DICK SMILES
CLEARFIELD RUTTER'S POINT
Bryan, 2b. Billings, 3b.
Scott, 3b. Townsend, 1b.
Merrick, 1b. Chase, ss.
Wayland, l. f. House, c. f.
Tappen, r. f. Leary, 2b.
White, c. Northrop, r. f.
Robey, ss. Jensen, l. f.
Haley, p. Houghton, c.
Shaw, c. f. Mason, p.
Gordon took his position off first base, thumped fist into glove, and
called cheerfully across to Tom Haley:
"First man, Tom! Let's have him!"
But Gordon wasn't nearly as cool and collected as he tried to seem. He
was conscious of the crowd, and especially of the throng that stretched
four and five deep along the base line but a half dozen yards away. The
noise, too, was disconcerting. He didn't mind the bellowing of Jim House
back of first, nor the answering shrieks of Pink Northrop behind third;
but the steady hum and stir of the crowd gave him what was very much
like stage fright. He almost hoped that the first hit would not come
into his territory, for he was virtually sure that he would misplay it.
But Gordon wasn't the only one suffering from nervous embarrassment. Tom
was as wild as a hawk, and if the batsmen had not been up in the air as
well Rutter's Point might have won the game then and there!
Dick, none too self-possessed himself, in spite of the fact that on the
bench he was practically out of the public gaze, saw that in the
outfield Way, Jack, and Fudge were each moving restlessly about, and he
mentally hoped that there would be no long flies for a few minutes! The
only one of the home team who seemed absolutely self-possessed and
unconcerned was Lanny. Lanny, behind his mask and protector, gave his
signals calmly, and called to Tom coolly and encouragingly, holding his
hands over the center of the plate and inviting Tom to "put it right
here!" And Tom tried his best to follow signals, and failed lamentably.
Caspar Billings went to base on balls, and Gordon took the bag. Tom
tried one throw across, and Gordon, to his relief, caught the ball.
While Tom had been in the act of swinging around and stepping out,
Gordon had been sure that the ball would get by him. Caspar was playing
it safe, however, and after Gordon threw the sphere back to Tom the
latter gave his attention to the next batsman, Loring Townsend. Loring,
with one strike and two balls against him, reached for a low one and
sent it up in the air to Pete Robey. Pete caught it, juggled it, dropped
it, and then sped it to second. Caspar, who had stopped halfway down the
base line, turned back to the bench.
With one out, Tom settled down a little. Loring Townsend stole on the
second delivery and beat out the throw. The Point clamored for a hit,
but the best Gil Chase could do was to trickle a slow bunt to Tom, who
threw out the runner at first.
"Two gone!" called Gordon. "Let him hit, Tom!"
But Tom did the hitting himself, bumping Jim House on the elbow with his
first ball. Jim trotted to first, and Leary came to bat. Leary ought to
have been easy, but he landed on the very first offering and sent a fly
into short left field. Way started with the ball and got it after a hard
run, and the inning was over.
"We got out of that mighty luckily," muttered Gordon, as he took his
seat beside Dick. "I guess we've all got nerves."
"Well, so have the others," replied Dick. "Try to get rid of yours
first, Gordie."
Harry Bryan waited and got his base. Will Scott, instructed to bunt and
sacrifice, fouled two attempts, and finally went out on strikes. Gordon
brought the stands to their feet by a bunt along first-base line which
started well but eventually rolled into foul territory under the anxious
gaze of Mason and Townsend. Then came a swipe that missed the ball by
inches, then two balls, and last, with two and two, a straight one that
Gordon liked the looks of. He found it, all right, but it dropped into
center-fielder's hands, and, with two down, Bryan was still anchored on
first. A minute later he tried a steal, and was caught a yard away.
In the second Tom pitched better, and Northrop and Jensen fanned.
Houghton, the Point catcher, got a scratch hit, and reached the first
bag but died there when Mason struck out.
Clearfield did no better in her half, Wayland, Tappen, and Lanny White
going out in order, and only Jack getting a rap at the ball.
