THE FIRST SCORE.
Princeton was out to win the last game of the series with Yale. The
two clubs had met on neutral ground, and, remembering their slump
in football, the Tigers meant to down Yale in order to reestablish
Princeton’s standing in athletic sports as one of the “Big Three.”
Of late Columbia had loomed ominously on the horizon, and there
were those who prophesied that she would succeed in pushing
Princeton out and getting herself accepted as one of the three
first colleges in manly sports.
Starbright had asked to go into the box against Princeton again.
Hard work and considerable worry was telling on Merriwell, so that
he was not in his best form, while the big freshman felt fit to
pitch against National League champions.
Morgan longed, also, to try his hand against the Princeton nine,
but Merry could not spare Dade from the position he was filling in
such splendid style. For Morgan had turned out to be one of the
cleverest short-stops seen at Yale for several years. He could
cover a vast amount of ground, could pick up grounders cleanly,
could gather in liners and flies, and his throwing across to first
delighted the spectators.
To tell the truth, Dade’s pitching aspirations had never seemed to
please the fans at Yale, but he soon won a way into their hearts
after Merriwell placed him at short. This placing came about by
accident. One night during practise Morgan got out at short, the
regular man being gone, and the way he got around amazed everybody.
Frank tried him there in the very next game, and Dade remained
there after that.
This cut the regular pitching-stock down a head. Of course, Dade
could be used in the box if necessary, but Merriwell believed in
keeping the team unchanged and in position just as far as possible,
it having been his experience that shifting men about was extremely
bad policy.
As this was the deciding game between the colleges, Princeton
turned out as large a crowd of rooters as did Yale. The bleachers
on one side of the field were packed with the admirers of the
orange and black, while the other side fluttered blue with Yale
flags.
It was two-thirty when the Princeton players trotted onto the
field, being given a royal greeting by their admirers.
At once the men prepared for practise.
The Tigers began to sing a stirring battle song, and the men to
work on the field with snap and earnestness.
This practise work was watched closely by both sides. It was plain
that Princeton was in her very best form, and her players had come
out to win.
Confidence is of great importance in a game of ball, but
overconfidence is dangerous. Princeton had confidence, but
knowing from past experience what she was up against, she was not
overconfident.
The infield worked fast and sure, picking up everything clean,
making handsome throws, and never hesitating, nor fumbling.
Lib Benson’s friends were together in a group.
“This is going to be a tight old game,” said Irving Nash anxiously.
“There is no doubt about it.”
“Sure thing,” nodded Mat Mullen. “But Old Eli must win. It would be
something awful to lose the series to Princeton!”
“Wouldn’t it!” gasped Chan Webb. “But there are some fellows who
still claim that we’ll lose if the game depends on Mason in a tight
place.”
“I think so myself,” asserted Gil Cowles. “Merriwell dropped
Castlemon for work not so poor as that of Mason in the last
Princeton game; but Castlemon was not one of his particular
friends.”
“Oh, we all know Merriwell will not do any man an intentional
wrong,” said Nash; “but it does seem he has been influenced for
Mason by a strange liking.”
“Look at those chaps practise!” said Mullen. “I don’t think I’ve
seen such clever work this season.”
“But you know that it often happens that a team shows up well in
practise and plays a poor game,” said Webb.
“Something tells me it isn’t going to happen that way to-day.”
“Look--look at Jerome pull down that fly out in center field!”
urged Cowles. “Now, there is a fielder. If we had him in Mason’s
place!”
“Mason may be all right to-day,” said Nash. “Let’s hope he will
be. But this is a critical game, and he seems to lack something in
critical times.”
“He didn’t seem to lack anything when he grabbed that snake and
held the thing for Merriwell to shoot its head off,” said Webb.
“That was a piece of nerve,” nodded Nash. “Even Hodge is not now
making claims that Mason lacks nerve.”
“I’d give ten dollars,” asserted Mullen, “to know which of those
fellows got the best of that fight.”
“I don’t believe it was Hodge,” said Webb.
