THE BOY ON THE BENCH.
For a moment Phil was dazed; then a sudden feeling of relief flashed
over him. He would not have to face those dangerous Clearport batters
unless Grant should be knocked out, in which case, no matter what
happened after he went in, all the blame could be thrust upon Rodney.
But this feeling of satisfaction lasted only a few seconds; gradually
resentment and wrath crowded it out, and he sat there eaten by the
bitterest emotion. Not for a moment had he dreamed Eliot would think
of starting the game with the Texan on the slab, for this day he, Phil,
was to be given the opportunity to redeem himself. It was an outrage,
an injustice of such magnitude that his soul flamed with wrath. What
if Grant were to succeed in holding the Clearporters down? In that
case, of course, Eliot would permit him to pitch the game through to
the finish, leaving on the bench the lad who had expected to do the
twirling. And that would mean further glory for the chap Springer had
thoughtlessly coached for the position of second pitcher; would mean
that, if he pitched at all in future games, Phil himself would be the
second string man.
Feeling that he could not contain himself, he was turning to Eliot
when, to his amazement, he saw the fellows rising from the bench and
starting toward the field; for while he had been thus bitterly absorbed
the first three Oakdalers had faced Oakes, the Clearport pitcher, and
not one of them had reached first base. Phil could scarcely believe it
possible that the riotous condition of his mind had prevented him from
realizing that the game was in progress, but such had been the case.
And now, hot and cold by turns, he saw Rod Grant fling aside his
brand-new crimson sweater and jog forth, smiling, to pit his skill and
brains against the local sluggers.
"I hate him!" hissed the miserable lad beneath his breath. "I hope
they pound him to death right off the reel."
A few moments later his heart gave a tremendous leap of joy, and he
almost shouted with satisfaction when Boothby led off by smashing the
first ball Grant handed up. It was a terrific long line drive to
center field, but Stone took the ball on the run, and the Clearport
sympathizers groaned and cried, "Hard luck!"
"It _was_ hard luck for Boothby," muttered Springer. "If he'd placed
that drive farther to the left it would have been good for three
sus-sacks. It was a fearful slam. Oh, they'll hand it to Mr. Grant,
all right!"
The next batter, Long, likewise hit the ball, driving it buzzing along
the ground, and again the crowd groaned; for Nelson made a
hair-raising, one-hand, diving jab and got the sphere. He nearly
sprawled at full length upon the ground in doing this, but finally
regained his equilibrium in time to toss the ball to Crane for the
second put-out.
"Right fine work, Jack," praised Grant. "That was just about as fancy
as anything I ever saw."
"It was a fuf-fine thing for you, all right," whispered Springer to
himself. "Robbed Long of a hit. Oh, they're going to hand you yours!"
"You're playing ball to-day, fellows," smiled Eliot, readjusting the
catching mask. "That's the stuff!"
Barney Carney, Clearport's lively young Irishman, danced forth with a
bat.
"Just be after letting me put me shillaly against one of them," he
chuckled. "Ye'll find it over in the woods yonder."
After making three fouls, he hit the ball, hoisting it so high into the
air that it seemed to dwindle to a quarter of its usual size. Cooper,
coming into the diamond, gave no heed to the shouting of the crowd.
"I'll take it!" he yelled, as the ball fell swiftly. And take it he
did, freezing to the horsehide with a grip like grim death.
"You're wearing horseshoes all over you to-day, Mr. Grant," growled the
watching lad on the bench. "But there'll come a change; this can't
keep up."
It was impossible for him to wear a pleasant face as his teammates
gathered about him, even though he tried, in a measure, to hide his
chagrin. Silently he watched Stone lead off with a safety, and saw
Eliot unhesitatingly sacrifice Ben to second. Nor did he move a muscle
when Sile Crane slashed one into right field and Stone won the approval
of his comrades and awakened the enthusiasm of the little crowd of
Oakdale rooters by making a marvelous sprint over third and a slide to
the plate that brought him to the rubber ahead of the ball.
Oakes, taking a brace, disposed of Cooper and Piper in double-quick
time; and the visitors were forced to remain content with a single
tally in the second.
Clearport again came to bat in a business-like manner, and in almost
every detail the home team duplicated the performance of Oakdale.
Butters, picking out a bender to his fancy, straightened it for a
single.