It was not until the fourth inning that things began to happen. Leary
started the Point's half with a sharp tap between Pete and Harry that
put him safely on first. Then, with the Point coachers yelling like mad
and dancing like a couple of dervishes, Tom passed Pink Northrop. With
the three tail-enders coming up there seemed no cause for alarm. But
Jensen laid down a nice bunt right in front of the plate, and Lanny,
tossing aside his mask, picked it up and hurled it to third.
Unfortunately, Will Scott had started in toward the plate, and the ball
got to third ahead of him. By the time Way had recovered it, Leary had
scored, Northrop was on second, and Jensen on first. The Pointers went
wild with delight, and the blue-and-yellow flags waved in the
grandstand. Houghton, aching for a hit, was over-anxious, and fell a
victim to the wiles of Lanny and Tom, and there was one out. Pitcher
Mason was no more of a batsman than the average twirler, and yet he
managed to make it two and three before he finally put an end to the
suspense and the inning by hitting to Harry Bryan, who tagged Jensen as
he went past and then threw to Gordon, completing the double.
For the next two innings it looked very much as though that one run
would be enough to win the game, for Mason settled down and pitched
air-tight ball and added four more strike-outs to his credit. Tom Haley
was less spectacular, and yet got by without yielding a hit. He passed
two batters and in the sixth Jensen got as far as third when Pete Robey
fumbled Houghton's liner. But there were no runs scored, and at the
beginning of the seventh the score still stood 1 to 0 in the visitors'
favor, and Clearfield already tasted defeat. But the audience shouted
that here was the "lucky seventh," and those fortunate to have seats
stood up and stretched cramped limbs, and everyone shouted.
In the first half of the seventh the clouds began to gather again over
Clearfield's head. Caspar Billings, first man up, beat out a weak hit
and took second when Townsend sacrificed, Scott to Merrick. A moment
later he reached third when Chase flied out to right field. Then House
provided a half dozen attacks of heart disease when, with three balls
and two strikes on him, he knocked fouls to nearly every point of the
compass in his endeavor to secure a safe hit and score Caspar. But in
the end Tom tricked him into a high fly that settled comfortably into
Pete Robey's glove, and again the sky cleared.
"If those boys don't win a run this time," said Mr. Brent, almost
crossly, "I'll be sorry I gave them the field."
"You mean, dad, you'll be sorry _I_ gave them the field," corrected
Morris, with a grin. Mr. Brent grunted.
"Why don't they bat the ball?" he demanded. "Every time one of them gets
on a base, the others leave him there. What they ought to do is to take
a good bang at it and send it out there beyond those fellows."
"That's what they're trying to do, papa," replied Louise, "but the Point
pitcher won't let them. He's a wonderful pitcher, isn't he, Morris?"
"Pretty fair. He'll get his before the game's over, though. See if he
doesn't."
"Get his what?" asked his father curiously.
"Get what's coming to him," laughed Morris. "I mean the Clearfield chaps
will bat him. He can't keep this pace up much longer. I wouldn't be
surprised if we got after him this inning."
"Oh, I wish we might!" sighed Louise. "I wish they'd just--just _slam_
him!"
"My dear!" murmured Mrs. Brent. "That doesn't sound very nice."
"It's all right, mama; it's just baseball talk."
"Even so, dear, I'm not certain," replied her mother, "that----"
But Louise didn't hear the rest, for she was waving her purple pennant
wildly and shrieking in a manner that Mrs. Brent must have disapproved
of thoroughly. But she had a good excuse. Even Mr. Jonathan Brent was
tapping his cane and breathing hard, while Morris was frankly on his
feet, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Jack, the first Clearfield batsman, had landed on the second ball
pitched, and now it was rolling along the grass between right fielder
and center, and Jack was traveling fast for second base. He drew up
there, breathless but happy. From the stands and from the crowds along
the edges of the diamond came shouts and cheers. At last, Clearfield was
to tie the score!
