THE LEAGUE GAME
For a moment Ned stared blankly at his companion, and then said: “Dan,
you certainly beat anything I ever saw or heard of. I don’t know which
is the bigger fool, you or――――”
“Is it a bargain?” broke in Dan with a smile.
“Of course it is, if you say so. There isn’t anything else to be said.”
“All right then. Now forget all about it, Ned. We’ll just go in to put
the Military Academy nine where it belongs. You’re sure of the signals?”
“I can put you easy on that score.”
“I know it. Just look at the crowd,” Dan added as the two boys obtained
their first view of the assembly. “I never played before a crowd like
that!”
“You don’t mind?” asked Ned a little anxiously.
“I can tell you more about that a little later,” replied Dan quietly.
“Go right in and begin to warm up. We haven’t much time to spare.”
Both boys at once went upon the field――Ned to make certain that his
players were ready, while Dan ran to one side of the diamond, where he
began to pitch easily to Smith, who, for the time, was receiving the
ball.
As Dan occasionally glanced at the spectators, he saw that almost
numberless carriages and automobiles were in line on both sides. In
front of them were men and boys close to the ropes. The seats in the
grand stand were a solid mass of color. Indeed, seldom had the athletic
field of the Tait School presented such a gay appearance as that which
now greeted his eyes. If Dan was fearful, his manner did not betray his
feeling; and when, after a brief delay, the umpires took their places
and the Tait School nine, in accordance with the arrangement that the
home team was to have the last inning, advanced to their positions in
the field, no one apparently was more unconcerned than he. Sam Ventnor
was short-stop in Walter’s place. Gus Kiggins loomed large at first
base, Ned was behind the bat, Hodge at third base, and Smith was in
left field. The ball was being swiftly thrown from one baseman to
another, but the eyes of the visitors were all centered upon Dan as he
slowly advanced to the pitcher’s box. The umpire signaled for the ball
to be thrown him and as soon as he received it he slipped it into his
pocket, tossed a new ball to Dan, and called sharply, “Play ball!”
The first game of the series in the new league was begun.
“Ball!” called the umpire as Dan sent the first ball swiftly to the
outstretched hands of Ned.
“Two balls!” was the announcement which followed the young pitcher’s
second attempt.
“Three balls!” was the third call of the umpire, and a scattered cheer
arose from the followers of the Military Academy nine.
“Steady, Dan,” called Hodge from third base.
The pitcher slowly turned and glanced at the field. He saw that his
companions were all somewhat nervous and there was a smile, whose
meaning was plain, on the face of Gus Kiggins. If Dan shared in the
prevailing feeling he did not manifest it by his actions. Deliberately
he studied the batter, then drew back his arm and swiftly sent in the
ball. Whether the speed of the little sphere or its puzzling curve
misled the player or not Dan did not know, but it struck the batter
full in the shoulder.
A shout arose from the spectators as the player, rubbing the wounded
spot, started toward first base. “Up in the air!” “Got him going!”
“Wild as a hawk!” were among the gleeful calls from the friends of
the Military Academy. An expression of anxiety appeared on the faces
of the supporters and even on those of the members of the nine of the
Tait School. Dan, however, did not change his quiet manner. If he was
disturbed by the unfortunate beginning, he did not show it. Apparently
ignoring the dancing runner, he slowly faced the next batter and then
suddenly and with terrific speed sent the ball to Gus Kiggins at first.
The baseman, perhaps caught unaware, dropped the ball when the runner
was at least two feet off the base. A shout like the sharp report of
a pistol at the misplay arose from the academy contingent, and the
nervousness of the school nine and its friends increased.
Ned advanced from his place behind the bat and holding his mask in his
hand held a brief whispered conversation with Dan. The action of the
catcher was greeted by another derisive shout which did not tend to
soothe the feelings of the excited boys. Indeed, for a moment it almost
seemed as if the entire body of spectators was in an uproar.
Dan settled back into his box and apparently ignoring the shouts and
excitement sent in a swift straight ball at which the batter struck in
an attempt to bunt. The ball rolled slowly to Dan, who pounced upon it
in a flash, whirled about, and threw swiftly to the second-baseman. The
ball was caught and then thrown to first, where Gus Kiggins caught it
just before the runner touched the bag.
