A RECORD
Silence speedily swept over the assembly as the next two batters both
struck out. The third batter managed to send a slow roller toward first
base, which speedily was taken by the baseman, who did not return
to his base, but stood waiting on the line to touch the runner. The
Benson player attempted to run into the waiting player, but the Rodman
baseman stepped nimbly to one side, avoiding the onslaught, although he
succeeded in touching the fleet-footed runner.
When Walter joined Dan, as the Rodman nine came in from the field,
his enthusiasm became still more marked. “Dan,” he said, “can’t these
fellows bat any? Is that the reason for the exhibition they’re making
of themselves or is it because you are pitching such a game?”
Dan smiled in his demure way, but did not directly reply to the
question of his friend. Whatever may have been the trouble with the
opposing nine the Rodman players at least found little difficulty
in solving the curves of the pitcher that faced them. As the game
progressed the score of the Rodman team steadily increased, while in
every inning at least two of the Benson players struck out and the
sole hit they had made was a two-base hit in the seventh inning. The
prowess of the batter, however, had been without avail, for he had been
left on second base, the two batters that followed him having both
been struck out. When the ninth inning came the score stood fifteen to
nothing in favor of Rodman.
“Don’t lose your nerve now,” Walter said to Dan as they resumed their
places in the field for the final inning.
Dan laughed good-naturedly and by way of reply threw the ball swiftly
to his friend at short, who in turn threw it to first.
And yet Walter was suspicious of Dan, or at least fearful. What a
record he had made, with only one hit and thirteen strike-outs in the
eight innings. There was slight danger that the game would be lost,
but if Dan should “go to pieces” now the marvelous record might be
spoiled. Dan had not had much experience in pitching and it would
not be unnatural if, under the strain, he should fail to maintain
the steady success that thus far had so wonderfully marked his work
in the game. The Benson supporters, as well as the Benson nine, had
ceased most of their noisy protests, the failure of their batters to do
anything with Dan’s pitching being too manifest to be explained or even
defended. As for Walter’s part in the game, thus far he had not covered
himself with glory; he had made two errors and not a hit had been
placed to his credit. It is true he had caught two high twisting flies
and had received vociferous applause from Silas and his companions
for his successful attempts, but in the light of his condescending
manner at the beginning of the game and the freedom with which he
had lavishly given his instructions he felt that he stood before the
assembled spectators in no very favorable light. Dan not only had
pitched a wonderful game, but had not failed once in hitting the ball
when he came to bat. Once he had sent the ball far over the head of
the left-fielder――a hit which had brought him safely to third base,
and also won tumultuous applause from Silas, who was the unrecognized
leader of the cheering of the Rodman supporters.
And now the final test for Dan had come. Would he be able to keep up
his good work? Walter was nervous as Dan drew back to send in the first
ball.
Crack! The batter hit the ball with a force that sent it skipping
between short-stop and third base, and the runner was safe at first,
with the second safe hit the Benson players had secured. The following
batter was given his base on balls, and the runner at first slowly made
his way to second. Two on bases and none out! Had Dan’s hand lost its
cunning? “Steady, Dan,” called Walter, striving to speak encouragingly.
The young pitcher, however, did not even glance in the direction of
his short-stop. With increased deliberation he drew back his arm and
sent in a slow in-curve.
Crack! Dan’s heart sank an instant at the sound, and then he was aware
that the ball was coming swiftly toward him. He put up his hands almost
instinctively and, scarcely realizing what he was doing, caught the
ball. Instantly swinging about he threw the ball to second and the
player was out. “First! First! Throw it to first!” shouted Dan almost
beside himself in his excitement. “Throw it! Throw it!” he yelled
frantically, going through the motion of throwing the ball himself in
his eagerness.
The second-baseman, at the sharp call, wheeled and sent the ball with
all his might to the first-baseman, who had advanced several feet from
the base and was standing with outstretched hands awaiting the coming
of the sphere. The Benson runner who, at the sound of the bat when it
struck the ball, had heedlessly started at full speed for second, now
was frantically endeavoring to regain first base. As the baseman caught
the ball the runner dove head-foremost, and the two came down in a heap
about six feet from the coveted bag.
Dan was dimly aware of a mighty shout that went up from the excited
spectators, but he instantly ran to the place where the two players
were lying. The Rodman player had been struck in the pit of the stomach
by the head of the Benson player and was gasping for breath, his face
being colorless.
“Work his feet, Dan,” called Walter as he himself began to move the
arms of the player much after the manner in which the handle of a
pump is manipulated. There were expressions of anger to be seen on
the faces of the people that instantly rushed upon the field, and for
a moment there were signs of serious trouble. Fortunately the Rodman
first-baseman quickly recovered and arose, though he stood for a brief
time pale and trembling. With his recovery the threatening peril of a
conflict was avoided and slowly the assembly began to depart from the
field.
“Dan, that was a wonderful catch you made,” said Walter quietly, as he
joined his friend.
“Was it?” laughed Dan, elated by the words of praise.
“Yes; though the best thing you did was when you sent the ball like a
shot to second,” said Walter.
“Nat Carey wasn’t asleep. He got the ball to first in time to catch the
runner. Nat played a good game to-day at second.”
“That is the first time I ever saw a triple play.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It was great.”
“It saved the day, I guess.”