And yet even with a runner on second and only a hit necessary to bring
in a tally, it began to look as if once more the hopes of Clearfield's
supporters were doomed. Lanny, determined and cool, after waiting until
he had three balls to his credit and no strikes, tried to drop out of
the way of a close one, only to have it hit his bat and roll fair! Mason
fielded it to first, and there was one out. The incessant shouting from
the spectators died away and Gordon, coaching at first, swung on his
heel and kicked viciously at a pebble to relieve his feelings. Then,
with Pete Robey up, there came an exchange of signals, and Jack started
for third as the ball left Mason's hand for the second time. It was an
unexpected play, and it succeeded. Pete swung and missed and Houghton
side-stepped and hurled to third. But Jack, who was a fast youth on his
feet, was diving head-first for the bag when the ball arrived, and Mr.
Vokes, trotting past, spread his hands. Clearfield applauded wildly.
With a man on third, Rutter's Point considered discretion the better
part of valor, and Mason pitched out three times to Pete and Pete walked
to first, while the home team's supporters jeered and shouted
disparaging remarks to Mason. A minute later Pete went to second
unchallenged. Tom Haley was up, and Houghton had argued that Tom could
be easily disposed of. And it seemed that he could. Tom made desperate
swings at the first two deliveries, and you could have heard the sighs
of despair that came from the anxious watchers on the seats. Then,
heeding the coachers' voices at last, Tom got his eye on the ball and
watched idly while Mason sped two wide ones past him. Then he tried
again and a foul resulted, Houghton getting his hands on it at the edge
of the stand but dropping it. A third ball narrowly escaped being a
strike, and Gordon cried: "That's waiting, Tom! Let him walk you; he'll
do it in a minute!"
And he would have, for the next delivery was inches wide of the outer
corner of the plate, but Tom reached out eagerly, got that ball on the
tip of his bat and sent it arching up in a low fly that fell three feet
inside the first-base foul line and just out of the reach of the three
fielders who raced after it! In trotted Jack, scoring the tying run, and
in sped Pete Robey, close on his heels, while Clearfield went mad with
delight and the purple pennants waved on high. Pete beat the throw to
the plate by inches, but Tom, trying to reach second on the throw-in,
was less fortunate and fell victim to a fine heave from Houghton to
Leary.
Dick motioned Fudge to him. "We want another run, Fudge," he said
softly. "Mason will be up in the air now. Make him think you're anxious
to hit. Move up in the box and swing your bat; try to look nervous----"
"I don't have t-t-t-to try," muttered Fudge.
"Never mind. Make him think you'll offer at anything, but _don't_ swing
but once. Pick out a wide one and swing at it, Fudge, but be careful not
to hit it. If you work it right, he will pass you sure as shooting! Now,
go ahead."
Harold Townsend, so excited that he hadn't scored a thing since Jack's
two-bagger, looked at Dick in open admiration. "I guess that's what they
call 'inside baseball,' isn't it, Dick?"
"I don't know," was the reply. "It's what I'd call horse-sense. I hope
it works, anyhow!"
With two out and the bases empty the scoring was apparently over, and
the Pointers were doubtless already occupying their thoughts with the
task before them of overcoming that one-run lead when they at last
returned to their positions.
"Last man, Mel!" called Billy Houghton. "Let's have him!" Then Billy
signaled for a straight one. But Mason, as Dick had predicted, was a bit
flustered. The straight one came over too low and was a ball. He tried
it again, and another ball resulted. Houghton returned the sphere with a
slow and cautioning toss, and then spread his fingers for a curve. The
curve came, went wide, and Fudge, as nervous as a wet hen, made a mighty
swing at it, missing it by six inches and winning a laugh from the
spectators. Then he walked to the pitcher's end of the box and
flourished his bat, and seemed to be daring Mason to put one where he
could get it. Houghton signaled for a curve once more, for he figured
that Fudge was in a condition to offer at anything that came. And Mason,
winding his fingers none too carefully about the ball, let drive with
it, and was properly surprised when Fudge made no offer!
Then Houghton woke up. The score was three balls and one strike. He
signaled for one over the plate, and it came. "Strike!" called Mr.
