WHEN THE SIGNALS WERE CHANGED.
While Phil Springer was making his way round to the Oakdale side of the
field an accident took place. The first Wyndham batter to face Grant
in that inning hit the ball squarely and hard, driving it on a dead
line toward the pitcher, but a trifle to his right. Grant might have
dodged, but, instead of that, he tried to catch that red-hot liner with
his bare right hand, and the ball split two of his fingers.
Nevertheless, he stopped it, caught it up with his left hand when it
fell to the ground, and tossed it to Sile Crane at first in time for a
put-out.
Rod showed his blood-streaming hand to the umpire, who promptly called
"time." Then the Texan walked toward the bench, Eliot running to join
him.
"How bad are you hurt, old man?" asked the captain anxiously.
"I don't know," was the answer. "Didn't know I was hurt at all until I
saw the claret spouting; reckoned my paw was benumbed a bit, and that
was all."
But when water was poured over those bleeding fingers and Roger saw
just what had happened to them, he turned quickly to Hooker, saying in
a low tone:
"Get a ball, Hook, and warm up. You'll have to pitch the game out."
A doctor pressed through the crowd that had surrounded the injured
player.
"Fix these busted fingers up quick, doc," urged Grant, "so I can get
back into the game without delaying things too long."
"You'll play no more baseball to-day, my boy," said the physician; "nor
for some days to come. You're out of it, and you may as well accept
the alternative with good grace."
And so Springer saw Hooker go in to pitch, aware that only for his
jealousy and blind folly he would have been the one called upon to
replace the injured chap.
"Serves me right," he muttered. Which was proof sufficient that he was
getting his eyes open.
Naturally, Hooker was very nervous, although secretly elated by the
opportunity to pitch in this most important game. Eliot talked with
him a moment or two about signals, finishing by placing a hand on his
shoulder and saying:
"Now, keep cool, Hook, and take your time. Mind my signals, and do
your best for control. It's your chance to show the stuff that's in
you. Don't be afraid of Wyndham, and don't listen to the crowd. Close
your ears and eyes to everything outside of the game. You may surprise
yourself and everybody else, if you keep your head."
There was something in Roger's words and manner that proved very
steadying to Roy, and he toed the slab with an outward show of
confidence, whether or not he was inwardly perturbed. The majority of
the Oakdale players were much cast down, however, and it was a rather
feeble and heartless cheer that the rooters with the crimson banners
gave the substitute pitcher.
Hooker pitched two balls wide, and then put one over; which the batsman
hit, rolling a grounder into the diamond for Chipper Cooper to handle.
Chipper managed to get it and wing it across to Crane for a clean
put-out.
"Two gone, fellows," called Eliot. "We'll keep right on playing
baseball. Get this next man, now."
The next man hoisted a long fly to center, where Ben Stone, sure as
fate, took charge of it; and Hooker, now really quite calm and
confident, jogged to the bench.
"See if you can't start something, Sleuth," urged Roger as Piper found
his bat. "We've got to make some runs pretty soon, and we may as well
begin now."
Springer, walking swiftly out to the bench, spoke Eliot's name. "I
want a few words with you, Roger," he said; "I've gug-gug-got
something--something important to--to tell you." He stumbled more than
usual over his words, and his face was very pale; but his manner was
resolute and determined.
A slight frown fell on the face of the Oakdale captain as he turned his
eyes upon the speaker. "What is it, Springer?" he asked almost
repellantly.
"Just sus-step one side a bit so I can tell you without anybody else
hearing," begged Phil.
Roger complied, lending an ear to the startling information Springer
had to impart, but, after his usual composure, retaining his
self-possessed atmosphere to such a degree that scarcely any one who
chanced to be watching them could have dreamed how disturbing that
information really was.
"How do you happen to know about this, Phil?" Eliot asked.
"Don't ask me. I can't tut-tell you now. But it's dead straight,
Roger, and Oakdale hasn't a ghost of a show as long as you continue to
stick by those signals."
"We'll change them right away."
Piper had succeeded in bumping a slow grounder into the diamond, on
which he scudded for first with amazing speed, for he was really a
splendid sprinter. The ball was handled a bit too slowly, giving the
Oakdale lad time to reach the sack by the narrowest margin.
"Never mind that, fellows," grinned Orv Foxhall from his position at
second. "I'll get him when he comes down this way. He may be pretty
speedy, but----"
"He won't run off the bridge," cried Cooper, on the coaching line.
"Your speed has made you pawn things more than once, and now you've
gone and soaked your daddy's automobubble."
"Bright boy," scoffed Foxhall. "I always enjoy it when you make a
choke, but I'd enjoy it more if you'd make one that would finish you."