“I’ll bet my life it wasn’t Mason!” exclaimed Cowles.
“Then it must have been a draw,” grinned Mullen.
There was a stir, and then the men down in front gave a signal with
waving arms. Onto the field trotted the Yale team, and the Yale
bleachers rose and greeted the heroes with a great roar of welcome.
“There’s Benson!” cried Nash. “Who’d thought at one time that he’d
ever be playing ball under Merriwell? Why, he was a leader in
everything against Merriwell.”
Merry spoke to the Princeton captain, and then the Tigers were
called in from the field, Yale trotting out to get some practise.
“Of course, Merriwell will pitch this game straight through,” said
Mullen.
“If he doesn’t he’ll display poor judgment,” asserted Cowles. “He
can’t afford to fool round.”
But Frank Merriwell was not feeling like pitching. In the pocket of
his coat which he had left in the dressing-room was a letter from
Inza Burrage, and that letter contained the information that Inza’s
father was dead.
Inza was now quite alone in the world.
Merry’s heart was torn with sympathy for the beautiful girl whom he
knew was almost heart-broken with grief, and he longed to turn from
the baseball-field and seek some place where no one might disturb
him.
So Starbright was to have an opportunity to gratify his ambition to
again pitch against Princeton.
The practise of the Yale team was not nearly as snappy as that of
the nine from New Jersey. Somehow the gloom that had fallen on
Merriwell seemed to communicate itself to the whole team.
The spectators felt it. The Yale crowd started to singing to rouse
up some spirit and vim, but there was a mournful note about it that
added to the gloom.
The umpire came onto the field. Princeton went first to bat, and
Dick Starbright entered the pitcher’s box, while Merry sat on the
bench.
Following was the batting-order of the two teams as given to the
scorers:
YALE. PRINCETON.
Ready, 2d b. Clackson, ss.
Carson, 3d b. Leverage, lf.
Browning, 1st b. Walpole, 1st b.
Starbright, p. Merritt, rf.
Morgan, ss. Grady, 3d b.
Gamp, lf. Lewsell, c.
Mason, cf. Jerome, cf.
Hodge, c. Willis, 2d b.
Benson, rf. Vinton, p.
Only one change had been made on the Princeton team since the last
game with them. Willis was a new man on second base. Harding, the
former player in that position, having sprained his ankle. But it
was said that Willis was regarded as a better man than Harding, who
had retained his position through virtue of having played it the
previous season.
Vinton was Princeton’s cleverest pitcher. Before him had fallen
all of the minor teams he had pitched against. He had a wild and
bewildering delivery, and he varied it in a most remarkable manner,
so that it was impossible to tell just what all his contortions
meant.
“Play ball!” rang out the voice of the umpire.
Clackson picked out a bat and stepped up to the plate. Starbright
prepared to deliver the ball.
Clackson was regarded as Princeton’s safest single hitter. He could
not drive out a long hit, but he could place his hits beautifully,
having a way of driving the ball through any opening left in the
infield.
Starbright had tried Clackson on all sorts of twists and benders,
and he had found the fellow able to hit almost anything. It was a
mystery to know just what sort of a ball to give the fellow.
Starbright tried him with an out curve, but Clackson calmly let it
pass.
“One ball,” was the decision.
Then Dick put one close to the fellow’s body, but the latter simply
stepped back and let that pass.
“Two balls!”
The big Yale freshman followed with a sharp drop.
Clackson swung at it and missed.
“One strike.”
“Fooled him that time,” thought Dick exultantly.
Then he used a rise, but it was above the latter’s shoulders, and
Clackson did not offer.
“Three balls.”
“Bad hole!” thought Starbright. “But I can put ’em over if I want
to.”
He felt that his control was good, and so he followed with another
drop.
Whiz--went the bat, but the ball was not touched.
“Two strikes.”
“That’s better!” thought Dick, with relief. “He doesn’t seem able
to connect with a drop to-day.”
Fancying Clackson would not be looking for another drop, Dick
ventured to give it to him.