Cochran. On the bench Dick watched anxiously. If Fudge could get his
base, he reasoned, Harry Bryan would be up, and, in the present
disgruntled state of mind of the Point players, errors were likely to
result. On the mound Mason was shaking his head at Houghton's
instructions. He had no doubt that he could put the third strike over,
but he preferred to make the batter fan. Houghton signaled again, Mason
wound up, and the ball traveled forward. It had a jump on it, if ever a
ball did, and that jump was Mason's undoing. Fudge never moved as the
ball passed him, only turned inquiringly toward the umpire. The latter
nodded. "Take your base," he said.
Billy Houghton ejaculated an amazed "_What?_" and Mason disgustedly
kicked up the dust, but Fudge, grinning toward the bench as he passed,
trotted to first. Rutter's Point suddenly awakened to the fact that
perhaps the trouble was not yet over, after all!
Nor was it. Harry Bryan found something to his liking, and banged it
head-high across the diamond toward Billings. Caspar knocked it down,
fumbled it, and then threw too late to Townsend. Harry was safe on first
and Fudge on second. Clearfield yelled like wild Indians, and the crowd
swayed and threatened to push on to the field. Then began a panicky five
minutes.
Fudge danced around at second and Bryan at first. The coachers shouted
and leaped, and the crowd kept up an incessant thumping of feet and a
steady roar of voices. Up in the main stand, Mr. Jonathan Brent was
hugging his cane and leaning forward from the very edge of his seat.
Louise had her purple pennant twisted into a hard knot, and Morris was
talking hoarsely to himself or whoever might be listening. "Take a good
lead, Shaw!" he directed. "Look out, Bryan! He almost got you! Here we
go, fellows! Here we go!" Of course, neither Fudge nor Harry heard him,
but Morris never thought about that. Morris was running that game for
himself just then.
Dick whispered a few words to Jack Tappen, and Jack sped to first and
whispered a few words to Gordon. And Gordon turned his head inquiringly
toward the bench, caught Dick's emphatic nod, and renewed his shouting.
"What did you tell him, Dick?" asked Harold, in a low voice.
Dick smiled. "You wait and see, Harold," he said.
Will Scott was up now, with one ball to his credit. Mason had made three
attempts to catch Bryan napping at first, and now he directed his
attention to the batsman again. A waister went for a strike, a wide one
followed and scored the second ball, and then Mason wound up once more
and shot his arm out. And as he did so Fudge leaped away toward third,
Bryan sped for second, and a cry of "There he goes!" went up from the
visitors' bench. Will Scott glued his eye to that ball, swung and missed
it. Houghton made a desperate attempt to cut off the runner at third,
but failed, and bedlam broke loose. Mr. Potter knocked the silver trophy
off its base in his excitement, and only caught it at the edge of the
"press-stand" table. Harold kicked his legs in air and tossed his
score-book up. Mr. Anthony Brent nearly broke his walking-stick. Morris
challenged everyone within hearing to deny that that was the prettiest
double steal that had ever been pulled off. Louise clapped her hands
until her palms ached and her white gloves threatened to rip. And some
six hundred other folks did whatever it occurred to them to do, and did
it just as noisily as they knew how!
Dick Lovering, Manager of the Clearfield Baseball Club, only smiled
quietly and made little marks in his score-book.
A minute later Scott was perched on first base, Mason having been
totally unable to locate the plate, and Gordon faced the pitcher. Bases
full, two out, and the captain at bat! Well, it was a fine situation, no
matter what might come of it. The Point infield crept toward the plate.
Everyone talked loudly to the pitcher, as much, perhaps, to tranquilize
his own nerves as to encourage Mason. Mason, it seemed, needed
encouragement. He was palpably unstrung, and the first ball he pitched
proved it, for it was as wild as a shooting-star, and if Billy Houghton
had not leaped sidewise and sprawled on his elbow it would have been by
him and let in a run. But Billy stopped it, and Fudge scuttled back to
safety at third.
Mason worked a slow ball over for a strike on the next attempt, and that
seemed to settle him somewhat. Gordon let one go by and found he had
judged it correctly. Then a foul back of first base made the standing
two and two. The noise had diminished, and now an almost breathless
silence enveloped the field. Only the voices of the coachers were to be
heard.