"Good bub-boy!" mumbled Springer.
Stoker bunted, letting Butters down to second while he was being thrown
out at first. Merwin got a Texas leaguer, on which Butters took a
chance--foolishly, it seemed--and was saved by a wild throw to the pan
that let him slide under the catcher.
"Now, Mr. Grant is getting his mum-medicine," grinned Springer joyfully.
But Grant, resorting to his wonderful drop, struck out both Ramsdell
and Oakes. "That's the form, Grant!" approved Eliot; and Springer
chewed his tongue with envy.
The third inning gave neither side the advantage, but Grant seemed to
be swinging into shape; for, of the four hitters to face him, he
retired three with an ease that made them look foolish.
Rain was now threatening any moment, and it seemed hardly probable that
the downpour would hold off long enough for the game to be played
through. "We must get into it as soon as we can, fellows," said
Captain Eliot; "for if it does rain after the fifth inning, we should
have the lead. Come on; take that pitcher's measure."
Whether or not his words had an effect, they proceeded to go after
Oakes in a manner that might have discouraged any pitcher. Eliot,
himself, started it with a screaming two-bagger, scoring on Crane's
single. Sile took second on the throw to the plate, and stole third a
moment later, romping to the pan after Cooper's fly to the outfield was
caught.
With the sacks clean, Oakes' comrades were hopeful that he would check
the enemy. It was not his fault that Piper reached first, as Hutt, at
third, fumbled the grounder batted at him and followed this with a
wretched throw. This seemed to put the home pitcher off his feet, for
he passed Tuttle, to the great joy of the visitors.
"Great Caesar!" muttered Springer. "If they get a big lead, Grant may
pitch it through and win. Why doesn't Merwin take Oakes out?"
But Oakes remained on the slab, and Nelson, seeking to drive the ball
through an infield opening, batted straight at Carney, who winged the
sphere across for a put-out.
"Only one more," said Merwin encouragingly. "Get Barker, Oakesie."
"If you don't get him, your goose is cooked--and mine, too!" whispered
Springer.
Barker stood second on the list because he was a good waiter, but could
hit well if necessary, and was, perhaps, the best bunter and sacrifice
batter Oakdale had. With two down, he surprised the Clearporters by
dropping a soggy one in front of the pan and beating it to first.
The corners were filled, and, "Here's Grant!" was the cry. Phil
Springer's teeth chattered and his eyes almost glared as the Texan,
with whom he had been on such friendly terms only a short time before,
stepped out to face Oakes.
"If he'll only strike out!" thought Phil.
When Rod had swung at two balls, and missed both, it began to seem that
he was destined to strike out. A few seconds later, however, he caught
the ball fairly on the trade mark and drove it over the head of Carney,
who made an amusingly ineffective leap for it.
Three runners chased one another over the pan, and Grant arrived at
third base before the ball was returned to the diamond.
Springer was ill; at that moment, he thought, he would have given
almost anything to be far from that field. It was all Grant, Grant,
and never had he heard a more hateful sound than the shrill and frantic
cheering of the small Oakdale crowd.
"Keep it up! keep it going!" entreated Eliot, as Stone went to bat.
Ben did his best, and he did pound out a long fly, but Boothby, in
left, pulled it down after a hard run.
"The game is as gug-good as settled," muttered Springer, when his
elated teammates had galloped off to the field and left him alone.
"Unless rain stops it, Oakdale is the winner."
The Clearporters seemed to realize this, for they resorted to many
obvious expedients to delay the game, casting imploring eyes toward the
threatening heavens. The storm, however, perversely held off, and the
locals found Grant too much for them in the last of the fourth.
"We're five runs to the good, fellows," said Eliot, as the Oakdale
players gathered at the bench. "It's going to rain soon, and this
inning must be played through complete. Let every man who goes to bat
now strike out."
They followed instructions, Roger setting the example. Crane and
Cooper made a pretense of trying to hit, but they did not even foul the
ball.
A few straggling drops of rain, falling in the last of the inning,
encouraged Clearport to dally until Eliot demanded of the umpire that
he compel them to play or give the game to Oakdale by forfeit, and at
last Grant struck out the third man.
While the boys were rejoicing in a victory they considered as
positively assured, Phil Springer slipped away and left the field.