The Princeton man had his teeth shut, and he hit the ball a nice
easy little tap that dropped it just over the second-baseman’s
head, but far enough back so Ready could not get it.
The Princeton crowd cheered. The first man up had obtained a hit,
which was starting the game right.
Leverage followed Clackson. He grinned at Starbright in a most
derisive manner as, with a flirt of his head, he tossed a waving
mane of yellow hair out of his eyes.
Dick smiled back, but he remembered that Leverage was a “bad un,”
for he had given Dick trouble in the last game, besides lifting the
long fly out to Mason while Merriwell was pitching.
But Starbright fancied the batter would wait to give Clackson an
opportunity to try to steal, and so, after letting the runner get
a little start the big freshman whistled a ball straight over.
Starbright did this because he had absolute confidence in Hodge,
knowing Bart could put a ball down to second like a bullet from a
rifle.
But it did seem that Starbright had delayed too long, for Clackson
was away toward second and running like a deer.
It scarcely appeared that the ball rested fairly in Bart’s big
mitt before his right hand went back and shot it toward second.
Starbright seemed forced to crouch a little to let that beautiful
liner go over.
“Slide!” roared the coachers.
The runner flung himself forward and slid along the ground toward
the bag.
With a languid motion, Ready took the handsome throw and put the
ball onto the sliding man just a moment before Clackson’s hand
reached the bag.
“Out!” declared the umpire, as Ready coolly tossed the ball to
Starbright.
Then a wild roar went up from the Yale side. The crowd appreciated
this kind of work, and a great cheer rose to the sky.
When the cheer subsided, some twenty or more fellows rose in a body
and loudly chanted in chorus:
“That’s Hodge--he’s a dandy!
That’s Hodge--he’s a beaut!
He’s swift; he is handy;
He can shoot the double-shoot.
Look out! he’s a ripper;
Run fast or you’re done!
Ha! ha! See him zip her!
Well, say--that’s Hodge! This is fun!”
The Yale crowd greeted this with further cheering and laughter, and
the young men sat down feeling very well satisfied.
“It’s all right,” declared Walpole, the captain of the Princeton
team. “He can’t do it every time.”
“Just keep your men going down to second and see,” smiled Merry.
A strike had been called on Leverage. Starbright was cool and
cautious, and he tried to coax the fellow into swinging at some
wide ones, but the batter could not be coaxed thus easily. Two
balls were called, and then Dick ventured to give Leverage a high
one.
The batter hit it, sent it up into the air, and, when it fell,
Browning had it back of the foul line.
“Man is out!” announced the umpire.
Another roar from the Yale crowd. Princeton was not so happy
now. The game that had started off so well was beginning to look
different.
Walpole himself came up to the plate. He cracked the very first one
Starbright delivered. It was a corker, too. The spectators rose up
and watched that ball sailing off toward center field.
Could the fielder get under it? At first it seemed there was no
show for Mason to do so, but he was running like the wind, covering
ground in a most surprising manner.
Walpole scudded down to first. Those watching Mason declared at
first that he could not touch the ball. Then they changed their
minds.
“He’ll reach it!” cried some of the Yale men.
“But he can’t handle it!” asserted others.
The suspense was great. At the last moment it seemed the ball would
go beyond Mason’s reach, but he made a great leap into the air for
it, and it stuck in his hands.
“He’s got it!”
“No--he’s lost it!”
The ball struck Hock’s hands, but did not strike them fairly, and
away it flew.
Down came Mason, but he made a dive in the direction the ball
had taken, while Walpole raced on to second base. The ball had
disappeared into a tiny hollow, and Hock could not see it at once.
He was almost blind from disappointment over his failure to catch
it, and that added to his trouble in seeing it.
Walpole raced to third.
“Home!” shrieked the coacher, making gestures for the runner to
keep right on.
Mason was straightening up with the ball in his hand.
Walpole kept straight on for home, and Mason threw to try to stop
him.
It was a very good throw, being sent in to bound once, but though
it came into Bart’s hands handsomely, the runner slid across the
base, and the first score had been made for Princeton.