MAKING A GOOD START
Through the grandstand and over the field a wave of enthusiasm went.
Ralph paid no attention to the various shouts that greeted his first
delivery. He tried to see how he could work his wonderful “spit” ball
next, and while Snodgrass struck he never came within inches of a hit.
Derisive cries began to be heard.
“Get Snodgrass his glasses!”
“Put him out to pasture; he’s outlived his usefulness!”
Trust the ingenuity of schoolboys to invent scores of cries calculated
to unnerve the batter. But Snodgrass only grinned and waited, crouching
there as though ready to annihilate the next ball that came along.
Ralph thought it policy to try a couple of outshoots, and as the batter
failed to strike they were called balls. It was time now to take his
measure again, and Snodgrass knew what was coming.
“Three strikes--batter is out!” followed a wicked sweep which the
Bellport right fielder made at the erratic “spit” ball that Ralph
handed up.
Lee stood there calmly awaiting his turn. There was something in his
attitude to tell Ralph he had more to fear from the captain of the
rival team than any other man on it.
Twice Lee struck at elusive balls. Then he managed to connect with one
and sent a screamer at “Bones” Shadduck on third, which that worthy
succeeded in knocking down, though recovering the ball just too late to
catch the swift runner.
“Now we’re off!” howled the coach, as he came running up to take his
place near the man on first.
Hardly had he spoken than the ball came plunk into the hands of Lanky,
who had been expecting such a thing. Lee had danced off, as was his
usual custom. He made a desperate plunge for the bag, but Lanky got him.
“You’re out!” shouted the umpire, waving his hand suggestively.
Such a whoop as went up! It seemed as though the crowd had gone wild.
Bellport supporters looked each other in the face.
“What’s this we’ve struck?” said one, blankly.
“He caught Cuthbert napping, sure! I never knew that to happen before!”
“He’s a wonder at throwing that ball to first. Guess we ain’t going to
steal many sacks on that kid to-day, you hear me?” exclaimed another.
“Oh! rats! you give me a pain! That was only an accident. He couldn’t
do it again in a year of Sundays!” ejaculated one of the Bellport
players who was lounging near the bleachers.
“Perhaps not,” laughed a Columbia graduate, “but all the same he’s got
you fellows guessing, and you’ll cut your leads short at bases while
he’s in the box.”
Banghardt, after knocking three fouls, also struck out. This record
against such known heavy hitters delighted the crowd. A rattling cheer
and much hand-clapping greeted the incoming of Ralph. Of course he had
to doff his cap, and smile; but at the same time he did not appear to
be excited.
The umpire was watching him curiously, for Ralph had interested the
veteran Princeton player very much.
“I think he’s going to do himself proud to-day. These fellows may win,
but not through that boy going up in the air. He knows how to master
himself,” was what he said to Frank Allen, as he took a drink from the
water bucket.
“I knew he had it in him; and I’m rather pleased that an accident kept
me out of the box to-day. It may be the making of Ralph,” replied the
other; and hearing such warm, generous words, the umpire nodded his
head in appreciation.
He had doubtless known so much shallow envy among ball players that
such an exhibition of pure devotion to the interests of the school
pleased him greatly.
The lineup of Columbia had been altered somewhat, on account of Ralph
taking the place of Frank as pitcher. This threw him last on the
batting order. Ben Allison, the regular right fielder, was fortunately
able to occupy that place, and consequently he faced Coddling first.
By the way Coddling threw a few to his first baseman it was evident
that he had felt the defeat of the previous Saturday keenly, and was
there with blood in his eye, determined to retrieve that disaster.
“Look at that, will you? Ain’t he got speed to burn to-day? I’m sorry
for Columbia, boys,” called a Bellport student, with the colors of his
school on his hat.
“Get out your wipers, boys. It’s sure going to be a funeral!” mocked a
boy who boasted of the famous orange and purple.
“Let up, you fellows. He’s going to pitch one now!” shouted a man near
by; and again the interest was centered upon the pitcher’s box.
Coddling wound up and shot one over. Allison promptly struck, but his
bat only whistled through the air, for the excellent reason that the
ball was not within six inches of where he supposed it to be.
