CLIF GETS AN ERROR
The gathering of the Triumvirate in Loring’s room that Monday evening
was rather gloomy for awhile. Tom’s news affected them all. Loring
was so disturbed by it that presently Tom was forced to assume a
cheerfulness he was far from feeling in order to rescue the other from
the dumps. “Oh, well,” said Tom, grinning heroically, “I did better
than I expected to, anyway. When I started out in February I didn’t
really have any hope of making the first team, but I did make it and I
played in several games, and so it isn’t so bad, eh?”
“Where you made your big mistake,” said Clif, “was in going over to the
field after that scrap. Why didn’t you send word that you were sick or
something and ask for a cut?”
“Yes, I guess I pulled a boner there, Clif. But you know how Steve is
about missing practice. He’d have been around to see me this evening,
probably, and I’d have been just as bad off. You see,” concluded Tom
ingenuously, “I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice anything.”
That naïve statement brought the first laugh of the evening. The idea
of any one short of a blind man failing to notice Tom’s plastered and
discolored face was certainly amusing! Mr. Cooper, rather to Tom’s
relief, seemed less inclined to blame the latter for that set-to with
Coles than did the others. Of course neither Clif nor Loring bore down
heavily on that phase of the disaster, but Tom knew very well that
they considered him culpable. Mr. Cooper seemed to be more interested
in the fact that Tom had fought in defense of Mr. Connover than in the
fact that he had transgressed school regulations. He even suggested
tentatively that possibly Mr. Connover, could the whole story be laid
before him, might be moved to leniency. But Tom rejected the idea.
“That would be just like swiping,” he said. “Wink wanted to go and tell
Steve that stuff, but I said he shouldn’t. Besides, I’m not so certain
I fought Wink because he dragged Steve in. Maybe it was just because he
got me good and mad.”
Mr. Cooper refused that theory with a shake of his head, but Clif, not
yet won to sympathy, muttered: “You’re always going off half-cocked,
you crazy coot!”
Presently the talk turned to the morrow’s game once more, and Tom
discovered that, even though he must witness it from the stand instead
of the diamond, he could find interest in speculation and discussion.
Loring, Mr. Cooper and Wattles were to make the trip to Cotterville,
which was some twenty-six miles distant, in a hired automobile, and
now it was arranged that Tom should make a fourth in the party. Clif
would, of course, go with the players in one of the motor buses.
Whether he would start the game in the outfield was another subject for
speculation. Clif thought it would depend on whether Wolcott used a
left-hand or right-hand pitcher.
“He had Greene playing center most of the time to-day,” he said, “and
that looks as if Al was the favorite. Say, Tom, you and Coles certainly
put Steve on his ear to-day. He was sure grouchy!”
“I don’t see that you can blame him,” observed Loring. “Saturday he had
a nice infield that worked together like the insides of a clock. Now
he’s got to put Coles in at second base, and he hasn’t played there
regularly for weeks! Why shouldn’t he get peeved? It’s enough to make
any coach mad!”
“I guess that’s right,” sighed Clif. “I guess he has a hunch that we’re
going to get smeared to-morrow.”
“Heck, why should we?” demanded Tom. “Didn’t we beat them Saturday? Why
can’t we do it again?”
“For several reasons,” answered Clif tartly. “One of ’em is that you’ve
spilled the beans, you poor fish!”
“Aw, shut up,” growled Tom unhappily.
There had been talk of Cobham behind the plate for Wyndham in
Tuesday’s game, but evidently Cob wasn’t quite ready for duty again
since it was Gus Risley who donned the mask when the last half of the
first inning began that afternoon at Cotterville. But Gus had done a
good job before, and if Wyndham was to meet with defeat it probably
wouldn’t be due to the catcher. The Dark Blue had sent but three men
to bat in the first of the inning and Rice, the Wolcott left-hander,
had disposed of them easily. Sam Erlingby was in the points for
Wyndham. Sam was a right-hander, but as Wolcott had touched up Ogden,
who pitched from the port side, pretty frequently on Saturday it was
thought that Sam would prove as effective as either of Wyndham’s
remaining possibilities, Moore and Frost. Sam started off badly with a
pass, but after that he settled down and soon had the side out.
