AN UNFORTUNATE HIT
“Who’s up?” demanded Paul Bird, as he tossed his mask and chest
protector aside, wiped his steaming face, and picked up a bat.
“You are, and if ever you made a base hit get one in now!” said Captain
Seymour.
“Yes, everything depends on this inning. We can do it if we try,
fellows!” exclaimed Ben Allison, also selecting his favorite piece of
ash.
Once again the crowd settled down, though the anxiety felt was plainly
depicted on the faces all around.
The noise had broken out again worse than ever. Even the voice of the
brazen-throated Princeton man could not be heard, and he depended on
signals to announce whether it might be a ball or a strike. Not one of
those boys but whose nerves thrilled with the intense strain. And it
can easily be understood how Coddling must have suffered as he toed
the slab once more to try and mow the Columbia boys down, so as to
prevent a run.
“You know how to do it, Coddling. Give them some of your famous
teasers, and see ’em break their backs trying to connect!”
“Yes, Coddling, one, two, three for yours, now. And start right in with
this guy of a catcher!”
“What have you got on him, hey? Did he let a ball pass him like your
feller? He ain’t so hefty, but he’s the stuff they make champions out
of!” declared a Columbia backer, a brawny blacksmith, whose appearance
alone was enough to inspire respect, so that the Bellport man dared
make no answer.
Paul waited. He did not want to appear too anxious. He knew that the
man who was hurling that ball over was just as nervous as they make
them, and he hoped to profit by this. Still, he could not hold off when
he felt sure he saw a ball coming within his reach.
Too late after he struck he learned that it was one of Coddling’s
shrewd outshoots, and that it had jumped beyond his reach.
“Get a pole, sonny!” advised some one from the crowd.
“He felt for it that time; now he’s going to take some!” shouted
another.
“Strike two!” came the voice of the umpire, though Paul had not tried
to connect; and that was one of Coddling’s equally clever inshoots
which had seemed as if about to miss the plate by a foot, yet took a
sudden turn and shot in.
If one were only a mind reader, Paul thought, and could guess every
time what the pitcher intended to do, how easy it would all be.
Suddenly changing his hold upon his bat, Paul thrust it out with the
intention of bunting. He managed to connect, and was off like a flash,
though doubtful as to his chances for reaching first, for he felt that
he had not made as neat a drop of the ball as he had hoped.
Still, the ball player to be successful must try to the utmost, no
matter how discouraging the prospect, always hoping that some little
luck may turn things his way--a dropped or fumbled ball has given many
a base that was not earned.
“Run, Paul! Harder and you’ll get there!” shrieked Herman through his
megaphone, and the sound seemed to spur the catcher to even greater
exertions.
Runner and ball seemed to arrive at the same second. Some shouted that
he was out, and partisans of Columbia cried that he was safe. The
umpire steadied his hand. That meant the runner had the benefit of the
doubt, and should remain where he was on first.
Then Bedlam seemed to break out! Even though every fan from Bellport
knew deep down in his heart that the decision was just, still he felt
it incumbent on him to howl at the umpire, and the ancient word,
“robber!” was heard right and left.
The old Princeton man only smiled, and turned his attention to the
game. Doubtless he chuckled at hearing the old familiar outbursts
to which he had listened many a time himself, and perhaps joined in
shouting at the referee.
By degrees the excitement began to ooze out, as attention became
riveted on the next man at bat. This was Ralph.
They had failed to rattle him while in the box, but that did not
prevent the Bellport legions from indulging in a most astonishing din.
Ralph never noticed what was going on. His eye was on Coddling. He
wanted to guess what sort of a ball the clever Bellport twirler meant
to dish up to him.
“Watch that feller! He’s going to win the game if you let him hit it!”
“Strike him out, Coddling. He’s dead easy!”
“Hey, Ralph, old boy, you know what I told you? Nothing less than
a three-bagger will do! Hear me?” called one fellow, who did not
even know the batter to speak to; but on the ball field astonishing
familiarity becomes the rule.
Ralph had his teeth set hard. If it depended on him to win the game
he meant that they should not be disappointed. He watched Coddling
eagerly, yet with every muscle set for instantaneous work.
Whack!
“He done it! I told you so!”
Ralph was jumping for first, while Paul had run down to second. The
third baseman had knocked the ball down, but had to chase it, so that
Coddling rushed over to cover third as in duty bound, in case Paul
attempted to come along.