“Say, Mister Coddling is some at that sort of thing, you see!” howled
a delighted Bellport supporter, jumping up and addressing the bleacher
crowd.
“Sit down!”
“Hire a hall and take a day off!”
“Watch him send another disappearing ball down the line, boys!”
Coddling did. He had Allison guessing right from the start. Perhaps
that was because the right fielder had not faced him as yet this
season, and his enforced layoff had rather weakened his batting eye,
for usually Ben was a reliable hitter.
When he struck for the third time, and the umpire waved him away,
Allison only grinned and trotted back to the bench, shaking his head
humorously.
“Bones” Shadduck took his place, and was immediately greeted with a
series of entreaties to accomplish something.
“Hit her out, even if you are caught!” his admirers yelled.
Shadduck made ready to do his best. One strike was called, and as yet
he apparently had not gauged the delivery of the wizard pitcher, who
faced him with that tantalizing smile on his face.
Then he bunted, and was off for first like a shot. Coddling made a wild
dash for the ball, which had started to roll along the line toward the
sack. It looked as though it would go foul, and perhaps that was what
kept the agile pitcher from trying to snatch it up. When he did, it was
too late, for Bones had galloped over first, and was safe.
Jack Comfort’s business was to sacrifice him down along the line. He,
too, bunted, and while easily out himself, Bones had seen his signal,
and got a lovely start, so that he found himself squatting on second.
“That’s the way to do it! Play the game! Now, Lanky, you’re IT!”
Lanky managed to knock a grounder that landed him on first, and
Shadduck on third.
“Coddling, take a brace and put ’em over!”
Then stepped up Buster Billings. His appearance always created a ripple
of amusement, on account of his ponderous calves. Buster only winked
knowingly at the yelling crowd and raised his bat, waving it to and
fro, cautiously.
“Why, the feller thinks he can bunt now. Say, don’t you know there’s
two out?”
“Let Buster alone. He knows his business, you’ll see? That’s only his
gentle way.”
“And he can bat some, fellers, believe me!”
Buster heard this last remark.
“Thank you awfully for that kindness!” he remarked.
“One strike!” said the umpire.
“Hey, was that a baseball or a cannon ball that whizzed past?” demanded
Buster, pretending to be greatly astonished when he heard the thud of
the horsehide sphere in Clay’s old mitt.
And then he smote the very next ball that came spinning along, smote it
with so much energy that it sailed away toward center field, with Tony
Banghardt running like a wild broncho in the endeavor to get under.
Of course Shadduck was away at once, since there were already two out.
Looking over his shoulder as he bolted like a frightened deer, he saw
Banghardt make a gallant effort to spear the descending ball with
extended hand; but he lacked a few inches of being in a position to
accomplish this.
Bones came home and the batter managed to land on second, whereas
another player might have reached third, while Lanky perched on third,
unable to get home. Still, the crowd forgave Buster for his slow
running and assured him he was all right.
It would have made no difference at any rate, for Tom Budd struck out,
after he had knocked up four fouls and quite tired Buster with false
starts.
One inning had been played. The score stood one to nothing, in favor of
Columbia.
“Good boy! Do it some more, West!”
Ralph went into the box for that second inning, resolved to continue
his cool methods, and not allow anything to rattle him.
His first man he managed to get with considerable effort. Smith, Jr.,
was possessed of a good batting eye, and could not be easily fooled
with fade-aways and such. Still, he fell before that wonderful spit
ball that had such an erratic course, and the umpire finally announced
that the sizzling straight one that burned over the plate was the
signal for him to go into retirement.
After that Smith, Sr., stood up to give an account of himself. He never
appeared without his usual grin, and even the taunts of the crowd did
not change his expression an iota.
“Smash!”
That was Smith, Sr.’s bat connecting with the ball.
“Run!” shrieked scores of voices, as the bleachers arose to a man to
see just where the ball had gone.
Allison was after it, and making rapid progress over the stubby grass
in left.
“He can get it--good old Ben is on the spot!” yelled one well wisher.
“Will he--maybe, maybe not!” sang out Jack Eastwick, mockingly.
Allison did his best to get there; but there was too much steam to that
hit, and it escaped him, while Smith cantered home amid a salvo of
frenzied shouts.