THE FINAL GAME
“What do you think!” exclaimed Walter excitedly, “Gus Kiggins has left!”
“Left?” demanded Hodge. “What do you mean? Has he left school?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what he has done. Packed up bag and baggage and
left town on the evening train.”
“Without a word?” asked Hodge, unable to conceal his surprise.
“Yes, sir; he’s gone for good.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me so himself. I went over to his room to tell him it was all
off between him and me――――”
“You went to his room?” broke in Dan.
“Yes, that’s just what I did. After I found out that Carlton was not
going to die――――”
“I’m all right,” interrupted Carlton sharply. The little fellow’s face
was still white and betrayed the pain he still was suffering, but the
boy’s determination was so manifest that the older boys in the room
were quick to see and approve his newly found courage.
“That’s the way to talk, kid,” said Hodge encouragingly. “‘Never say
die.’ You’re learning to be something more than mamma’s nice little
boy. The Tait School will make a man of you yet.” Then turning to
Walter he added, “Go on with your merry tale.”
“I didn’t know at first,” resumed Walter, “but that he was going to do
me as he did Carlton, he was so nearly beside himself. When I told him
I was done with him he was worse than ever. He said that was just like
me, I’d be like the fellows I was with last and that Hodge and Ned and
Dan had set me up to it.” Walter steadily held to his story, though Dan
at least was aware of the effort it cost the impulsive boy to relate
what Gus had said. “He said,” continued Walter, “that he wasn’t going
to see even the doctor, he was just going to leave, and the sooner he
could get out the better it would be for everybody.”
“I guess he was wise,” laughed Hodge. “I’m glad he’s gone.”
“I did my best to calm him down,” said Walter, “for I knew he’d be
sorry by to-morrow. He wouldn’t listen to a word I said, though, and
now that he has really left I don’t feel sorry. I’m sorry I let him
make such a fool of me as he did. I can see it all now.”
“Walter,” said Ned more seriously, “did it ever occur to you that Gus
Kiggins might have a successor?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” replied Walter, his face flushing as he
spoke. “Who will be his successor? What kind will he be?”
“I’m not going to preach to you, Walter, for I don’t know how, but I’m
telling you that a fellow is always ‘up against’ some such proposition.
If it isn’t Gus Kiggins, then it’s some other chap that can do his
work.”
“And you think when Gus’s ‘successor,’ as you call him, comes along
that I’ll be following him just the way I did Gus?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That is what you meant.”
“Walter is all right,” spoke up Dan quietly. “He’s had his medicine――――”
“You mean the ipecac?” interrupted Ned.
Even Walter joined in the laugh that followed, though his expression
was not one of pure enjoyment.
“You know what I mean,” continued Dan. “I had to learn what a
butter-plate was for. It troubled me a good deal at first, but I
got a lot of comfort out of the fact that every fellow had to learn
something. If it wasn’t butter-plates, then it was something else.
Walter, here, had to learn to stand up――――”
“I was in the history class the other day,” piped in Carlton.
“Good for you, kid,” retorted Hodge. “Glad to hear you were where you
ought to be.”
“I was there in a way,” said Carlton. “Mr. Sutherland called on me to
recite――――”
“I sincerely trust you did yourself proud,” suggested Hodge demurely.
“Oh, let the little fellow tell his story,” protested Dan.
“Go ahead, kid,” said Hodge good-naturedly.
“Mr. Sutherland asked me what were the five great races of mankind,”
related Carlton.
“That’s dead easy,” remarked Ned.
“Maybe it is easy for you fellows. I thought it was easy myself, but
when I told him that the five great races were the hundred-yard dash,
the two-hundred-and-twenty-yards, the four-forty, the half-mile run,
and the mile he didn’t seem to be a bit pleased with my answer. I’ll
leave it to you fellows if that isn’t the truth. But Mr. Sutherland
sent me out of the room.”
A shout of delight came from the boys and whatever of feeling may have
existed apparently disappeared.
“You surely are coming on,” laughed Ned as he ruffled the little
fellow’s hair. “You’ll be on the nine yet.”
“Do you really think I ever will?” said Carlton eagerly.
“If you keep on this way you’ll take Dan’s place in the box.”
“Speaking of the ‘box’――who’s going to take Dan’s place now?” asked
Walter.
“No one――we hope,” replied Ned.
“Can he work next week?” asked Walter eagerly.
“The doctor man says he thinks so, at least he’ll be good for a part of
the game. The arm has a bad bump, but it’ll be all right pretty soon.”
“Great!” exclaimed Carlton excitedly, his face beaming with the worship
of his hero. “Then we’ll win the championship yet. There’s another game
with the Military Academy――――”
“On their grounds,” suggested Dan dryly.
“That won’t make any difference――if your arm is all right.”
“And our nine can hit enough to make a few runs,” suggested Ned. “It’s
all well enough to have a good pitcher, but all he can do is to keep
the other fellows from scoring. That doesn’t win a game.”
“It keeps the other nine from winning, doesn’t it?” demanded Walter,
now quick to come to the support of his roommate.
“I guess it does,” laughed Ned, “but I’m telling you that we’ll have to
do better work with the bat than we did to-day if we are going to win
out in the new league.”
