THE CRUCIAL MOMENT.
On the bleachers Roy Hooker breathed easier. "Len Roberts certainly
told the truth," he thought. "Sanger is a crackerjack pitcher."
"What did you say?" asked a fellow at Roy's elbow.
"I?" gasped Hooker, startled. "I didn't say anything."
"I thought you did. I thought I heard you mutter something about
Sanger. That fellow has developed, hasn't he? But we'll get onto him
yet. When these strike-out twirlers go to pieces, they're liable to
blow up completely. The boys will pound him before the game is over."
"I hope they do," fabricated Roy.
"If Springer only keeps steady," continued his seatmate, "it will be
all right; but I'm just a little bit afraid of Phil, for he lacks the
heart to stand punishment. If they get to hitting him--well, Eliot
will have to try Grant."
"Grant's no pitcher," said Roy.
"I don't know about that. He hasn't had any experience, that's true;
but Springer himself has said that Rod's got the makings of one.
Wasn't that a corking catch he made?"
"It was lucky for Springer."
Larkins was now up, and he proceeded to wallop the second ball pitched
to him, driving it humming down the third-base line for two sacks,
which caused the horns and cowbells to break into a tumultuous uproar.
Sanger followed, and he straightened out a bender into a whistling line
drive to the left of Chipper Cooper; whereupon Cooper made up for his
error in the first inning by forking the sphere with his gloved hand
and snapping it to Nelson, who leaped on to second and caught Larkins
lunging hopelessly back for the sack.
The horns and cowbells were suddenly silent, while the sympathizers
with the crimson frantically cheered this beautiful double play.
"Great, Chipper--simply great!" cried Springer as soon as he could get
his breath.
"Oh, pretty good, pretty good," returned the little fellow, with mock
modesty. "A trifling improvement on my last performance, I'll admit."
Tom Cline likewise hit the ball hard, but he lifted it into the waiting
hands of Ben Stone, who scarcely moved a step from his position in
center field.
"Some people have great luck," cried Newt Copley, with his eyes on the
Oakdale pitcher, who was walking toward the bench. "Wait till the
streak breaks, and then we'll see the airship go up."
Ben Stone got the first clean hit off Sanger, driving the ball zipping
through the infield. Eliot, who followed, signaled that he would bunt,
and Stone was well on his way toward second when the Oakdale captain
lay a dead one down a few feet in front of the pan. Roger came near
turning his attempted sacrifice into a hit, but Sanger managed to get
the ball and whip it to first in time to catch the runner by a margin
of the closest sort.
"That's playing the game, all right," cried Nelson from the coaching
line. "Here's where we score."
"In your mind," derided Copley.
Sile Crane, trying hard to bring Stone home, made four fouls in
succession, and then struck out.
"Two men, cap," grinned Copley. "Old Stoney will expire at the second
station. Here's the cowboy; take his pelt, hide, horns and hoofs."
When Sanger had fooled Grant twice, it began to look as if he really
would succeed in "taking his pelt"; but, declining to reach for the
decoys, Rod finally met the ball on the trade mark, lining it over the
center fielder's head, after which he made third before he was stopped
by the wild gestures and cries of the delighted coacher, Nelson.
Roy Hooker swallowed a lump in his throat. "Why, they're hitting
Sanger!" he muttered huskily.
"Hitting him!" shouted the overjoyed fellow at Roy's elbow. "They're
hammering him for fair. Told you they might do it."
"But he'll brace up," said Roy. "He's got to brace up."
"Let's hope he won't till the fellows put this game on ice. Here's
Cooper. He's not a strong batter, but---- Oh, gee! look a' that!
Look a' that! A Texas leaguer! That scores Grant!"
Indeed, Chipper had bumped a Texas leaguer over the head of the second
baseman, who made a desperate but futile effort to reach the ball; and
Oakdale had every reason to cheer as Rodney Grant easily scampered home
from third.
Sanger really seemed to be off his feet, and Sleuth Piper, trying for a
hit, drove two fouls into the crowd on the bleachers.
"Straighten 'em out a little, Pipe," pleaded Cooper, returning for the
second time to first. "You've got my tongue hanging out now."
Copley, squatting, signaled for a straight ball. Sanger, apprehensive
and nervous, shook his head. Copley promptly repeated the signal, and
insisted on it. Finally Sanger obeyed, putting one straight over.
Sleuth swung at that straight one, his heart full of confidence, but he
missed it cleanly. In a moment he was raging at the catcher, who had
promptly snapped off his mask and tossed it aside.
"Somebody will break your head if you try that again," snarled Piper.
"What's the matter with you?" flung back Copley belligerently. "You've
got bats in your belfry."
"You'll have a bat across your belfry if you repeat that trick,"
threatened Sleuth stiffly. "That's all I've got to say. Don't you
touch my bat again when I'm hitting."
Copley laughed derisively at the excited words of the slim, angry,
pale-faced fellow; and the umpire, not having seen the catcher's
prestigious interference, was unable to penalize the offender.
His anxiety somewhat relieved by this termination of the home team's
batting streak, Roy Hooker looked around for Rackliff, and discovered
Herbert coolly sauntering down beside the ropes toward first base. As
if he felt the attraction of Roy's glance, the city youth turned his
head and smiled in an undisturbed manner, which was doubtless intended
to convey his unshaken confidence in the ultimate outcome of the game,
and really did much to soothe and reassure his agitated friend.