Clif was in center field, rather to his surprise, and, although he
didn’t know it yet, was in for a busy afternoon. His first chance came
in the second when, after Talbott had been retired, pitcher to first
base, for Wyndham’s third out, the Wolcott shortstop, first up, lifted
a fly to the outfield. Both Clif and Raiford made for it, for the ball
was hit to short field and might have been ticketed for either of
them. Clif, however, had started quicker than the right fielder, and
Captain Leland’s cry of “Bingham! Bingham!” caused Raiford to slacken.
Clif hardly dared hope to make that catch, but he did, picking it at
last with his knuckles almost scraping the turf. Of course, he went
headlong, but he held tightly to the ball and scrambled back to his
feet to the sound of wild cheering from the Wyndham side of the field.
Wyndham had come to Cotterville with the fine determination to grab
off this contest and settle the series here and now. Not more than
a handful of fellows had remained behind, the cheer leaders were on
their feet constantly and the Dark Blue’s rooters were enthusiastically
responsive to demands. They seemed to have made up their minds that if
the victory depended on noise it was to be theirs!
There was no scoring until the fifth. Then, after Clif had just failed
to beat the ball to first――he had struck out abjectly his first time
up――and Talbott had popped a weak fly to third baseman, Van Dyke
whacked a hard one over first base and got to second by a hair’s
breadth. Sam Erlingby got into the hole and then waited for the pitcher
to even the score. Then he swung mightily at what was meant for a third
strike, and the ball glanced off his bat and went bounding toward
third base. Third baseman came in hard, sought to scoop the ball up
one-handed, missed it and both runners were safe. It remained for Pat
Tyson to produce a score, and Pat came across with a clean hit into
left that sent Van Dyke scampering across the plate with the initial
tally of the game. But that ended the scoring for another inning,
for Erlingby was out at third when Raiford hit to shortstop, and
Wolcott, although she got a runner to second, was not yet able to solve
Erlingby’s slants.
Wyndham went down expeditiously in the sixth and the audience began
to wonder if this was to be another 1 to 0 game. Wolcott answered the
question speedily, however, for the sixth was the Brown’s big inning.
Rice, the pitcher, started the trouble with a short fly that Wink Coles
was unable to capture, although he made a gallant attempt. A sacrifice
put Rice on second. Then Erlingby let down and, presto, the three bags
were occupied, there was but one man away and the Wolcott shortstop,
a hard hitter, was up. Erlingby pitched two balls without getting a
strike across, and then a halt was called and Sam retired, cheered by
his schoolmates but looking rather dejected. Coach Connover selected
Bud Moore to carry on the game. To some it seemed that Jeff Ogden
might have been his choice, but since Jeff would be called on to pitch
to-morrow it was doubtless the part of wisdom to give him the benefit
of another day’s rest. Bud faced a hard task and began it none too well
when the best he could do was put one strike over and then pitch two
more balls, forcing in the tying run.
A liner to Coles was knocked down, but he messed up the recovery of the
ball and the runner from third was safe at the plate by inches only.
However, Risley’s quick throw to third got the next runner for the
second out. A long fly to left field was misjudged by Talbott, and a
third tally came in. Another fly, this time to center field, sent Clif
speeding back and back until it seemed to him that he must presently
crash into the wall of the dormitory there. But he didn’t get quite to
the building, and when the ball came down he was luckily under it, and
the big inning came to an end right then.
But three to one looked bad when the seventh inning began, and no
better when the first half of it was over. Hurry got a hit, but Risley,
Coles and Clif went out miserably. Wolcott took to the foe’s new
twirler enthusiastically in the last of the inning but hit safely only
once. Clif had two easy flies for the second and third outs. Wyndham
shouted hoarsely, imploringly, for runs when the eighth started,
and Pat Tyson, head of the Dark Blue’s batting list, stepped to the
plate. But the best Pat could do was a foul to first baseman. Raiford,
however, brought joy and hope with a long single to right field, and
Captain Leland’s bunt along first base line, after being allowed plenty
of time to roll foul, decided to remain fair, and there were two on.
Wyndham went quite crazy with delight and blue pennants waved mightily.