“Double play!” “That’s the way to do it!” “We’ve got them started now!”
“Two out and the third man as good as gone!” It was now time for the
supporters of the Tait School to give vent to their feelings, and the
many shouts and calls finally united in a prolonged school cheer.
Dan meanwhile was keenly watching the player who now advanced to the
plate. A sturdy, solid, muscular fellow he appeared to be, and the
call for a “home run,” which was raised by several among the friends
of the academy nine, at once revealed to the young pitcher that he was
facing one of the heaviest hitters of the opposing nine. He hesitated
a moment, waited for Ned to repeat his signal for a swift low incurve,
and then pitched the ball.
“Strike!” shouted the umpire.
“Strike two!” he called again when a swiftly pitched ball seemed
suddenly to swerve from its course as it came near the plate and almost
threaten the face of the batter.
Drawing back his arm and “winding up” his body as if he was striving to
exert every ounce of power he possessed, Dan delivered the third ball.
Instead of being a swift ball, however, it was slow, and its curve,
as it crossed the plate, apparently was outward. The excited batter,
however, in his zeal, struck viciously at what he confidently believed
was to be an unusually swift ball and swung his bat before the little
sphere had even reached the plate.
“You’re out!” called the umpire.
Disregarding the cheers of the spectators, the luckless batter waited
for Dan to come in and then said to him good-naturedly, “You got me
that time.”
“I was lucky,” responded Dan pleasantly.
“I wish I believed it was just ‘luck.’ Next time I’m up, I’ll know a
little more about it.”
It was now that the Tait School nine was to show what it was able to do
with the bat. Various reports had come as to the quality and ability
of the battery of the academy nine, but, like Dan, the young pitcher
was a new boy, consequently no one was able to speak authoritatively.
He assuredly was the one player whose actions were most keenly observed
when the academy players took their first turn in the field. The
pitcher was tall, wiry, and handled himself well in the preliminary
practice.
“South-paw,” muttered Ned as he watched Ingersoll, the pitcher of the
academy nine.
“That’ll be my finish then,” said Hodge gloomily. “I can’t hit a
left-hander. It’s like striking at the moon.”
“Don’t give up before you begin,” said Ned sharply.
“Oh, I’m not a dead one yet,” retorted Hodge, as he selected his bat
and advanced, as the first batter, to face Ingersoll.
A hush fell over the entire assembly as the motions of the lanky
pitcher were keenly watched by all observers. A laugh was heard as
Ingersoll twisted his long arms and body almost as if he were trying
to tie it into a knot. Suddenly from the squirming arms the ball shot
forth and Hodge struck wildly at it, though he did not come within six
inches of the little sphere.
“Strike!” shouted the umpire promptly.
“That fellow is going to wear himself out before the sixth inning if he
keeps that up,” said Ned to Dan as they were seated side by side on the
players’ bench. “He can’t keep that up.”
Dan, after his usual quiet manner, did not reply, though he was keenly
observant of his rival in the box as was his friend.
Another strike, then two balls, quickly followed Hodge’s first attempt,
and then the batter struck savagely at the ball that followed and sent
it slowly rolling toward third base. The baseman easily stopped the
ball, threw it to first, and Hodge was out.
“Next victim,” muttered Ned as he stepped forward to the plate. Ned,
however, was more fortunate than his predecessor, for after one strike
and two balls had been called he lifted the little sphere for a safe
hit over second base.
“Now, Gus, remember your country’s need,” said Smith, as Gus Kiggins’
turn to bat came and the young giant stepped forward. “Don’t forget
that you’re to make a sacrifice hit.”
If the batter heard the direction he gave it no heed, for he sent the
first ball pitched far over the head of the left-fielder. Almost on a
straight line the ball sped on, rolling swiftly when at last it struck
the ground, while both the left-fielder and the center-fielder of the
academy ran in swift pursuit. Pandemonium almost seemed to break loose
among the boys of the Tait School. They rose from their seats and swung
their caps, dancing up and down in their excitement as they shouted and
cheered wildly. The excitement became still greater when Gus turned
third base and followed Ned toward the home-plate. The ball by this
time had been secured and the left-fielder had thrown it, exerting all
his power, to the short-stop, who had run back to secure it.