“You ought not to complain, Dan,” said Walter. “Fifteen strike-outs
shouldn’t make you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Ye didn’t do s’ bad after all,” roared Silas, at that moment joining
the boys and slapping Walter on the back as he spoke. “I thought long
in th’ first o’ th’ game ye wasn’t worth shucks, but th’ way ye took
that liner an’ then giv’ it a heave t’ second was pretty slick. What
d’ye think o’ the Rodman nine now?” he added triumphantly.
“I think the ‘nine’ consisted mostly of Dan and his pitching.”
“Dan done noble,” admitted Silas, “but th’ trouble was he didn’t give
none o’ th’ other fellows a show. He struck out so many o’ th’ Benson
chaps that ’bout all th’ was left for our boys was t’ stan’ still an’
watch th’ Bensons walk up t’ th’ home plate, sass th’ umpire, give
their club a fling, an’ march back an’ sit down.”
“Well, it came out all right, Silas,” laughed Walter.
“Ye’re right it did. I told ye ’twould, didn’t I? Neow what d’ye think
’bout what I said?”
“What did you say?”
“That Dan ought t’ get th’ New Yorks t’ come up here. I rather guess
Dan could give their best knockers somethin’ t’ think ’bout.”
Dan laughed lightly, and Walter said: “Silas, I’m afraid you’re a
little bit prejudiced in favor of the Rodman nine.”
“Not a bit. Ye see what was done to the Benson fellows, didn’t ye? That
tells th’ whole story.”
“It might be a different story if we had been playing a professional
team like New York or Chicago.”
“Prob’ly they’d got a run or two,” admitted Silas, “but they couldn’t
’a’ batted Dan. Nobody could.”
“He certainly did well,” said Walter warmly as he turned once more to
his friend. “Dan,” he added abruptly, “come over to the house this
evening, won’t you?”
“Why?”
“My father will be there. He’s coming up this afternoon and I want you
to meet him.”
“That’s good of you, but probably he won’t be overanxious to see me.
Why should he?”
“After you struck out fifteen men this afternoon? Why, it’s like
meeting the President or the King of England!” exclaimed Walter
enthusiastically.
“Is that all?” laughed Dan.
“No, it isn’t all. Will you come?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Will you come?” said Walter persistently.
“What time?”
“Any time after supper.”
“I guess so.”
“I shall expect you!”
The boys separated, each starting for his home. Walter’s elation
over the result of the game was great and manifested itself in the
way in which he walked along the road that led to his grandfather’s
farm, which was a half-mile or more from the little village. His
thoughts plainly were upon some project in his mind, for he frequently
exclaimed, “Great! We’ll have something to show next spring! The
school will think I’ve made the greatest find in years!”
As Walter turned into his grandfather’s yard he saw his father and
mother seated on the wide, shaded veranda, and instantly he ran to
greet them. “When did you come?” he asked his father as soon as he had
warmly welcomed him.
“I arrived about half an hour ago. Been playing ball, Walter?” Mr.
Borden inquired, as he glanced at his boy’s uniform.
Walter laughed as he replied, “I thought better of you than that. What
did you think I wore this suit for? To hoe potatoes?”
“One might suspect something of the kind,” said Mr. Borden smilingly.
“It certainly couldn’t look worse if you had been hoeing potatoes.”
“That’s what I got in sliding to second,” explained Walter as he
glanced at his discolored suit. “I’m awfully glad you came, pop,” he
added affectionately. “I’ve got something to say to you.”
“How much?” asked his father in mock seriousness as he at once thrust
his hand into his pocket.
“It isn’t money――at least, it isn’t money for me.”
“What then?”
“You know Dan Richards, don’t you?”
“Is he the boy that lives with his mother on the farm yonder?”
“Yes, sir. He’s one of the finest fellows I ever met.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Yes, sir; he is. And he told me the other day that he was saving up
his money――――”
“Did he explain how, clearly enough for you to see?” broke in Mr.
Borden good-naturedly. “I shall be glad if――――”
“No,” interrupted Walter, “he’s saving his money so that he can go to
the normal school this year and then he wants to go to college.”
“A very worthy ambition――if he has the root of the matter in him.”
“He has. He’s one of the best fellows that ever lived! He struck out
fifteen men in to-day’s game!”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, sir; he did! Now what I want is for you to send him to the Tait
School with me this year.”
“And he struck out fifteen men,” laughed Mr. Borden.
“Yes, sir; I wish you might have seen him! It was wonderful! And he’ll
do well in school and in college too! He’s one of those quiet fellows
who always do everything well.”
“That means a thousand dollars a year, Walter.”
“Well, you can cut down my allowance. He can room with me. I’m sure
he’d have a good influence over me and you often say you care more for
that than you do for anything else.”
“I do, my boy. You’d better get ready for supper now. We’ll talk about
this matter later.”
“What a generous boy Walter is!” said his mother fondly as her son
departed.
“What makes you think that?” inquired her husband.
“Because he wants to help Dan. And Dan is a good boy. He is fond of
Walter, and I hear that he is very good to his mother, who is a widow.”
“Likewise he struck out fifteen to-day,” retorted Mr. Borden
quizzically.
“What makes you laugh?” demanded Mrs. Borden a little resentfully. “I’m
sure I don’t know just what that means, but it must be something good.”