“Ve vos all pehind you, Chip!” squawked Villum Kess, capering around
second.
“Take your time, old man,” advised Clancy.
“Let this boob hit it,” grinned Billy Mac, as Ironton stepped into the
box.
Frank paused. He had seen clearly that Green was a whirlwind, and
decided to hold his best ball, the jump, in reserve. If Green was
really Diggs, then he had his work cut out for him.
“Get on to that guy on second!” yelled a fan.
Villum Kess had come to rest plumb on his bag, and stood waiting.
“Play off there, you lobster!” shrieked another rooter frantically.
“Blay off yourselluf,” returned Villum hotly. “Shud oop und say less.
Make a glam of yourselluf if I vas a lopster yes, no! Yaw! You vait
till you show me!”
Frank nodded to Billy, and put over a low, straight ball. Ironton
waited.
“Strike--one!”
The Clipper shortstop was a wicked hitter, as Merry knew. Seeing that
he stood up close to the plate, Chip put over a sharp inshoot, and
again the umpire called a strike, as Ironton swung vainly.
He refused to bite at two teasers, however, and again Merry used his
in. As if sensing the ball, Ironton pulled back and chopped.
Crack!
Merry reached after the hot liner in vain. It went straight toward the
position that Kess should have been playing, while Ironton dug down
toward first, amid wild whoops from the bleachers. Then Villum did a
surprising thing.
Flinging himself out toward the ball, he lost his balance and slid
forward, whirling around. He came down in a cloud of dust.
“By glory, he sat on it!” yelled the fans.
Villum reached beneath himself and pulled out the ball, staring at it
in mild astonishment.
“Put it over, you boob!” shrieked Clancy.
Kess looked up, saw the runner nearing first, and scrambled to his
feet. With astonishing precision, he sent the ball to Clancy, and the
umpire motioned Ironton out.
“It was an accident!” cried Craven, on the coaching line. “He’s an
idiot!”
“Go avay mit yourselluf!” squawked Villum, brushing the dust from his
shirt. “Vait till I vos shown you how you don’d blay, yes, no!”
Murray advanced to the plate, and with evident determination to hit.
After trying to connect with three sharp curves, Murray slung away his
bat and yielded up his place to Green.
Frank saw the wiry pitcher pull down his cap and dust his hands,
and the quiet confidence of the man went far to show that he was no
amateur. Grimly resolving to fan him, Chip wound up for the double
shoot, and the ball hummed down.
Green did not attempt to strike. Then a swift look of astonishment
overspread his lean brown face. Merry had changed from his right to his
left hand!
“Great Scott!” gasped Green. “It’s impossible!”
“Go on and knock it over the fence,” chuckled Billy Mac.
Green tried to, but the double shoot fooled him completely. With a
smile, Frank delivered a sharp out with his left hand, and Green
reached for it in vain.
“We’ve got ’em!” whooped Clancy as he ran in. “One, two, three!”
“Easy money,” cried Billy, and Chip touched his cap to the yelling
grand stand as the Fardale cheer ripped out.
Fardale’s hopes received an abrupt shock, however. Smiling a little,
but saying nothing, Green put over nine pitched balls, and retired
Lowe, O’Day, and Kess!
“He can’t pitch anything but strikes!” gasped Clancy.
“Don’d you see dot sbeed!” muttered Villum. “Dot pall a pullet vos, so
hellup me!”
“We’re up against something pretty hard, fellows,” said Chip, as they
went out. “Everybody pull together, now, and we’ll win.”
His confidence had been sorely shaken, however. Smith strode out and
landed on Frank’s first ball for a foul that went up over the grand
stand. Twice more he fouled, but the double shoot retired him finally.
“They’re all bad actors,” cried Lowe from third. “Let ’em hit it, Chip!”
Olcott, the new Clipper catcher, was a short man, with tremendously
wide shoulders. Chip tried him with a low fadeaway, but Olcott chortled
with glee and fell on it. The ball rose and began to travel for the
right-field fence.
O’Day raced back, then stopped short. The crowd hooted, for the ball
seemed certain to go far beyond him. The fans had forgotten the wind,
however, and, when the sphere came down it nestled into O’Day’s glove,
and stuck there. Johnson fanned, and the Fardales went to bat.
That is, they went to bat technically. Clancy was the first up, and
although usually a slugger, he was retired on three pitched balls.
Merry took his place, with the bleachers screaming for a hit.
Green studied him a moment, then changed his position abruptly. He used
something that he had hitherto held in reserve--a remarkable spit ball.
Frank guessed it, but could not hit.
Again Green used the same thing, and again Merry missed it. He touched
the third one for a high foul, however, that cleared the grand stand.
With a new ball thrown out to him, Green deliberately put over three
balls that were wide of the plate.