There were now wild calls for Gus to increase his speed. Ned already
had crossed the home-plate, but Gus was fifteen yards away. On and
still on plunged the heavy hitter and the ball was in the hands of
the academy short-stop. Ignoring the wild shouts of the dancing boys
the player turned and threw swiftly to his catcher. The throw was
accurately made and the ball was caught in the outstretched hands of
the academy catcher when Gus was five feet away, but the runner did
not hesitate. Throwing himself with all his weight against the waiting
player the two boys fell together to the ground. Gus instantly arose,
but the other player did not move. The ball had rolled from his hand,
and a shout arose when it was learned that the run was to count.
Silence, however, quickly followed the noisy demonstration when it was
seen that the academy catcher did not rise. Several of his teammates
ran to his assistance and as they lifted the player to a standing
position the latter, in part regaining his breath, turned angrily to
the umpire and said, “He fouled me! He struck me with his fist in the
pit of my stomach!”
“I didn’t see it,” responded the umpire quietly.
“Well, he did!” repeated the catcher. “It was dirty ball!”
There were glances of anger turned upon Gus, but the panting player
apparently was unmindful of them all. He seated himself beside Dan on
the bench and in a brief time the game was resumed.
The following batter struck out and Dan, who followed him, sent a short
fly to second base, and the side was out.
In the next two innings neither side was able to score. Dan struck
out two of the academy players in each inning and one was out on a
high foul which Hodge caught. The first hit of the academy nine came
in the third inning, when one of the players drove a sharply hit ball
past first base, close to the foul line. In trying to stretch the
well-placed hit into a two-base hit the runner was thrown out at second
base.
On the other hand, the nine of the Tait School had not succeeded in
scoring again. In the third inning two hits were made, one by Smith and
one by Walter’s substitute, Sam Ventnor, but both were held on bases
when a double play was made by the short-stop and first-baseman, the
former catching a fly well back in the field and recovering himself in
time to catch Ned in an attempt to regain first, which he had secured
by a base on balls, thereby filling the bases.
“Good work, old man,” said Ned to Dan as the Tait School players
started for their positions at the beginning of the fourth inning.
“Keep it up and we’ll shut out these fellows. We’ve a good lead.”
Dan smiled, for the words of praise were vastly encouraging. He was
confident that he had recovered from the nervousness he felt at the
beginning of the game and, furthermore, he was now aware that the
batters, as they faced him, betrayed in their manner the respect they
had for his prowess. It was true that two runs did not permit any
carelessness――the margin was too narrow. But he had found in preceding
games that his power of endurance could be relied upon and that his
work in the closing innings was never weaker than at the beginning.
“There comes Walter,” he said to Ned as he stopped and saw his roommate
approaching. “I wonder if he is in shape to play? He has his uniform
on, anyway.”
“I’ll see next inning,” said Captain Ned brusquely. “We seem to be
getting on fairly well without him.”
“Give him a chance, Ned,” pleaded Dan. “I know how he feels.”
“I know how he ought to feel,” growled Ned. “I’ll see about him when we
come in to bat again.”
Dan said no more and walked slowly toward the pitcher’s box. Already
the infield players had taken their places and the ball was being
passed swiftly from one to another. The noisy demonstrations of the
spectators now had given place to a deeper, though more quiet, feeling
of excitement. Every play was watched anxiously and in spite of the
prevailing quiet Dan knew as well as the other players that the shouts
and cheers would break forth again at the first opportunity a hit or
play might provide.
Dan was standing with his face toward third base watching the work of
Hodge, who at that moment was throwing across the diamond to Gus, the
latter quickly and swiftly returning the ball.
Suddenly Gus threw swiftly to Dan, who was unaware of the change.
“Look out! Look out, Dan!” shouted Hodge warningly. But the word was
not heard in time by the young pitcher. The ball which Gus had thrown
with unusual swiftness struck Dan squarely on his right arm between the
elbow and shoulder.
With a cry of pain Dan clasped the spot with his left hand and bending
low almost fell to the ground.