A WARM BEGINNING FOR CODDLING
A groan went up from full twenty throats, at this dismal announcement.
“What shall we do? We can’t just float down like this. It would look
as if we were whipped before we began to play!” sang out Jack Comfort,
almost in a whine.
“We’ve just got to swim for it, that’s all! Me for the cool drink!”
said Lanky, pretending to poise on the bow of the boat as if for a
plunge.
Frank looked serious indeed, but it was something more than the fact of
the breakdown that worried him. He had reason for suspecting that Abner
Gould must have done something to bring about this condition of affairs!
Still, he said nothing about it, not being sure. But he could not help
remembering that this man had a brother who was known as something of
a sport, and made himself conspicuous at many of the baseball games by
his disposition to bet upon the result, something that the faculty of
the several schools very much objected to, though unable to stop fully.
Dimly Frank could see how there might be some connection between this
circumstance and their sudden delay. If Watkins Gould had been wagering
heavily against the Columbia team winning, everything that helped
disconcert them, and make them unduly anxious, was to his credit. And
Abner did not have a face that Frank thought could be trusted.
“Don’t worry, boys,” he said, as the others crowded around, “there are
more ways than one for getting to Bellport. If necessary we could go
ashore and take the trolley.”
“You might if they let us climb on the roof, for every car is loaded
down with people,” observed Paul Bird, Frank’s chum and catcher.
“All right. Here comes Mr. Garabrant in his launch. Possibly he may be
glad to give us a tow.”
Frank, as he spoke, kept his eyes on the face of the man who had
charge of the motor. He felt positive he saw a sudden look of keen
disappointment come upon it, though Abner, upon noticing that he was
being observed, tried to look pleased.
“He did it, I’m dead certain!” was what Frank was saying to himself, as
a thrill of indignation passed over his frame.
He could stand honest defeat, but when trickery was brought into play
it made him angry. At the same time he did not dream for a moment that
any one on the opposing team could have had a hand in this mess.
Herman Hooker immediately got his megaphone into service.
“Ahoy there, Mr. Garrabrant! Will you kindly head this way?” he shouted.
The other launch immediately changed its course and approached. There
was quite a little company aboard, and evidently the party was headed
for the athletic field of Bellport, to witness the great game.
“What’s wrong here?” asked the gentlemanly owner, as he stood up, the
better to see.
“A breakdown, and we have really no time to monkey with repairs. Could
you give us a tow, sir?” asked Frank.
“Only too glad, boys. It’s very evident that unless I do there would be
small chance for a game to-day. Hand us a painter, and we’ll make fast
to a cleat at our stern,” replied the Columbia business man, readily.
This being quickly adjusted, progress was once more resumed. Perhaps
they did not move quite so fast as before, but that was a matter of
small moment. Once more the cheer captain led in vigorous shouts that
rang over the water, and brought answering cries from either shore.
“There’s Bellport!” said Frank, directing the attention of Ralph to
the numerous tall chimneys that marked the manufacturing town; but they
were belching out no smoke this afternoon, for the plants lay idle,
with the vast majority of the busy workers in holiday attire heading
toward the athletic field.
A landing was made, and jumping ashore, the boys gathered their
material of war, after which the march was taken up for the scene of
battle.
And when they turned a bend in the road, with the fine field spread
before them, every fellow was thrilled to note the tremendous throng
that had gathered to see the game, and shout for their respective team.
“Whew! where did they all come from?” gasped Lanky, as he gaped at the
host of waving handkerchiefs and hats that greeted their arrival.
“The whole country is baseball mad, that’s what,” remarked Paul, as he
strode along at the side of the pitcher.
“It’s a grand sight, and ought to spur every fellow to doing his level
best,” remarked the other, drawing in a big breath, for he had never
before known such a gathering to greet the Columbia High team, at home
or abroad.
As usual, some of the boys began to pass balls as they moved across the
diamond. This was done to wear away any nervousness that the sight of
the immense crowd might have aroused.
The Bellport team had been practicing for some time now, and were
ready to give up the diamond to the visitors. As the time for the
commencement of the game was not far away, Captain Seymour sent his men
out, and started Frank to warming up.
The grandstand fairly swarmed with people, and the bleachers were
packed. Indeed, ropes had to be used to keep the crowd off the diamond,
and hundreds sat beyond the right field, where there happened to be
some shade.
It sounded like Bedlam broke loose, what with the various school yells,
the cat-calls and shouts, and now and then a song breaking above the
clamor. Herman Hooker had hurried over to where his shouting clan
awaited him. They had kept a seat for him in the front row, where he
could jump up at the proper time, and lead the cheering with that
astounding foghorn voice of his.
Frank noticed as he passed the ball in to Paul that Watkins Gould was
present, and apparently boldly seeking bets on the game. The bleachers
were occupied for the most part with the factory workers, a rough
crowd, and many of them ready to take a chance on their favorite team.
When finally the Columbia boys came in after a strenuous practice
covering about a quarter of an hour, the many-colored flags fluttered
from the hands of those in the grandstand until the structure looked
like a great bunch of flowers; while from hundreds of lusty throats
rose the various class and school cries, blending in a surge of sound.
Then Bellport took the field, their going out being the signal for a
tremendous ovation, for they had the full support of their town.
