THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
[Illustration: FRANK GAVE NO SIGN OF THE EXCITEMENT THAT THRILLED HIS
EVERY NERVE.--_Frontispiece._
_Columbia High on the Diamond_ _Page 32._]
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA
HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
OR
Winning Out by Pluck
BY
GRAHAM B. FORBES
AUTHOR OF “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH,” “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
ON THE DIAMOND,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
The Boys of Columbia High Series
BY GRAHAM B. FORBES
_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 50 cents, postpaid._
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
Or The All Around Rivals of the School
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
Or Winning Out by Pluck
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
Or The Boat Race Plot That Failed
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE
Or Out for the Hockey Championship
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
_The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I ON THE WAY TO THE GAME 1
II A WARM BEGINNING FOR CODDLING 11
III A GAME WORTH SEEING 22
IV THE RALLY THAT CAME TOO LATE 32
V A THUNDERBOLT IN THE SCHOOL 43
VI THE VINDICATION 54
VII THE IMPRINT IN THE CLAY 65
VIII TOEING THE MARK 74
IX A STUNNING SURPRISE 85
X ON THE RIVER ROAD 94
XI A TIME FOR QUICK THINKING 106
XII THE OLD PRINCETONIAN’S ADVICE 115
XIII LED BY A KINDLY FATE 124
XIV SAM SMALLING MAKES A PROMISE 133
XV “PLAY BALL!” 142
XVI MAKING A GOOD START 150
XVII NEARING THE END 159
XVIII AN UNFORTUNATE HIT 167
XIX WHAT UNCLE JIM KNEW 176
XX TWICE A PRISONER 185
XXI RALPH HEARS SOMETHING 194
XXII A PLAIN TALK WITH BILL KLEMM 203
XXIII WHEN CODDLING WEAKENED 211
XXIV WINNING AN UP-HILL GAME 220
XXV CONCLUSION 224
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
CHAPTER I
ON THE WAY TO THE GAME
“Give it again, fellows! For the honor of old Columbia--now, once more,
with a will!” shouted the cheer captain, Herman Hooker.
“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! _veni, vidi, vici!_ Columbia!”
“Cast off there, somebody.”
“Start your engine, Frank, old boy!”
“Hurrah! we’re afloat on the raging Harrapin at last!”
“Got any life preservers aboard, fellows?”
Amid all this uproar and confusion Frank Allen, cool and collected,
gave a whirl to the crank to turn his engine over; and immediately a
succession of rattling reports testified to the fact that as master of
ceremonies he had given the expedition a good send-off.
Then he handed over the engine to the charge of Abner Gould, the man
employed regularly by Commodore Adams, to whom the launch belonged.
The _Geraldine_ had been loaned to the members of the Columbia High
School baseball team for this special occasion, by the owner, just then
away on business.
Accompanied by several members of the Columbia band, they were now
on their way down the Harrapin river, to play their first game with
the Bellport High School nine, and enthusiasm waxed furious over the
prospect ahead.
A peculiar condition of the weather had sadly disarranged the schedule
of the Harrapin River League. Three clubs composed the organization,
representing Bellport, Clifford and Columbia; and it had been agreed
that each was to play a trio of games with both opposing teams. The one
who came out ahead would, of course, be given the pennant, and hailed
as the champion for the year, an honor greatly coveted, since the three
towns were keen rivals in all athletic matters.
While Columbia and Bellport had each played three games thus far, they
had all been with the third member of the league, Clifford.
What seemed still more singular was the fact that in each of these
series Clifford had won one game and lost two. Consequently, Columbia
and Bellport were now _tied for first place_, with three games to be
played, while Clifford was out of the race completely.
To-day was to see the first game between these two giants. And the
choice of ground had fallen upon Bellport.
As this enterprising town lay quite a number of miles down the river,
it had been suggested that the Columbia nine journey that way by means
of Commodore Adams’ launch, which, with the services of his man, had
been gladly offered for the day.
