THE GAME
When at last Walter and the Rodman nine came in from the field in order
that the Benson players might have their share in the preliminary
practice he laughed as he looked at the crowd that had assembled to
watch the game. It was not much like the well-dressed assemblage
that he knew was keenly watching every member of the nine when the
Tait School played its great rival the Military Academy at Franklin.
Automobiles then were regularly arranged back of the outfielders,
the grandstand was gay with colors, and the cheers and songs, led
by appointed leaders, broke in sharply on the tense silence that
followed certain plays. Here, however, it was a motley crowd. Small
boys were perched in the adjoining trees, awkward-appearing vehicles
were standing here and there about the field, men with broad-brimmed
straw hats and some with their trousers tucked inside of the tops of
their high boots were eagerly watching the members of the two nines.
If Walter was amused his feeling was not unkind, but the sight was so
different from any he had ever seen before that perhaps his feeling was
not unnatural.
Moulton now stepped forward and summoned the rival captains. As Dan
turned away from the brief interview he waved his hand as a signal for
his players to take the field, when Walter and the other members of the
Rodman nine ran to their various positions in the field. The ball at
last was thrown to Dan, and as the umpire called “play ball” the game
was about to begin. Dan was very deliberate as he took the ball, rolled
it in the dust a moment, then stepped into the pitcher’s box and drew
back his arm.
“Strike!” called Moulton, as the ball lodged in Tom Richards’ hands.
“That’s the way, Dan!” called Walter from his position of short-stop.
Ignoring the encouragement of his friend Dan sent in a slow ball, at
which the batter lunged heavily, but failed to hit. A laugh arose from
the Rodman supporters at the ludicrous attempt of the batter. Before
the latter had fully recovered, Dan sent a swift ball directly over the
plate and Moulton called the third strike.
“That fellow’s out!” Walter heard the harness-maker shout gleefully.
“You’re right, Si!” responded another Rodman supporter. “Better give
that fellow a pine log for a bat!”
“Barn door’d be better!” roared Silas. “They can’t touch Dan!” Walter
turned to look at Dan, who now was facing the second member of the
opposing nine. The pitcher’s manner still was as quiet as if he was
unaware of the noisy approval of his supporters. “Keep it up, Dan,”
said Walter in a low voice.
Swinging his long arms, Dan for an instant turned his back to the
batter, and then in a moment resuming his position he sent the ball
in with all his strength. So sudden was his movement that the Benson
player was unable to dodge the ball and was struck with its full force
upon his left shoulder. Howling with pain he clapped one hand upon
the wounded spot and began to dance excitedly about the home plate.
“Ou-u-ch!” he cried. “Jiminy! that hurt!”
“Take your base!” ordered Moulton.
“Can’t ye give a feller a chance t’ git his breath?” demanded the
unfortunate batsman indignantly.
“Take your base,” said Moulton again in a low voice.
Grumbling and still twisting and rubbing the wounded shoulder the
runner slowly made his way to the first base.
“You’ve got them scared, Dan,” called Walter encouragingly. “Keep it
up!” Dan did not glance at his friend as he once more faced the batter.
Suddenly whirling about he threw the ball with terrific speed to the
first-baseman, who touched the startled Benson player before the latter
was fully aware of his peril.
“He’s out!” called Moulton sharply.
“He had his foot in the way! He kept me off the base!” angrily shouted
the runner.
The umpire did not even glance at the player as the angry protest was
heard. “Batter up!” he said quietly.
“But I’m tellin’ ye I ain’t out,” again called the disgruntled Benson
player. “He had his foot――――”
“You’re out!” interrupted Moulton quietly. Then, ignoring the player,
who at last with many mutterings and shakings of his head slowly
rejoined his comrades, he was again watching the pitcher.
“Strike one!” he called as Dan sent a slow ball over the plate.
“Ball one!” he added a moment later.
“Strike two!” was his next announcement.
“Foul ball!” came the verdict, as the batter sent the ball far back
over the catcher’s head.
“You’re out!” Moulton quietly said as the next ball came in swiftly.
“’Twasn’t over the plate!” protested the Benson player loudly, as he
flung his bat in anger upon the ground. The Rodman nine, however,
were now running in from the field, and as the umpire did not pay the
slightest attention to the protests of the recent batsman he soon
joined his fellows on the field.
“Great work, Dan!” exclaimed Walter, as, after selecting his bat, he
stopped a moment beside his friend and patted him on the shoulder. “You
struck out two men and caught another off first.”
“I’m sorry I hit him,” said Dan gently.
“It’s all in the game!” retorted Walter lightly. “And now let’s see
what we can do at the bat. I’m the second man up and you follow me,
Dan.”
“Yes.”
“Better get your bat.”
“I’ll have it when my turn comes.”
Tom Richards came first to bat and after hitting two fouls he sent a
slow ball toward third base, which the fielder threw somewhat wildly
and Tom was safe at first, to the delight of Silas, who noisily
expressed his pleasure.
“I’m going to bunt, Dan,” said Walter in a low voice. “I’ll sacrifice
Tom to second or third if he can steal second.”
“Give him a chance and he’ll steal it all right.”
“Then I’ll make a sacrifice hit.”
“Better line it out, Walter,” suggested Dan as his friend advanced to
the plate. Walter smiled, but did not respond as he confidently faced
the pitcher of the opposing nine. He permitted the first ball to pass
and a strike was promptly called by Moulton. Pretending to hit at the
second ball his action slightly confused the catcher who dropped the
ball as Tom sped safely to second. The next ball Walter tapped lightly,
and as it rolled slowly toward the third-baseman the latter seized it
and threw swiftly to first, Tom meanwhile gaining third base safely on
the play.