“We’ll do it,” said Walter confidently.
The confidence in a measure was shattered when the following Saturday
it was found that Dan’s arm had not entirely recovered. The departure
of Gus Kiggins had been variously interpreted by the school, a few
siding with him after he was gone, thereby displaying the fact that a
school world is not unlike the great world outside. However, while the
great majority of the boys were not sorrowing over the departure of the
bully, nevertheless the prevailing feeling of anxiety concerning the
pitcher for the school nine, in case Dan was unable to play, was great.
Indeed, when the game came and those in attendance saw that Dan was not
in the box, there were many to prophesy that the high school would win.
At the end of the fourth inning the score was six to five against the
Tait School. A great cheer arose when, in the following inning, Dan
became the pitcher.
“Saving him,” explained Carlton excitedly to Ben White, who was seated
next him in the cheering section.
Whether Dan had been “saved” for this need or not, when he replaced
Matteson, who had been called in from center field to do his best in
the pitcher’s box, the scoring of the high-school nine abruptly stopped
and as the Tait School nine scored four more runs the game was won by a
score of nine to six.
The return games in due course were also won by safe margins, but as
the nine of the Military Academy had also won from one of the two
schools and also had defeated the Tait School, the last-named nine
was still tied for first place in the league. Indeed, as the series
progressed it became manifest that in reality the nines from the
Military Academy and the Tait School far outclassed their rivals. The
test between these two nines was to occur in the final game. If the
academy should win, it could claim the championship by a game.
The excitement in the Tait School never had run higher than on that
June day when the entire student body in a special train started for
the academy grounds. Cheer leaders, leaders of the school songs, and
various other functionaries had been selected, new cheers and new songs
had been carefully rehearsed, and if loyal support would aid Dan and
his fellow players, then the Tait School nine ought to win.
But the students of the Military Academy were equally well prepared
to support their players, and song had been prepared to meet song and
cheer to respond to cheer.
On the grounds were the students of the two other schools in the
league, both hopeless now of victory, but warm in their support of the
rival nines that were to play that day and about equally divided in
their allegiance.
The scene was unlike any which Dan had ever beheld when he, with his
companions, at last began their preliminary practice on the diamond.
The stands were bright with color, and automobiles and carriages were
several deep around the field. The sky was cloudless and the weather
was intensely warm――a day when the players might do their best, but
also one in which the endurance of both the nines would be severely
tested.
“Great day for the game,” said Ned as he patted Dan on the shoulder
when the latter took a ball in his hand and started toward one side of
the field to “warm up.”
“Yes, one of the finest I ever saw. Look at the crowd, Ned,” added Dan
as he glanced at the great gathering.
“Five thousand,” responded Ned as he too scanned the crowded seats.
“Not so many as that,” laughed Dan. “Enough, though.”
“Make you nervous?”
“Not yet. Can’t tell what the effect will be later.”
“You’re all right, Dan,” said Ned cheerily, as he once more patted his
friend on the shoulder. “You don’t lose your head.”
“I don’t want to to-day――――”
Dan stopped abruptly as a treble call, “Dan! Dan!” came from the
bleachers not far away. Both Ned and the young pitcher glanced in the
direction from which the hail had come and saw little Carlton Hall
standing erect and waving his cap frantically as he called the name of
his hero.
“What does he want?” said Ned. “Has he heard of more ipecac they’re to
feed you?”
“No,” laughed Dan. “He just can’t contain himself, that’s all.”
When at last the game began people were standing several deep behind
the seats. On the field back of the ropes the ground was covered with
spectators almost as excited as the young players.
“Come here, Dan,” called Ned as he beckoned to his pitcher. Near Ned
were the two umpires and the captain of the academy nine.
“What do you think?” asked Ned. “The crowd is so big that the umpires
suggest that a hit into it ought to count for only two bases.”
“That’s as fair for one side as the other,” said Dan simply.
“All right, we’ll agree,” said Ned quickly. Before the game was ended,
however, the captain of the Tait School nine bitterly regretted the
assent which he so readily gave to the suggestion.
Dan now took his position and as he rubbed the ball in his mitt a final
preliminary cheer came from the supporters of his nine. The young
pitcher fancied that he could discern the shrill treble of little
Carlton Hall in the midst of the shout. Waving his hand a moment as a
token that he had heard he stepped into his box and delivered the first
ball.
A shout went up from the friends of the academy as the ball struck the
batter on the shoulder. Two or three of his mates gathered about him
and rubbed the injured spot and then the player speedily took first
base.
“Ball!” “Two balls!” “Strike!” “Three balls!” “Take your base!” called
the umpire in quick succession to the second batter who faced Dan. The
shouting became a great roar as the runner on first moved to second
base, while his successor took his place on first.
Two on bases and none out! The loud and continuous cheering changed to
a wild incoherent cry of glee when the third player to face Dan sent
a slow ball to Walter, which the usually reliable short-stop first
fumbled; then started to throw to third base, but speedily changing his
decision flung it to first base too late to catch the runner. Meanwhile
the other two players had each advanced a base.
Three on bases and none out! The Tait School contingent was silent and
dazed, but their rivals were more than atoning. People were standing,
hats were being thrown in the air, and the deafening shouts were
prolonged and continuous.