Of course the two towns were connected by a trolley, owned principally
by the father of Lef Seller, a junior in the school, and just now in
bad odor on account of some pranks he had played a short time before.
Special cars had been brought into use on this gala day to accommodate
the crowds desiring to witness the struggle that must accompany the
first meeting of the rival nines.
With the flags of the Harrapin River Boat Club floating from stem and
stern, and the band tooting away gaily, the little launch left the
float, and started merrily down-stream.
A roar from the crowd on the bank testified to the fact that, while all
Columbia could not journey over to Bellport to witness this impending
game, the sympathies of those compelled to remain at home were with
the boys who represented the honor of the High School on this occasion.
“Say, this is what I call going to battle in style,” said Lanky
Wallace, the tall first baseman, as he shoved alongside Frank on the
crowded seat, and threw an arm around the other with the air of a chum.
“I was just speculating on how we will return--with shouts and cheers,
or dolefully telling each other just how it happened,” remarked Frank;
but his smiling face was evidence of the fact that he had little fears
on that score as he looked around at the enthusiastic countenances of
his comrades.
“If your arm’s in prime condition, as you say, I’m not worrying any on
that score, Frank. Coddling may be a wonder, just as they claim, but
once we get on to his curves there’s going to be some smashing work
done. I feel that I’m in for business at the old stand myself, to-day,”
returned Lanky, with a positive shake of his head.
“Glad to hear you say it. A pitcher needs confidence in the ability of
his men to get runs, as well as field like a machine. We’ve just _got_
to do that crowd up to-day, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And we will, never fear, Frank,” observed Roderic Seymour, who,
leading senior though he was, considered it an honor to serve as
captain, and play second with the snappy nine Columbia had put into
the field this year.
“Are we on time?” demanded Buster Billings, always afraid of getting
left, although worrying did not seem to reduce his abundant flesh so
that it could be noticed.
“Yes, with a margin to spare, if the boat shoves along as she is doing
right now,” replied Lanky Wallace.
Lanky, of course, covered first, and few balls ever passed through his
territory when he was feeling fit.
Lef Seller was aboard the boat, since he was a member of the team,
though under a cloud temporarily, and forbidden by the faculty from
taking part in any baseball game during the season. This severe
punishment sprung from his action in playing an unusually mean prank
upon Frank, whom he chose to regard as his mortal enemy; and which
circumstance, together with many other interesting events, has been set
forth in full in the preceding volume of this series, called: “The Boys
of Columbia High; or, The All Around Rivals of the School.”
Lef tried to join with his mates and appear jolly, but it was a great
effort, when his heart was sore on account of being listed as the black
sheep of the flock, to be shunned by self-respecting fellows.
He had his own followers, who toadied to him on account of the money he
spent so freely; but none of them happened to be aboard the boat, so
Lef felt that he was in one sense out of his element.
The beautiful home town faded out of sight up the river, and all eyes
began to be turned toward the bow, as they anticipated catching a
distant glimpse of Bellport at any moment.
“Better save your wind until later, Herman!” called out Tom Budd, the
lithe shortstop, and a fellow who was a natural acrobat, doing stunts
in and out of season; so that no one was ever surprised to see him
spring into the air, catch a liner, turn completely over, and come up
smiling, with the ball held up for the umpire to take notice.
“Plenty more left,” laughed the “best yeller Columbia ever had,” as he
waved his megaphone in the air, and led the boys in another song.
It was a glorious day in June, and not one aboard that boat but felt
the inspiration of the magical sunshine and soft air.
Half of the distance separating the rival towns had been covered by
this time, and the gallant little launch was making fine speed down the
current.
“Looks like Clifford meant to be represented at the game, too,”
remarked one of the boys, pointing to the shore.
Clifford was above Columbia, and on the other bank of the river. A
road led down to the vicinity of Bellport, where a ferry took farm
wagons across. And on this road a cloud of dust told that all sorts
of vehicles had been impressed into service to carry the baseball-mad
people to the scene.