“Put it over!” snapped Chip. “You’re scared to put it over, Green!”
Green looked at him, and grinned tantalizingly. Then he calmly sent
over the ball, ten feet wide of the plate. Frank angrily flung his bat
away, and walked.
The Fardale rooters went wild, but Chip was not fooled. He knew that
this was a deliberate effort to rattle him, and that Green had meant to
show his contempt. This was proved when Harker was sent down on three
pitched balls, though Green again held his spit ball under cover.
His curves were wonderful, and would have fooled better men than
Fardale owned. Seeing that he was marooned on first, Chip made a
desperate attempt, and stole second, but only got there safely because
Murray dropped a terrific ball, that Olcott placed perfectly. Billy Mac
immediately struck out, and the inning was over.
“That man Green is beyond anything I ever saw!” cried Coach Trayne, as
Chip came in to confer with Billy. “Watch out for Craven, Merry!”
Frank nodded toward the bench. Craven was a slender, lanky fellow with
a large jaw. He was chewing tobacco, and carried his bat easily.
Using his right hand once more, Merry resorted to the double shoot,
refusing Billy’s agonized plea to use the jump ball. Craven fanned
twice, seeming to be awkward at the plate, but on the third ball he
struck too quickly, whirled, and the ball hit him between the shoulders.
He went down to first, apparently badly hurt. But Chip caught a quick
grin from him, and realized angrily that the umpire had been “worked”
very neatly. He fanned Merrell, then Runge, but Craven romped down
to second without hindrance, exchanging compliments with the enraged
Villum, as he did so.
Ironton again was at bat. Chip sent the ball sizzling over for two
strikes, but Ironton had solved the double shoot. He connected with the
next ball and dropped it over second for a neat single--the first hit
of the game. Craven went to third, with the crowd frantic, and Murray
was up.
Chip switched hands in desperation, and Murray fanned twice. Then
Ironton tried for second, and Billy Mac made a wretched throw that
Villum barely hung on to, a yard from the sack. When Frank put the
ball down again, Murray cracked a liner at Lowe--and Lowe fumbled it,
booting it across the infield to Harker.
The crowd came to its feet, as Craven raced over the rubber. Harker
lost his head and made a throw ten feet wide of the plate. Billy went
after it, but Ironton came in like a whirlwind. Frank ran in and put
the ball on him as he slid, but the umpire called him safe, and the
Clippers had secured two runs, with Murray on third and Green up.
“For Heaven’s sake use the jump!” implored Billy desperately,
conferring with Chip. But Merry, grim-lipped, refused.
“I’ve got to hold it, Billy. This game is only three innings old.”
He walked back, determined to retrieve the errors that had overwhelmed
his team. Green faced him with a wide grin, the Clipper fans howling
for a hit to bring in Murray. And Green was confident of getting it.
Murray’s lone hit had started things.
Frank did the very last thing Green expected. With a lengthy
preliminary, he sent in a fast straight ball over the heart of the
plate. Green had watched his fingers, and expected a drop, striking a
foot beneath the ball.
“That got him!” yelled Clancy.
“Another of the same,” cried Billy.
“Sure, give me another,” begged Green.
Chip smiled. He knew that Green would now be certain of a swift curve.
So, making as if to throw an out, Chip sent down another straight ball.
“Strike--uh--two!”
“That’s headwork, old man!” cried Harker.
“Led him dood it!” cried Villum. “Ve vos all behind you, Frankie!”
Merry stood quietly. He refused Billy’s signals time after time,
knowing that Green was watching him like a hawk, until the crowd yelled
for action. In desperation Billy tried the signal for another straight
ball, and Merry nodded.
Again he wound up carefully. This time he cut loose with every ounce of
speed at his command, and the ball went down fairly scorching. Green
hit, but hit too late, and Billy was taken off his feet by the speed of
the ball. None the less, he held on to it; Chip had fanned his rival
with three straight balls!
Not only those in the grand stand, but the bleachers had also noted the
fact, and there was a deep roar of cheers as Fardale came in. Merry
passed Green, and the latter gave him a quick smile.
“Merriwell,” he said quietly, “I take off my hat to you! That was
magnificent.”
Chip looked at him, found sincerity in the wrinkled eyes, and warmed
instinctively.
“Thanks,” he said significantly. “Coming from you, that means a good
deal, Mr. Diggs!”
Green started, gave him one keen glance, then passed on with a laugh.
But in that moment Chip knew that he now knew his man.
“That man is Diggs, right enough,” he said to Coach Trayne, as his next
three men proceeded to fan. “But he’s not beaten us yet.”
“Yaw!” squawked Villum from behind. “Dot vos right, Chip! Two runs
don’d a pasepall game make, you pet me! Vait till I dood it!”
For the second time, Green retired Fardale on nine pitched balls.