THE EGG AND THE FAN
The ball whizzed over the plate, cutting an outside corner for a strike.
The Rockledge rooters regarded this as a good omen and greeted it with
wild shouts. They all had a warm spot in their hearts for Bobby, and
they had been disgusted at the unsportsmanlike way in which Hicksley had
left the box.
The next ball was a high fast one, at which the batter refused to bite.
Bobby had seen out of the corner of his eye that the occupant of the
third bag was taking too big a lead. As the ball came back to him from
the catcher, he suddenly turned and shot it to third.
The runner tried frantically to get back, but Sparrow had the ball on
him like a flash.
"You're out!" shouted the umpire.
"Scubbity-_yow_!" yelled Fred. "That was nice work, Bobby."
This relieved the pressure somewhat, and the crowd breathed more freely.
But the danger was still threatening, and the batter was the captain of
the Somerset team and one of its best hitters. He fouled off the next
two. On his third attempt, he chopped a bounder to Mouser at second, who
made a clever stop and threw him out at first, while the runners each
advanced a base.
"Two down," cried Sparrow from third. "You're getting them, Bobby. Keep
it up."
Bobby now put on all steam. There was only one more inning after this
one, and he did not need to save his arm. He sent two outcurves in
succession. Each went for a strike. Then when the batter was set for
another of the same kind, Bobby outguessed him with a straight fast one,
and the ball plunked into the catcher's mitt for an out.
There was a chorus of cheers from the Rockledge rooters as Bobby drew
off his glove and came in to the bench.
"That's what you call getting out of a hole," cried one.
"The bases full and nobody out and yet they couldn't score," shouted
another.
"We'll give you a run this time, Bobby, and all you'll need to do then
will be to hold them down in the ninth," prophesied Frank, as he
selected his bat.
He started in to make his words good by cracking out a single on the
second ball pitched. A sacrifice bunt to the right of the pitcher's box
advanced him to second. The next batter went out on an infield fly that
held Frank anchored to the bag. Barry was given his base on balls. Then
Spentz walloped a corker to left, on which Frank scored and Barry
reached third. A moment later a quick throw caught him napping and the
side was out.
"We're in the lead now, Bobby," exulted Fred, as Rockledge took the
field. "Put the kibosh on them just once more and we're all right."
"Make this inning short and sweet, old scout!" sang out Mouser.
And short and sweet was what Bobby made it. He was on his mettle, and
put every bit of control he had upon the ball. Despite the frantic
efforts of the Somerset coachers to rattle him, he kept perfectly cool.
Victory was too close now for him to let it go.
The first batter up knocked a high foul to Sparrow, who held it tight.
The next sent a weak bounder to Frank, which he tossed to Bobby, who had
run over to cover the bag. Then Bobby shattered the last hope of
Somerset by striking out the last man on three pitched balls.
The Rockledge rooters, wild with delight, rushed down from the stands
and gathered about their favorites, who were grinning happily. They had
played a good game and deserved to win, but Bobby, because of his
gallant stand when the team had its back against the wall, came in
naturally for the lion's share of the applause.
"That was some sweet pitching all right."
"You had them standing on their heads."
"Your nerve was right with you."
"Wait till he tackles Belden. He'll show them a thing or two."
"I'm glad we pulled through all right," said Bobby modestly. "All the
boys put up a dandy game. And don't forget that Hicksley held them down
splendidly in the first part of the game."
"That's so," conceded Mouser. "But when it came to the pinch he
cracked."
"He couldn't stand the gaff," put in Sparrow.
"Any pitcher will get knocked out of the box sometimes," argued Bobby.
"Then, too, he had been pitching six hard innings and was tired. I was
fresh when I went in and only had two innings to pitch."
Hicksley had left the bench as soon as the last man was out. He could
not bear to wait to see the praise that he knew would be showered on his
rival. He had been joined by Jinks and Bronson, and the three were now
slouching grumpily toward the school buildings.
"Doesn't seem as if they were tickled to death because Rockledge won,"
commented Fred, as he looked at the group.
"Well, the rest of us are, anyway," cried Sparrow. "We've made a mighty
good start, taking the first game."
"I can see the pennant flying from that pole already," jubilated Skeets,
pointing to the flagstaff back of center field.
"You've got dandy eyesight, Skeets," laughed Bobby. "We've got a long
way to go yet."
"One swallow doesn't make a summer," cautioned Frank, who, while he was
as pleased as the rest, did not want his team to be too confident.
"And if the Ridgefield nine is as good as the Somersets, we'll have our
work cut out for us," remarked Mouser. "Those fellows gave us all we
wanted to do to win."
"They put up a bully fight," agreed Shiner.
Doctor Raymond came down among the boys to congratulate them on the
victory they had won for the school, and Mr. Carrier was even more
enthusiastic over the success of his charges.
"You've made a fine start, boys, and I'm proud of you," he told them.
"Now, don't let down a bit, but keep it right up to the finish of the
season."
"We will."
"Trust us."
"We've only begun to fight."
"That's the right spirit," said Mr. Carrier, smiling. "And now to make
you feel better, I'm going to tell you that I've just received a
telegram that Ridgefield whipped Belden this afternoon by seven to
three."
A tremendous shout arose at this. They had counted on Belden as the
rival from whom they had the most to fear, and they were immensely
pleased to learn that it had begun the season with a defeat.
It was a jubilant throng of boys that made their way toward the school
buildings that afternoon. They knew that a rocky road lay ahead of them,
but a good deal depended upon the start, and it was a great thing to
know that they had the lead on the other fellows.
"Hicksley acted like a game sport this afternoon when he threw the ball
down in the box instead of handing it to you," remarked Fred, with whom
the incident rankled.
"Oh, well," said Bobby, "you must make some allowance for him. It was
natural that he should feel sore."
"That isn't the point," persisted Fred. "A thoroughbred might have felt
sore, but he wouldn't have shown it. I tell you, Bobby, you want to look
out for that fellow. If you could have seen the way he looked at you
while you were pitching."
"Looks don't hurt," Bobby flung back carelessly.
But a few days later an incident occurred which showed that Hicksley was
willing to go much further than looks in his hatred of his rival.
It was one of those unseasonably warm days that sometimes come in the
spring. Recitations were being held in the classroom of Mr. Leith, the
head teacher, and in order to make the air cooler the electric fan had
been set going.
The seats of Hicksley, Bronson and Jinks were just behind those of Bobby
and Fred, and were in the rear of the room.
The lessons were proceeding as usual, when suddenly there was a crash,
and something wet and sticky and evil smelling was scattered over the
room. Almost all the boys got some of it, and a large yellow splash
showed against the immaculate white shirt of Mr. Leith himself.
Somebody had thrown an egg into the electric fan! And it was a very old
egg, as was proved by the vile odor which spread through the classroom.