Gus Risley was not a certain hitter, but he was capable of sending a
ball far when he connected with it. On the present occasion, though,
Gus was much too eager to hit, and in the end a fly to right field
sent him back to the bench and the runners to second and third. Wink
Coles was derricked in favor of a pinch hitter, Sim Jackson. Sim was
canny and waited while Rice delivered a ball, a strike and a second
ball. Then he tried at one and missed it. Rice sent a third ball over
and then, while Sim watched operations narrowly, pitched into the dirt
for the fourth ball. Wyndham again rose to unprecedented heights of
sound! Three on, two down! Clif, whose turn it was, looked questionably
at Mr. Connover. It seemed to Clif that right here was an excellent
spot into which to insert another pinch hitter. But the coach only
nodded and didn’t even give him instructions, and Clif went out to the
plate feeling horribly anxious and impotent. But the Wolcott pitcher
helped vastly to restore his equanimity by sending over something
so wide of the rubber that only a marvellous acrobatic stunt by the
catcher prevented a wild pitch. After that, amidst the delighted booing
of the visitors, Rice offered another ball, and the Wolcott coach
signaled from the bench and the Brown changed pitchers.
Dobbel, the succeeding artist, was a right-hander, and was said to
have nothing very much except a good out-curve and a slow ball with a
considerable break. He started out by fooling Clif on a curve and then
tried the same thing again and heard the umpire call it a ball. He
looked pained and pitched a straight one. At least, it looked straight
until Clif swung at it. Clif missed it by inches, it seemed. The next
one had to be good, and Clif kept his eyes glued fast on the pitcher
and then on the oncoming sphere. Then he swung and hit and raced for
first. Second baseman made a wild stab for the flying ball but missed
it. Clif stopped at first. The ball came back from right fielder and
was relayed home by the pitcher, but Raiford and Leland were safe
and the score was tied! And then, before any one quite knew what was
happening, Sim was being run down between second and third! Clif,
half-way to second, scuttled back, but he might as well have kept on,
for Jackson finally dashed for third and was tagged.
Then came the last of the eighth, with Wyndham and Wolcott both
shouting wildly and very, very hoarsely, with blue and brown pennants
swirling and with Fortune still impartial. And in the last of the
eighth the Wyndham infield, which had gone along well enough so far,
cracked wide open!
Captain Leland made the first miscue when he took an easy bounder and
snapped it across the diamond well over Van’s head. The runner went on
to second without having to slide. A minute later Pat Tyson fumbled
and there were two on. Out in center field Clif watched miserably
and chewed grass stalks as fast as he could pluck them. Then came a
chance for a double, Leland to Coles to Van Dyke, and this time it was
Wink who spilled the beans. He made the out at second but threw so
far to the left of first that Van Dyke had to go off his bag for the
ball. There were runners now on first and third with only one down. A
well-timed steal put the second runner on the middle sack. Then the
batter found something of Moore’s that he liked the looks of and there
was a mighty _crack_. On bases the brown-legged runners poised, ready
for their sprints, while the ball arched far into center field. Clif
turned and ran out to the left a few yards, judged the ball again
and stepped back. It would be an easy catch, he knew, and yet the
proceedings so far in that inning had given him a troubled mind, and
now, as the ball came dropping slowly toward him, he became obsessed
with a sudden foreboding of failure. He tried to thrust it away from
him in the brief moment that remained, but it clung. Then his hands
went up and the ball slapped into his glove and a great relief flooded
him as he stepped forward for the throw and swung his hand back. And
then the thing happened. For an instant he had held the ball securely,
it had seemed, yet when he threw his arm backward it was no longer in
his hand!
He saw it at his feet an instant later, seized it and, raging at
himself, sped it to Coles. But the deed was done by the time Wink got
the ball. Two more runs had been scored, there was a man on first and
there was still but one out. Wyndham sat down again, comparatively
silent for once, and pondered defeat. Out in center field a miserable
youth stared fixedly at the diamond, unheeding Sid Talbott’s “Hard
luck, Clif!”, calling himself all the uncomplimentary things his mind
could think of and wishing very, very hard that he didn’t have to walk
in there presently and face that crowded stand.
Yet the actuality wasn’t nearly so bad as the anticipation, for none
of his teammates showed by word or look that he had failed them, while
the audience, having witnessed a smart double play by Moore, Leland and
Van Dyke, had for the time forgotten that fiasco of his. But Tom didn’t
forget it. He watched gloomily while Talbott fanned, Van Dyke bunted
to third baseman and was thrown out and Bud Moore popped an easy fly
to shortstop. Then he listened gloomily while the defeat was discussed
from every angle in the dressing room. And finally he sat, moody and
disconsolate, in the bus and rattled and swayed back to Freeburg. He
found no relief from the knowledge of defeat, as did the others, in
talking largely of what would happen to-morrow. In fact, he was pretty
certain that he would have no share in the morrow’s happenings!