But he went back to second, quite contented. Columbia stock rose just
about then; and Herman again led his crowd whooping in concert:
“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! _veni! vidi! vici!_ Columbia! Sis boom, ah!”
“Once more, fellows! You can do it! They’re going to pieces! See ’em
creeping in, expecting to make a double play. Over the second base, and
win the game, Ben, and the pennant!”
Allison meant to do that same thing. He took a firm grip on his bat,
and settled in his box to strike. Since that first time he had faced
Coddling three times, and on every occasion had connected with the
ball, though twice he went out, once at first and again when trying to
stretch a fine hit into a triple, much to the disgust of his backers.
The noise died away as if by magic. Every one was holding his or her
breath, in the expectation of giving vent to a whoop when Allison had
either done what he set out to do or passed out.
Seymour stepped out and whispered to the batter.
“He’s telling him to bunt!” cried a few, expecting that this would be
the program; and not realizing that with the infield playing short it
was next to suicidal to attempt anything along this order, and meant
double play.
Both basemen were playing well off, because they had nothing to fear.
Excitement was keyed up to top notch.
“Look out for Banghardt!” shrieked a coach; and Paul found that the
center fielder had crept in, so that he came near being cut off from
his bag.
Again Coddling wound up to pitch. Allison let the sphere pass.
“One ball!”
The next time it came the batter smote it full “on the nose” and the
sound of the collision electrified that entire assemblage like a shock
from a gigantic battery. But alack and alas! as sometimes happens,
while he drove the ball directly in the line he had marked out, it
chanced to be just a few feet too low!
To the horror of the Columbia adherents it landed full in the eager
hands of the second baseman, who held it fiercely for just a second,
when he sent it with all his might to Bardwell on third, but not
before touching his own base.
Was it a triple? There was a wild upheaval on the part of the entire
mass of spectators. Paul had thrown himself headlong for the bag, but
that swiftly-sent sphere was there just before him!
The umpire made a sweeping motion of his hand. Paul was out, and
consequently Bellport had won the game by making a wonderfully clever
triple in the last inning!
Bedlam broke loose right then and there, and the crowd surged over the
field, whooping and howling their various class yells. Herman led in a
volcanic cheer for the clever players who had managed that remarkable
play; and followed this with shouts for both teams. Then songs were
sung, and the boys fraternized.
It had been a splendid exhibition of work on both sides. No one need be
ashamed of having lost such a game as that, as Frank hastened to assure
Ralph, who was naturally feeling a little sore over such a sudden
downfall to his high hopes.
“The fortune of the game, old chap! Got to get used to it. Why, just
before Ben knocked into that triple it looked as if we had ’em dead
easy. Oh! why couldn’t he have pulled off one of his favorite little
flies just over second! But what’s the use crying over spilt milk? You
did great work in the box! Every one is saying we picked up a prize
when we came across you, Ralph.”
By this time Ralph could himself smile a little.
“After all, I came out twice as well as I expected. If you don’t think
my work was the cause of the defeat I ought to be satisfied. I thought
that bull coming on the field broke me up a little. But, then, they
didn’t make another run,” he said.
Frank threw an arm around his friend and walked away with him. He
wanted to get out of the crowd so that they could talk. He had heard
what Ralph told Captain Seymour, and was naturally curious to learn
about the little adventure that had delayed the arrival of the new
pitcher.
Besides, there had been those thrilling words spoken by Ralph in
connection with something that bore upon his own tangled fortunes. What
could have happened?
“Now, you know I’m just burning up with curiosity to hear what’s been
going on, Ralph. What about this little child you carried home after
she hurt her hand; and how does that happen to have any connection with
your own matters?” he remarked, when they found themselves removed
to some degree from the crowd that was swarming along the road back
to Columbia, some to take the trolley for Bellport, others river
conveyances for Clifford and beyond.
Ralph turned a glowing face upon his friend.
“Oh! Frank, I can hardly believe it even now, it seems so very strange!
Just to think, because I wouldn’t believe some fellows were trying to
get me in the bushes, where they could keep me from showing up, I’m
going to hear the truth about the past, and who I really am!”
“Hurrah! that’s great news you’re telling me, and I’m sure as glad as
if I’d found another dad myself!” exclaimed Frank.