four more runs. The Wyndham infield had cracked wide
open in that fatal eighth. Coles had accumulated two errors and Tyson
and Leland one each. But it was in batting that Wyndham was showing up
weakest, and no amount of switching about of the players on the batting
order seemed to remedy the weakness. Perhaps Coach Connover took Tom
over to the first as a mere gesture of threat, thinking that Tom’s
presence on the bench might induce Wink Coles and Pat Tyson to greater
efforts, for Tom had been performing in very good style on the second
and it had occurred to others beside Steve that he might very well be
fitted into the first team’s infield. Tom’s batting was no longer a
joke, for he had recently been hitting hard and clean, and, having
found himself, might be expected to improve. Then, too, he had the
habit of getting to first even when he didn’t hit safely. In practice
games he was a thorn in the side of Sam Erlingby, working that twirler
for pass after pass even in the days when he was notoriously weak at
the bat. Once on first, Tom had speed and a certain daring that usually
carried him around. At fielding he had become easily the second’s star
sackman, covering a surprising amount of ground, trying for anything
and everything and, in the words of the disgruntled and deposed Evans,
“getting away with murder.”
Tom joined the big team on Tuesday and replaced Coles for the last
three innings of a slow, poorly played contest with the second. On the
whole, he was disappointing that day, but he had an alibi in the fact
that he was in strange company. He did hit a single that accounted for
two runs for his side, however. On Wednesday he saw the Toll’s Academy
game from the bench. Wyndham experienced a good deal of difficulty in
losing that game, but she finally managed it in the ninth when, after
carrying it along from the fifth at 5 to 5, Sam Erlingby grooved a
ball to the Toll’s batsman with two out. Sam had two strikes and two
balls on the enemy, and he meant that fast one for a third strike. But
the batter laid against it hard and landed it beyond the center of the
gridiron and went to third. Even then the game might have gone to
extra innings, but Coles, who took the throw-in from Al Greene, thought
he saw a chance of nailing the runner at third and made a hurried peg.
Perhaps Tyson might have tried harder for that ball, but――well, anyway,
it went over his head and the Toll’s runner ambled home, and the score
was no longer tied. Steve sent in two pinch hitters in the last half,
but, although Risley poked out a two bagger and eventually reached
third on Greene’s out at first, nothing came of it.
On Thursday Tom played second in practice and in the seven-inning game,
batting fifth in the list. If he had experienced diffidence on Tuesday
he was bravely over it to-day. To the surprise of his former teammates
he appeared not only self-possessed but even self-assured. Getting
into fast company seemed to be what he needed. He set a fast pace, and
even Hurry Leland was forced to hustle more than once to keep up with
him. The first won by a wide margin that afternoon, and while it would
be absurd to say that Tom’s presence accomplished the victory yet it
is certain that it contributed generously to that result. Tom was at
the starter’s end of two double plays, fielded his position without
an error, made a spectacular catch of a short fly well behind first
base and, when Greene and Tyson were on second and third with two out,
brought in two runs with a smashing hit through the box that Billy
Purdy knew enough to let well alone. On the whole Tom spent a busy,
pleasant and profitable afternoon; profitable because it won him beyond
the shadow of a doubt the right to the position of second base on the
first.
“Now,” said Loring triumphantly that evening, “now I guess you’ll admit
that there’s something in will power!”
“Well, maybe,” answered Tom cautiously. “But tell me this. You knew
mighty well that Clif’s a better willer than I am. How come, then, that
I made the first and he didn’t? Run that down!”
“Easy,” said Loring. “You started with an advantage. Clif hasn’t played
as much as you have; before this spring I mean. He probably won’t make
the first for another week. Maybe two.”
Mr. Cooper chuckled and Clif laughed loudly. “You mean two years,” said
the latter. “I’ve got as much chance――”
“Hold on!” warned Loring. “That’s the wrong thought, Clif. Just
remember this. When we started this――this campaign neither you nor Tom
had much idea of even making the second. Now Tom’s gone up to the first
and you’ve licked Burke for center fielder. There’s three weeks yet,
and if we all carry on and concentrate hard――”
“And play hard,” interpolated Mr. Cooper quietly.
“Yes, and play hard, there’s no telling what may happen. Mr. Connover
still needs fellows on his team who can make hits, Clif, and if you
keep on swatting the way you have been, and we all put our thoughts on
it, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Connover took you over, too.”
Clif stared incredulously. “You’re nutty, Loring,” he sighed. “It’s a
shame, too, for you gave promise of becoming a brilliant guy some day.
I guess you’re one of those――those monomaniacs you read about.”
“Seems to me,” observed Tom, “you and Steve are getting sort of thick,
Loring. It looked this afternoon as if you were telling him how to run
the team.”
“Not exactly,” laughed Loring, “but we were having a rather hot
argument.”
“For Pete’s sake! What about?”
“Oh, I don’t mean a violent argument. Perhaps discussion would be
better. You remember when first had Raiford on third and Talbott on
second with two out in the fourth inning? The second team infield
played back to get the runner at first base. Well, Mr. Connover told
Cobham to hit it out. His thought was, of course, that if Cob hit
safely those two runs would come across. What Cob did do was fly out
to Slim Scott about ten feet back of the base path. I wanted to get at
Mr. Connover’s reasoning and so I asked him. He told me that Cob was
ordinarily a long hitter, when he did hit, and that as those two runs
were badly needed he thought the best play was to let Cob soak the
ball.”