Sile Crane came running down from the bench, catching Cooper by the
shoulders and whispering something into his ear. Chipper looked
surprised, and then, as Crane was jogging back, in violation of the
rules, the coacher ran out to first, grabbed Piper and whispered to him.
"Hey?" gasped Sleuth, staring at Chub Tuttle, who was walking to the
plate with his bat held in a manner which seemed to indicate that he
would bunt the ball. "What's the----"
"Shut up!" hissed Chipper. "Mind! Get a lead now! Be ready!" Then
he skipped back over the chalk-mark before the umpire could order him
back.
The Wyndham infielders crept forward, crouching and ready. Newbert,
contemptuous of Tuttle's skill as a batter, handed up an easy one.
Instead of bunting, the fat lad rapped out a little fly, that sailed
over the heads of the in-drawn infielders, and Cooper, having obtained
a good start, went twinkling over second and on to third.
Wyndham had been deceived, much to the annoyance of the local players,
who looked at one another inquiringly. It was rather remarkable that
Tuttle had not followed his own signal, plainly given. It was
possible, however, that, seeing the infielders prepared to take his
bunt, the fellow had decided at the last moment to do something else.
Nelson followed Tuttle, and he held his bat in a manner that seemed to
proclaim he would "take one," giving Chub a chance to try to steal
second on the first ball pitched. Believing this was the program,
Newbert whipped over a beautiful straight ball for a called strike.
But Nelson did not let that handsome one pass; it was just the kind he
liked, and he fell on it with great glee, smashing a liner into the
outfield, between right and center.
Piper, laughing, scored at a jog trot; while Tuttle, his fists
clenched, his eyes glaring, his cheeks puffed out like toy balloons,
galloped over the sacks with all the grace of a frightened elephant.
"Score, Chub--score!" shrieked Crane, who had pranced down onto the
coaching line back of third, and who was waving his long arms
grotesquely. "Make it or bust! You kin do it!"
Tuttle continued to the plate, where, raising a great cloud of dust, he
arrived on an attempted slide, a moment ahead of the ball, being
declared safe.
The Wyndham crowd was filled with dismay; the Oakdalers with the
crimson banners were leaping and shrieking on the bleachers. The local
players knew something was wrong, and they showed the greatest
confusion and consternation. Dade Newbert was making some remarks that
would not look well in print.
Captain Eliot had instructed his players to abandon the use of signals
for the time being, and to bat and run bases wholly as their judgment
might dictate, and this sudden change threatened totally to demoralize
the Wyndhamites.
Not a man was out, and the visitors, having already secured two
tallies, had a runner moored at third. Berlin Barker stepped forth
briskly, urging the umpire to keep the game in motion, his bat held as
if he intended to try for a safe bingle. As matters stood, it seemed
logical that he should do this, and the Wyndhamites got ready for him.
But Berlin, trusting the speedy Nelson to take advantage of it, bunted
the first ball. His confidence in Nelson was not misplaced, Jack
sprinting to the plate, while the baffled home players bestirred
themselves too late even to get Barker, whose bunt went for a safe hit.
The score was tied.
Foxhall, rushing up to Newbert, whispered excitedly:
"They've changed their signals! That's what's fooling us. We've got
to----"
There was a yell. Observing that second base was left practically
unguarded, Barker scooted down from first, and he got there ahead of
the shortstop, who made an effort to cover the sack.
"This is a great year for high flying," laughingly whooped Cooper.
"Ten thousand feet in an aeroplane isn't so much; why, this whole
Wyndham bunch is up in the air higher than that this very minute.
They're liable to come down hard, too."
Like Foxhall, the Wyndham captain had decided that Oakdale was no
longer using the known code of batting and base-running signals, and he
made haste to warn his players to place no further reliance upon the
information they had obtained concerning those signals.
"We want another run to take the lead, Stoney," said Eliot as Ben
stepped into the batter's box.
Stone took in the situation and also did the unexpected, dropping
another bunt in front of the pan. The catcher got the ball in time to
throw Stone out, but the batter's object was obtained, for Barker had
sailed along to third.
The Oakdaleites on the seats implored Eliot to get a hit, and Roger
responded by cutting a grounder through into short right field, which
let Barker score and placed the visitors in the lead.
Newbert's face was white as chalk. Up to this inning he had been
insolent in his self-confidence and contempt for the visitors, but the
strain now put upon him proved too much, and he hit Crane in the ribs,
following with a pass to Hooker, which filled the corners.
Then, amid the tumultuous cheering and laughter of the Oakdale crowd.
Captain Holley sent Newbert to the bench and called Twitt Crowell forth
to take his place.