THE END OF THE GAME
In a brief time the confusion spread over the entire assembly. Ned
ran to his friend and the players of both teams swarmed upon the
field. Even the spectators shared in the prevailing excitement and
were standing looking interestedly at the group which by this time had
surrounded Dan.
Among the first to reach his side was Gus Kiggins. “Honestly, Dan, I
didn’t mean to do it,” he said excitedly. “I thought you saw me! I’m
sorry! I’m――――”
“Get away, will you!” broke in Ned savagely. Thrusting aside the player
who had been the cause of the trouble, Ned examined the arm which
already was showing the effect of the blow. “Does it hurt much, Dan?”
he inquired anxiously.
The young pitcher smiled faintly and did not reply, though the paleness
of his face fully answered his friend’s query.
“Let me rub it,” suggested Hodge.
“Get some water――hot water,” added Smith, every boy being anxious to do
something for the relief of Dan.
“Can you go on with the game?” asked Ned.
“I’ll try,” answered Dan by an effort. “Let me see if I can throw.”
Taking the ball from the umpire’s hand Dan swung his arm, but quickly
dropped the ball. “No use,” he said slowly. “My arm won’t work.”
The members of the nine glanced helplessly at one another and then
glared at Gus, the source of all the trouble.
“I told you I didn’t mean to do it,” Gus growled. “I thought he saw me.
We were all passing the ball――――”
“Gus, do you think a dose of ipecac would help him?” said Ned in a low
voice to his first-baseman. There was almost a glitter in the eyes of
the young captain, he was so angry. Nor did his feeling find relief
when Gus Kiggins growled, “What’s the matter with you?” But he did not
reply to the question.
The delay continued five minutes and then the game was resumed with Gus
taking Dan’s place in the pitcher’s box, Walter going to short-stop,
and Sam Ventnor playing first base. Dan, who was taken to the
dressing-room to receive the attention of a physician, who was found
among the spectators, in a brief time returned to the field and seated
himself on the players’ bench, there to watch the game in which he was
to have no further part. The glances of sympathy which were given him
as he had walked in front of the grand stand on his way to the bench
had not soothed his feelings and to the three substitute players who
were sitting beside him he barely spoke in reply to their anxious
questions.
“Does your arm hurt?” asked Snell, the first substitute.
“That’s a fine question,” answered Dan somewhat tartly. “What did you
think? Would it make my pitching arm feel good to hit it with a ball?”
“Of course. I understand,” said Snell lamely. “All I meant was to find
out if you thought you’d get in the game again.”
“Not this game. What’s the score? How is it going?”
“The Military Academy fellows made a run last inning.”
“This is the fifth inning.”
“No. It’s the sixth.”
“How is Gus doing?”
“Pretty well. They’re hitting him some, though. There! Look at that,
will you!” Snell added abruptly. “A three-bagger!”
At the moment a shout that came almost with the sharpness of the report
of a gun arose from the seats occupied by the friends of the academy
nine. Two men were on bases when their heaviest hitter came to bat and
when his long hit was made the two players before him raced home with
their tallies.
“Dan, you’ll have to go back to the pitcher’s box!” exclaimed Snell
as the cheering of the opposing section was renewed when the runner on
third came in with the third run of the inning, after the batter had
sent a long fly to left field which Smith captured.
“I wish I could,” said Dan quietly.
“You must. That makes the score four to two. We can’t stand that.
They’re hammering Gus! They’ll drive him out of the box.”
“That doesn’t look as if they would,” suggested Dan as the next player
struck out.
“Three in one inning,” muttered Snell hopelessly.
“The game is young.”
“If it is that bad when it’s young, what will it be when it is older?”
“Better for us, I hope.”
The school players came toward the bench, every one looking anxiously
at Dan and eagerly inquiring concerning his hurt. The glances of
anger at Gus when it became manifest that Dan was out of the present
game were frequent and unmistakable. The substitute pitcher, however,
apparently was giving slight heed to the looks of his comrades. His
face was streaming with perspiration, while his jaws were working as if
every second of time had its special value.
Between Gus and the other members of the nine sat Walter, his face
still betraying the sickness he had suffered and his bearing showing
that he was far from feeling at ease at the moment. He glanced
repeatedly at Dan, who was the center of a group, but he did not speak.
“Brace up, fellows!” said Ned anxiously as he faced his fellow players.
“Now is the time to show the stuff you’re made of! We mustn’t let a
little thing like a lead of three runs scare us. Do your best!”
The encouraging words of the young captain did not avail, however.
The lanky Ingersoll seemed to have acquired an additional power in
his wirelike arms and his body went through contortions that made
his earlier efforts appear like child’s play. Walter struck out. Sam
Ventnor sent a little fly to the first-baseman. Gus Kiggins indeed made
a hit, but it counted for nothing, as the batter that followed him was
easily thrown out at first.
The Military Academy nine, however, did no better when their turn to
bat came and neither of the following innings was productive of a run
for either side.
“We’ve just got to do something now,” said Ned desperately as he turned
to his companions a moment before he advanced to the plate to begin the
Tait School’s half of the eighth inning.
“Set us a good example, Neddie boy,” said Hodge encouragingly.
Ned’s face was grim with determination as he faced the opposing
pitcher. He was deliberate and cool and waited until two strikes and
two balls had been called before he attempted to strike. Then hitting
savagely, he sent the ball on a low line far into center field.