"Oh, come on, Fudge! Take a lead! That's better! Hold it! On your toes,
everyone! Look out for a passed ball now! Here's where we score a few!"
"Pick out a good one, Cap! Make him pitch to you! Here it is! Here it
is!"
But Gordon refused to offer at it, and, "Ball!" announced the umpire.
"It's got to be good, now, Gordie!" yelled Jack. "Lean on it! Lean on
it! Make it a homer, Cap!"
Mason wound, unwound, sped the ball toward the plate, bat and ball met
and a sudden swelling pæan of joy went up as the spectators leaped to
their feet and craned their necks. But Gordon, speeding down the
first-base line, and the other runners, spurning the dust between bags,
slowed up and turned disappointedly back. The hit had gone foul by
several yards. A brand-new ball was thrown to the pitcher, and Gordon
picked up his bat again, waited until the runners had regained their
bases, and then once more faced Mason.
That new white ball looked good to him! What he feared most now was that
Mason would pitch a bad one and that he would have to take his base on
balls. To be sure, that would force in another run, but Gordon wanted
more than that. Something told him that if Mason put one over he could
hit it! Perhaps it would have been well if Mason had sacrificed a run
and passed the Clearfield captain, but Mason couldn't be expected to
know what was to happen. He wanted to strike the batsman out and end a
deplorable inning, and Billy Houghton wanted the same thing. And so
Billy spread his hands wide and Mason was just a bit more careful than
usual and the ball sped forward fast and straight. And Gordon felt his
heart jump as he saw what was coming. Every muscle tightened, his bat
swung sharply, there was a _crack_ that was easily heard outside the
field where an eager army of small boys had their eyes glued to all
available cracks and knot-holes, and Gordon was racing for first!
Over Leary's upstretched glove traveled the ball into the outfield. Jim
House made a desperate effort to get it on the bound, missed it, whirled
and scuttled back toward the fence. It was Pink Northrop, right fielder,
who finally recovered it and threw it frantically in to second baseman.
But by that time three joyous youths had crossed the plate and Gordon
was sliding, in a cloud of dust, to third. And he might have kept his
feet, at that, for poor Caspar, seeing the game slipping away, muffed
the throw. Gordon had come through with a clean three-bagger! The score
stood five to one! The "lucky seventh" had proved itself!
[Illustration: "The Lucky Seventh had proved itself"]
The inning ended two minutes later when Way was
an easy out, shortstop to first, and Rutter's Point again took up the
bat. But four runs was a desperate handicap to overcome, and Tom Haley,
encouraged by success, pitched the best ball of his career. To be sure,
Rutter's Point did score once more, in the first of the ninth, Caspar
Billings slamming out a two-bagger much too hot for Pete Robey to handle
and sending Jensen across the plate. And after that Townsend got to
first on an error by Will Scott, and the Point, with Gil Chase at bat,
tried heroically to pull the game out of the fire by a ninth-inning
rally. But Tom was not to be trifled with, and Chase finally went out on
a long fly to center, which Fudge, making the most of his second chance
of the game, pulled down without a tremor!
And then the band crashed forth into a triumphant march, the stands
emptied, the field was flooded with laughing, satisfied spectators,
cheers were given and answered, and, surrounded by a dense throng of
enthusiastic admirers, Gordon and Dick and the others tried to hear Mr.
Potter's speech as he presented to them the silver cup and the silken
pennant. That speech appeared in full in Monday's _Reporter_, together
with three columns of descriptive matter and a detailed story of the
game; but no one heard it now.
Five minutes later, Dick, the trophy held on his knees, sat in the blue
runabout, and, with the triumphant Clearfield nine following behind, was
paraded thrice around the field, Morris acting as charioteer. And the
crowd, loitering behind to miss none of the fun, scuttled aside and
cheered and waved purple flags.
Last of all, with a score-book somewhat the worse for wear clutched
tightly under his arm, strode Harold, adding his shrill cheers to the
general tumult.