As Oakdale took the field, Copley was seen speaking hurriedly to Len
Roberts, who was to lead off at bat in the third. Roberts, listening,
nodded, and his face was contorted by that crooked grin which always
seemed trying to pull his crooked nose back into its proper place.
Then, as he stepped into the box, he shot a glance toward the standees
back of first, who had pushed out close to the ropes, among whom
Herbert Rackliff was carelessly lighting a cigarette.
"Never mind, Barville," called Herbert in a low, yet singularly
distinct, tone of voice, while Eliot was signaling to Springer. "The
game is young, and I'll bet you'll win. That's _straight_."
Eliot's past experience with the visitors had taught him that Roberts
rarely sought for a hit unless forced to do so, being the kind of a
batter who preferred to wait and walk whenever he could; therefore the
Oakdale captain signed for Springer to put the first ball over.
Barely had Sile Crane flung over his shoulder the words, "Aw, go lay
down!"--directed toward Rackliff--when, to the surprise of very many
beside Eliot, Roberts landed hard on Springer's straight one, driving
it toward center field. Fortunately, Stone had little trouble in
reaching the ball and catching it.
"Hard luck, Len," sounded the voice of Rackliff, as Oakdale's burst of
applause died down. "Hit 'em where they ain't; that's the way. Here
comes the huckleberry now," he added, as Berry, the visitors'
shortstop, took the place of Roberts. "He'll hit it _out_."
"This Berry will be picked in a moment," cried Cooper instantly. "He's
ripe. Get him, Springer."
Crack!--Berry planted the willow against Phil's outcurve, and again the
ball sailed toward the outfield, this time going toward right. Again
the fielder had no trouble in reaching it ere it fell to the ground,
and Grant scooped and held it while running lightly forward.
"He hit it out, sure enough," chortled Cooper. "Rack, you're
ruined--financially busted wide open."
Still Herbert seemed unruffled, continuing to smile. "If I lose," he
said, "I can stand it."
"But _I_ can't," muttered Roy Hooker beneath his breath.
Springer, knowing Dingley, Barville's leading batter, who was again up,
was dangerous, tried two wide ones to start with; but the fellow did
not even wiggle his bat at them.
"Get _into_ it!" called Rackliff suddenly, as Phil swung into his
delivery for the third ball.
Dingley seemed to fall back from the plate a little, and again bat and
ball met squarely, an inshoot being sent humming over the head of
Cooper, who made a ludicrously ineffective jump for it, the ball
passing at least ten feet above his outstretched hand. But Piper,
leaping forward and speeding up surprisingly, made a forward lunge at
the last moment, and performed a shoestring catch that brought the
entire Oakdale crowd to its feet with a shout of wonderment and delight.
Eliot calmly removed the catching mask and swung the body protector
over his head. "Royal support, Phil," he observed, as Springer trotted
happily toward the bench.
"The greatest ever," returned Phil. "If they can only keep it up----"
"You'll do your part, all right," assured Roger. "Every fellow can't
hit you the way those three did. Now, boys, we'll lead off with the
head of the list. Let's get after Sanger again."
But apparently Sanger had recovered his best form during the brief rest
on the bench, for again he fanned Nelson and Barker; and, although
Springer hit the ball, it was an easy roller to the Barville twirler
himself, who confidently and deliberately tossed Phil out at first.
In the meantime, one or two indignant Oakdaleites had gone at Herbert
Rackliff and driven him away from the ropes back of first base, Herbert
resenting their remarks concerning his loyalty, and rather warmly
asserting that he had a right to bet his money according to the
dictates of his judgment.
In the fourth Springer's work justified the confidence Eliot had
expressed, for he followed Sanger's example by striking out Pratt and
Whiting and forcing the dangerous Copley to hit weakly to the infield.
"Another goose egg for them," exulted Chipper Cooper. "It begins to
look like a shut-out. These two tallies of ours may be a-plenty."
"You don't want to get any such an idea into your head," returned Eliot
promptly. "Two runs are mighty few; we must have more. Here's Old
Stone, who started us going before."
Stone started it again with a cracking two-bagger, and, when Eliot
poked a daisy cutter into right, Ben scored on it.
The efforts of the coachers to put Sanger off his feet, however, were
fruitless, Crane fanning, Grant expiring on a foul which Copley took
thirty feet behind the pan, and Cooper perishing in an effort to beat a
slow grounder to first.
With the beginning of the fifth Rackliff again called encouragement to
the batters, having strolled back to the ropes a little further down
beyond first base. He urged them to "get into it," "hit it out," "drop
on it," "give it a rise," and, as if braced by his cries, they began
slaughtering Springer mercilessly. Sanger singled; Cline poked one
past Cooper; and Roberts, once more surprising everybody by smashing
the first ball, doubled and brought both runners home.
And now once more Springer's nerves were a-quiver in every part of his
body. In his disturbed state he actually swallowed the chew of gum he
had procured. Rattled, he hit Berry in the ribs, and handed Dingley a
pass, filling the bases.
"It's all off! It's all over but the shouting!" yelled Sanger, dancing
and waving his arms on the coaching line near third. "Got him going,
fellows! Don't let up! Here's where we win the game!"