Fine cars shot along, blowing their horns, and steady-going farm
horses trotted evenly by the side of the road, all heading in the one
direction. It was enough to thrill the boys belonging to the team to
realize that all this excitement in the county was caused by their
crossing bats with the Bellport High nine.
“Poor old Clifford never got a peep in this year,” mocked Jack Comfort,
said to be the best chaser after flies the school had ever known, and
who guarded center field.
“Well, they had hard luck. The game they won from us showed that there
was cracking good stuff on the team. I never saw a better game in my
life, with the score tied in the ninth. Wow! that was some exciting!”
exclaimed Lanky, his eyes sparkling at the recollection.
“It would have been our game if Ben Allison could have held that fly
out in left. He made a big effort, but dropped the ball,” remarked
Captain Seymour, sadly.
“Well, I reckon that failure just knocked poor Ben out. He’s been no
good to the team ever since, and here we have to put our extra pitcher
in right garden just to fill in, because he’s a crackerjack pinch
hitter!” grumbled Buster.
“That’s all right, boys, and I’m only too glad of the chance to play at
all. A freshman doesn’t often get on the team, and it’s mighty fine for
you to boost me up this way,” Ralph West hastened to remark.
Ralph did not live in Columbia, being one of the pay students. He was
anxious for an education, and a fortunate chance had allowed him to
come to the thriving river town at the beginning of the school year. He
and Frank had become good friends, and the latter was deeply interested
in certain strange features connected with Ralph’s fortunes.
“I think it’s a poor rule that keeps freshmen off the team so much.
They are better fitted to take part in sports then than later on, when
filled with ambition to excel in their studies,” said Jack Eastwick,
one of the juniors, and a substitute on the team.
At this there was a universal howl, for Jack was notoriously averse to
studying under any and all circumstances, and depended upon a system of
“cramming” just before examinations to carry him through.
“Now, there’s a wide difference of opinion on that question. For my
part, I fully agree with Coach Willoughby, who says----” but Buster
was seldom allowed to tell what this wonderful instructor, whom the
boys really believed existed only in the imagination of the fat right
fielder, had to say.
As usual, a shout cut him short, and with an injured stare at the
laughing group, he relapsed into disdainful silence.
“Where are their grounds located?” asked Ralph, who had never as yet
had an opportunity for visiting the Bellport field.
“Half a mile below the town. Bellport is something of a manufacturing
place, and there’s going to be more or less of a rough element at the
game, for the factories have shut down for a half holiday, beginning
this Saturday, and the hands are sure to be out in force.”
Frank looked a trifle anxious as he spoke, for truth to tell he had
more than once wondered whether a sense of fairness would animate that
rough element, or the desire to see Bellport win at any cost.
“Listen! I thought I heard a roar just then. The wind is coming up the
river, and it must have been shouts from the ball field,” and Seymour
held up his hand to ask for silence.
It was while they were thus straining their ears to catch the sounds
from below that all at once the familiar “pop-pop” of the exhaust
connected with the motor boat ceased, and soon their rapid progress
fell off.
Immediately everybody started to shout at once, wanting to know what
had gone wrong. Frank sprang over to where Abner Gould bent over the
little motor. The man lifted a troubled face toward him.
Every eye was glued on Frank as he started to examine the engine, for
they knew he had more of a practical knowledge of such things than any
one aboard, unless it might be the man hired by Commodore Adams to run
his launch.
“What ails the thing, Frank?” demanded Buster, as the other raised up.
“Yes, this isn’t the time for playing pranks. We’re nearly due now on
the field, and don’t want to be called shirks!” exclaimed Lanky, warmly.
“Boys, I’ve got some bad news for you,” announced Frank.
“What is it? Don’t keep us in suspense, old warhorse!” cried “Bones”
Shadduck, who played third on the team.
“The motor has broken down, and we’re in a bad box!” declared Frank,
seriously.