It was now the turn of the Tait School to express its feelings in a
long shout. The wild cries redoubled as Ned gained third and then with
a burst of speed turned and raced for the home-plate. The ball was
fielded well and now was in the hands of the second-baseman, but the
nerve-racking strain was too great. In his attempt to throw quickly the
ball went far over the head of the catcher and Ned was safe.
“Five to three! Five to three! Five to three!” came as a monotonous
chant from the seats of the academy contingent. The cry could be heard
above the wild shouts of the Tait School supporters, who still were
shouting wildly over the hit and the run of their captain.
“Remember the example Ned set,” said Smith as Hodge stepped forward
with his bat. “Keep it up, you midget!”
The spectators were silent once more as all excitedly watched the
batter. The powerful Hodge made a lunge at the first ball pitched and
sent it just over the head of the third-baseman.
“A hit!” “You’ve got them on the run now!” “Keep it up! Keep it up!”
were the rejoicing calls that greeted Gus as his turn to bat came.
This time the young giant for some reason was more responsive to his
orders and instead of exerting all his strength he did his utmost to
make a sacrifice hit, but the ball rolled to second base, was hastily
seized by the baseman, who touched his base, and then hurled the ball
to first just in time to catch Gus.
“Double play!” “Two down!” “This fellow is easy!” roared some of the
enthusiasts in the academy section. “Strike him out!” “Don’t let him
hit it!” “Careful!” “Careful!” were among the encouraging words shouted
to the tall pitcher.
Apparently Ingersoll responded to the appeal, for he struck out the
next player and the side was out.
As all were aware that the incoming inning was the last for each nine,
the excitement became more intense. When the Military Academy nine made
a run the delight of their supporters became still greater, and though
the confidence of the academy contingent was strong, nevertheless they
were all anxious when the Tait School hitters came to bat for what was
likely to be the last time in the game.
Every player was cautious now and if in his anxiety he did not become
overanxious the score was not likely to be changed. Ned was slapping
his players on the back and urging everyone to do his utmost. The last
opportunity to score ought not to be lost.
“Up in the air!” shouted Smith, who was on the coaching line near first
base when Walter, the first player to face Ingersoll, was given his
base on balls. In his delight Smith leaned over and pulled grass with
each hand as he continued his wild shouts.
The academy, however, responded vociferously when the next man struck
out, and their shouts were prolonged and wilder when the following
batter sent up a fly which was caught by the nimble player in right
field.
“All over but the shouting!” called one hilarious supporter of the
academy.
“Is it?” called Smith derisively, as the runner he was coaching started
swiftly for second base, and out of the cloud of dust that was stirred
up as he threw himself forward the decision “safe” was heard.
To the delight of the nine Walter boldly started, at the first ball
pitched, for third base, and when it was seen that his steal had been
successful the shouts and calls redoubled. A hit now would mean another
run, and if the batter gained his base another run which would tie
the score was not impossible. The wild calls died away a brief moment
and then burst forth in redoubled power when the batter drove a sharp
grounder between first and second and Walter made “home” with another
run. The brief rejoicing hushed when Ned lifted a high fly into left
field. The fielder first ran back, then turned and raced forward, and
then stopped, awaiting the coming of the ball. A deathlike silence
fell over the field and benches alike. Every face was turned toward
the young fielder. Gus ran forward from the bench and crouched low
as he watched the ball. Apparently it seemed to be falling slowly.
The fielder stood motionless. Suddenly he put up his hands and caught
it. The nine of the Military Academy had won the first game of the
interschool series by a score of five to four.
A noisy cheer greeted the catch and then in comparative silence the
assembled spectators began to move from the seats toward the waiting
automobiles and carriages. The crowd halted a moment to listen to the
cheers which the victorious nine gave as they assembled and then to the
cheers of the Tait School nine.
The latter stood close together, every player resting his hands on the
shoulders of a teammate. The cheer rose with a great volume of sound,
but in it there was to be detected something of the disappointment
everyone felt. The game had been well played, but defeat was still
defeat.
“Too bad, Ned,” said Dan as his friend walked beside him. “We’ll try to
do better next time. It’s early in the season yet, you know.”
“How is your arm?” asked Ned abruptly.
“Sore.”
“That’s the way we all feel,” snapped Ned. “If you had kept on we’d
have won the game.”
“That’s something no man knows.”
“It’s what everybody here knows!”
“Never mind. Perhaps being beaten in the first game will make us all
the better for the series. Isn’t the Military Academy nine about the
strongest in the league?”
“It isn’t so strong as ours when you pitch. What do you think, Dan; did
Gus do that on purpose?”
“He says he didn’t.”
“No one believes him.”
Dan did not reply and at that moment Carlton Hall came running to the
side of the young pitcher. “O Dan!” he exclaimed. “Wasn’t it too bad?
Didn’t you see Gus Kiggins when he threw that ball?”
“It wouldn’t have hit me if I had.”
“Some of the fellows say he did it on purpose just the same as he tried
to get you out of the game by making you sick beforehand.”
“Who says so?” demanded Dan sharply. “You mustn’t listen――――”
Dan stopped abruptly as Walter and Gus at that moment joined the three
boys. Had Carlton’s words been heard? Dan was unable to determine from
the expression on the face of the player who had taken his place in the
pitcher’s box. Even the thought, however, was forgotten in the words
which Gus spoke.