“And why wasn’t it?” asked Clif. “Cob has got some long hits off Purdy
before to-day.”
“Perhaps it was,” answered Loring. “But it didn’t seem so to me. That’s
what led to the discussion.”
“You think Cob should have bunted, eh?” asked Tom.
“Yes, because the infielders were playing too far back to handle a bunt
to first base in time. Cob’s a left-handed batter. If he had laid a
bunt down the first base line Raiford would have scored, Talbott would
have reached third and Cob would have been safe.”
“And there’d have been one run in instead of two,” objected Tom.
“But still only two down. Cob could have stolen second on the first
pitch, and the situation would have been just as it was before, except
that the infield might have played short, expecting the next man would
also bunt, and in that case any sort of a hit past the infield would
have scored again. What really happened――”
“Sure. Cob flied out because he picked a bad one,” said Tom. “But if he
had hit safe――”
“Oh, I know it all depends on the ‘ifs,’” laughed Loring, “but I still
think the situation called for a bunt.”
“Well, but Billy wasn’t pitching high ones, maybe, and not one fellow
in twenty can bunt a low delivery.”
“But Billy _was_ pitching high ones,” said Loring. “He was putting them
over the corners, or trying to, just under Cob’s arms. He wanted Cob to
hit the ball on the ground.”
“But,” asked Tom, “how the dickens was Steve to know beforehand that
Billy would pitch ’em high?”
“Perhaps he couldn’t have known, but he might have guessed that Billy
wouldn’t feed low ones, because Cob likes that kind and might easily
have sent a long fly into the outfield where it couldn’t have been
handled. If I’d been Cobham I’d have done this, Tom. I’d have waited
for a couple of deliveries to see what the pitcher had on his mind.
Then if he was offering high ones I’d have bunted, or tried to. If I
saw he wasn’t going to let me bunt I’d have faked a bunt in hopes that
the infield would come in at least halfway. If it did I’d have tried to
drop a hit just behind it.”
“Help!” exclaimed Tom. “The old bean’s getting groggy, son! Say,
where’d you get all this inside stuff? Not just reading those books?”
“Well, I suppose I’ve got some of my theories from the books and
some from watching play. Probably I’m cheeky to put out such a line,
considering I’ve never played. It’s a wonder Coach didn’t tell me to
shut up, but he didn’t. He argued it out just as though I had some
sense. He was mighty decent.”
“Well,” asked Mr. Cooper interestedly, “how was it decided?”
“It wasn’t,” laughed Loring. “Six rounds, no decision.”
“At that,” said Tom reflectively, “I think you were right, old son.
Cob’s a pretty good bunter. Of course, the bunt might have gone foul or
been too hard or――”
“Or Cob might have stubbed his toe,” interrupted Clif. “You don’t
either of you know what you’re talking about. I’m for Loring keeping
out of it and letting Steve run his gang the way he thinks best so we
can continue to beat you fellows, Tom, two or three times a week, for
the good of your souls.”
The first went to Wessex two days later and played Broadmoor, and while
they were once more defeated, they won honor nevertheless. The final
score, reached in the twelfth inning, was 9 to 8. Good pitching by both
sides, clean fielding and bunched hits were the rule, and Wyndham’s
final overthrow was entirely a one-man result.
A pass in the last half of the twelfth put a Broadmoor runner on first.
A strike-out followed and then Cobham’s throw to Captain Leland,
covering second, was just wide enough to allow the runner to slide
into the bag. The incident perhaps unsteadied Ogden, for he slid his
next offering along the groove and it found the bat in front of it.
The ball went toward center field and fell in No Man’s Land. Al Greene
ran in and Tom ran out, and the ball landed between them, a half-dozen
strides from Al. The runner, chancing a double play for the sake of
a winning tally, had sped away from second while the ball was still
in air, and when Greene scooped the ball from the ground was already
rounding third. Al performed a bit of quick reasoning then that cost
his team the game. He decided that the runner was bluffing and had no
real intention of going on to the plate. If so a fast throw to third
might catch him before he could double back. So Al threw to Tyson. It
was a good heave and reached Pat on a straight, fast bound, and had the
runner meant to play safe and wait on third for a hit to get home on
he might have been tagged out. But by the time Tyson had the ball in
his hands the runner, who had not even hesitated at the corner sack,
was hitting the home-stretch. Pat’s peg was a bit high, and by the time
Cobham had caught, taken one stride and swept his hand down the runner
was scraping a dusty shoe across the rubber and Broadmoor was shouting
jubilantly.
Disappointment lasted but a short time, however, for, all in all,
Wyndham had played a better game from every angle than she had played
all season. Manager Longwell exhibited the score book, and that told
the tale. Al Greene was disconsolate for a space, but found comfort
in the fact that the error column held no figures opposite his name.
Fortunately, perhaps, errors of judgment do not find their way into the
box scores.