Roderic Seymour had changed the batting list somewhat since the last
game played with Clifford. To Ralph was given the honor of leading off,
since he was playing in place of Ben Allison. The order ran in this
fashion:
Ralph West--Left field.
“Bones” Shaddock--Third base.
Jack Comfort--Center field.
Lanky Wallace--First base.
Buster Billings--Right field.
Tom Budd--Shortstop.
Roderic Seymour--Second base.
Paul Bird--Catcher.
Frank Allen--Pitcher.
Ralph was a fair batter, but a better waiter. For this latter reason he
had been given orders to take his time, and as he faced the opposing
pitcher, Coddling, who was said to be the best twirler Bellport had
ever turned out, he assumed a position of eagerness and expectancy, as
though burning with anxiety to strike.
Coddling had never played against any of these fellows before. He was
therefore forced to depend entirely on what his catcher signaled. And
Clay, while on the team the preceding year, knew nothing about the
weaknesses of this new batter.
Consequently Ralph got his base, after two strikes had been called on
him, one of which was really a miss at an outcurve.
Of course the excitement began at once. A hum went around the field,
and Columbia stock arose, with mocking cries hurled at the local
adherents.
Shaddock was a good hitter as rule. He had made something of a record
on the team the preceding year. The best he could do now, after
knocking three fouls, was to send one into the hands of the shortstop,
who failed, however, to double Ralph at second on account of a fumble.
Intense interest was taken in the coming to bat of Jack Comfort.
“Lace one out, old boy!” howled the Columbia bunch in the center of the
bleachers, where they had gathered to fairly split the atmosphere with
their shouts.
“You can do it if you try! Over Lacy’s head, Jack!”
Jack thereupon did try. Three times he swung on the ball, and as often
it came with a dull, sickening thud in the catcher’s big mitt, while
the grin on the face of Smith, Sr., the tall first baseman, was most
exasperating.
A roar went up as Jack walked back to the bench shaking his head.
Those elusive “spit” balls of Coddling had him guessing, and silently
he stared at the slim pitcher who had proved his right to the name of
wizard, as if trying to fathom where his own efforts fell short.
Now came Lanky Wallace. He was warmly greeted by friend and foe alike,
for somehow everybody knew the elongated Columbia first baseman always
did his level best, and played a clean, square game.
Lanky was more fortunate than Jack, for he hit the second ball Coddling
floated up, hit it with a vim that sent the sphere whistling out toward
left, much to the surprise of the pitcher, and the delight of the crowd.
As a man the entire mass swung to their feet to follow the course of
the ball. Smith, Jr., so called to distinguish him from his brother,
was covering ground at a great rate, in the hope of getting his hands
upon the flying horsehide ere it went past.
“He’s got it!” whooped the Bellport enthusiasts, as the left fielder
made a fine leap in the air, and apparently snatched the ball down.
“Not much he has! Go it, both of you! He knocked the ball down, but
never held it! Run, you lazybones. Make a homer of it, Lanky!”
It seemed as though two thousand people were madly shrieking as the
runners sped around the bases. Smith, Jr., had recovered the ball, and
was relaying it home in the effort to catch Ralph at the plate. A great
slide, however, allowed the Columbia man to get his run. Meanwhile,
Lanky had reached third, and was held on that bag by the coach.
With two out and a man on third Buster Billings swung his bat as if
ready to put the ball over the head of Snodgrass in right field.
“Give me an easy one, Mr. Pitcher. I’m only learning how to swing on
’em. Coach Willoughby says----” and then Buster hit it!
The ball took an awkward turn, so that although both the pitcher and
second baseman made a dive at it neither was fortunate enough to fork
the elusive sphere. Amid a frightful clamor the fat Columbia student
managed to get to first, where he presently stood, wiping his red face
with a bandana.
Of course Lanky easily came in, and the score had been raised to two,
which was an encouraging start for the visitors, considering who was
doing the pitching.
Tom Budd proved an easy victim, however. Coddling took a brace, and
although the Columbia shortstop certainly tried his best to connect
with one of the bewildering drops which were handed up to him, he
never touched the ball.
So the inning ended for Columbia, and they took the field. Confidence
had, however, been installed in their hearts, for it seemed as if the
terrible Coddling might after all not be so very hard to get at.
Frank had been up against most of these fellows before. He knew that
they had a reputation as heavy hitters, and once started were hard to
stop.
Snodgrass, the first man up, usually managed to draw his base. His very
attitude at the plate bothered a pitcher, which was just what he meant
it to do.
But Frank was determined that he should strike, and sent swift balls
directly over until he had managed to get the other just where he
wanted him. Then a well directed outcurve deceived Snodgrass. He went
back to the bench amid the groans of the crowd.
Then up rose Hough, the doughty second baseman, who was playing in
place of Captain Cuthbert Lee, on the sick list, with his trusty bat.
He knocked imaginary dirt from the soles of his shoes and took his
place. Hough had a good batting eye, and could pick one out all right.
Two balls and one strike had been called when he swung viciously. The
sound of the connection was like a rifle report, and instantaneously
the immense crowd gave a howl of delight.
Again was there an upheaval, as every eye tried to follow the flight of
the rapidly shooting ball.
It was headed for the territory of Buster, and the fat fielder was
straining every nerve to get within reaching distance of the flying
sphere!