“Is that th’ best ye can do?” demanded the harness-maker as Walter
turned away from first base. “A baby could hit as far’s you did.”
“That was a bunt,” said Walter flushing slightly as some of the
spectators near Silas laughed.
“Yes, I see ’twas――a baby-bunter.”
“I made a sacrifice hit to put Tom on third.”
“Oh, ye did, did ye? Well, I guess if Tom couldn’t run like a
white-head all yer buntin’ wouldn’t ’a’ helped him. Hi! That’s th’ way
t’ do things!” Silas shouted as Dan hit a ball that passed far over the
head of the left-fielder. “That’s th’ way t’ play ball! No city fellow
could do that, Dannie, my boy! Go it! Go on! Run, ye little terror!”
he added in his excitement as Dan turned second and sped on toward the
third base, Tom meanwhile having leisurely crossed the home plate.
The noisy plaudits of the assembly redoubled when the next player
to face the Benson pitcher drove a liner above the head of the
second-baseman and Dan ran home. There was, however, no concerted
cheering, everyone acting upon his own impulse, while above the din
steadily rose the stentorian cries of Silas. “I told ye our boys could
play ball!” he roared. “We’ll beat ’em! We’ll send ’em home with
their tail-feathers all pulled out! Hoein’ corn is th’ ticket for th’
Benson nine! Who-o-o-p! Ho-e-e-e!” Walter smiled as he watched the
excited spectators, in his mind contrasting the motley crowd with the
well-organized and united cheering and singing that rose from the
“bleachers” of the Tait School when the school nine was battling on the
diamond. The difference was so marked that, full of the thought of the
lack of knowledge on the part of the assemblage, he smiled in an added
air of condescension. Then he turned to one of the Rodman nine who was
selecting a bat, preparatory to following the player whose turn to face
the pitcher had been loudly proclaimed by the scorer. “Take a good hold
of your bat,” suggested Walter. “Don’t take the end of the bat. Put
your hands a little farther up and don’t try to ‘kill’ the ball. Just
meet it with your bat. There’s force enough in the ball to send it as
far as you want it to go if it just strikes the bat――that is, if you
keep a good grip.”
“Is that the reason why you made such a long hit?” inquired the player
as he left Walter and stepped to the plate in place of the batter, who
had popped a little fly directly into the hands of the pitcher.
“That was a ‘bunt’ I made,” said Walter tartly.
“Not much of a bunt at that,” laughed the player.
Half angry and yet amused, Walter watched the batter as he swung back,
and then as the ball sped toward him, lunged forward and struck with
all his might.
“Strike,” called the umpire promptly.
“Of course it’s a strike,” said Walter as he seated himself beside Dan
on the grass. “Look at the great awkward clouter,” he added as the
batter again endeavored to strike with all his might. “What’s the
fellow thinking of? Is he trying to drive it across the road yonder?”
“If Josh hits it once that’s about where it will go,” replied Dan
quietly.
“Yes; but he can’t hit it!” retorted Walter triumphantly as the batter
was called out on strikes after he had made another terrific attempt to
hit the swiftly thrown ball. “That’s three out,” he added as he and his
companion arose. “Dan, if you can keep up your good work those Benson
fellows will be a sorry looking lot when they start for their native
lair.”
Dan, however, did not respond. Taking his position near the box, he
began to throw the ball swiftly, first to one baseman and then to
another. In a brief time the game was resumed and Dan’s labors were
renewed.
“Ball one,” called the umpire after the first ball was delivered.
“Strike one” and “ball two” and “ball three” followed in order, the
batter apparently making no attempt to hit.
“Look out thar, Dan’l!” shouted Silas. “Watch that fellow; don’t ye let
him fool ye!”
“Careful, Dan,” suggested Walter in a low voice.
The batter, however, awkwardly struck the ball and a high foul
resulted, the catcher succeeding, after a long run, in reaching and
holding it.
“Hi! That’s one out! Put that down in yer book or ye may forget it!”
roared Silas to the scorer. “I guess those Benson fellows feel a little
homesick! Don’t be too hard on ’em, Dan! Jes’ let ’em knock a ball t’
th’ city fellow ye’ve got for short-stop.”
Walter’s cheeks flushed slightly as a laugh from the crowd greeted the
suggestion of Silas, but he did not glance in the direction of the
noisy harness-maker.
The next batter “fanned” and Silas gave vent to his glee in renewed
calls upon the Benson nine to “shut up shop.” When the third man
faced Dan and he too “fanned” out, even Walter began to share in the
excitement that prevailed in the Rodman contingent.
“Dan, you’ve struck out five of the six men that have faced you,” he
said warmly as he walked beside his friend from the diamond.
“Luck, I guess,” said Dan dryly.
“Then it’s mighty good luck, that’s all I can say,” laughed Walter.
“The game is young yet,” Dan remarked quietly.
“So it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that in the first two
innings the Bensons haven’t got but one man as far as first or that you
have struck out five of the six who have faced you.”
It was plain that Dan did not desire to talk and Walter too was soon
silent, watching the batters. The first man up received his base on
balls, the second batter made a hit and in the throw-in the runner
gained third, while the batter, by a burst of speed, succeeded in
reaching second amid great applause.
“Get up, Dan. Tell them to try a double steal!” suggested Walter
eagerly.
“What’s that?”
“They can work a squeeze play if they want to.”
“A double steal?”
“No; a squeeze play.”
“Why, it’s a――――” Dan stopped abruptly as Silas at that moment came
toward the two boys.