NO CONTROL.
Hodge knew Merry’s ankle was in poor condition, but he was not aware of
Frank’s trouble in securing control of the ball. Therefore he was
satisfied when he donned the body protector and mask that there would be
a great and immediate change in the run of the game. He doubted not that
Merriwell would check the run getting of the enemy.
Cronin, the lank and lively third baseman of the Elks, was the first
batter to face Frank.
Merry knew Cronin was a great sacrifice hitter, his position being
second on the batting list.
Still the man had shown that he could hit out beautifully when occasion
demanded, and, with no one ahead of him on the bags, he would be sure to
try for a hit or a pass.
This man’s only weakness was a high ball, close to the shoulder; and
sometimes he could hit those safely.
Frank’s first ball was handsomely placed and cleanly missed.
“Str-r-r-rike—kah!” called the umpire.
“Hit id vere id missed you!” yelled Dunnerwurst, from the field.
“That’s the place, Merry,” laughed Hodge, all the clouds gone from his
face. “It’s so easy!”
“Verily it is a thing of great delight,” murmured Jack Ready.
“How can he hit them when he can’t see them?” rumbled Bruce Browning.
Dade Morgan, sitting on the bench, his left hand clasping his right arm
above the elbow, smiled and nodded with satisfaction.
“Merry will save the game,” he muttered to himself.
“He’s a snap, Billy,” called Rush, the Elkton shortstop. “Let those
whisker trimmers go.”
Cronin nodded and winked. He was satisfied that he would have no trouble
in getting what he wanted off Frank.
As for Merry, he was agreeably surprised by his success in placing the
first ball.
“If I can only keep that up!” he thought.
His next ball was lower, but still close.
Cronin let it pass.
“Ba-a-a-all—ah!” came from the umpire.
“He’s got to put it over, Billy,” chirped Rush.
Hodge snapped the ball back to Frank, who instantly returned it.
Cronin was caught napping and did not try to hit.
It cut the plate in halves.
“Str-r-r-rike—kah two!”
“Come, come, Mr. Batter!” yelled one of the spectators; “smoke up!
You’re in a trance.”
“It surely is a thing of exceeding great delight,” again murmured Ready.
Cronin was somewhat disgusted. He was not, as a rule, the sort of chap
to be caught in such a manner, and it made him sore. His face flushed
and his eyes glinted. He gripped his bat and stood ready for anything.
Frank tried an outcurve, causing it to sweep outside the plate.
Cronin grinned derisively and let it pass.
“Ba-a-a-all—ah!”
“Even with him, Merry,” said Hodge. “Put the next one right over. Let
him hit it a mile—if he can.”
At the same time he called for a drop.
Frank had abandoned the practice of shaking his head when about to pitch
a ball different from the one called for. Instead, he assumed a position
that plainly told Hodge he would use a rise or a very high ball.
It proved too high, and Cronin did not move his bat.
“Ba-a-a-all—ah three!” announced the umpire.
“Got him in a hole, Billy!” chuckled Rush. “Now he’s got to put ’er
over.”
Merry had no intention of putting the next one straight over. It was his
object to keep it shoulder high and on the inside corner. This time,
however, he did not gauge it accurately, and, to his dismay, he did put
it over the middle of the pan and a trifle lower than the batter’s
shoulder.
“Just what the doctor ordered!” cried Rush, as Cronin hit the ball.
It was a clean drive to left field, and, by swift running, Cronin
succeeded in reaching second before the ball could be fielded in.
“Why, how easy he is!” laughed Rush. “Put it over the fence, Sparks.”
Sparks, the centre fielder of the Elks, was the next batter.
Although Merry was greatly displeased with himself, he did not betray
it. He knew it was the easiest thing in the world for a disappointed
pitcher to take the spirit out of an entire team.
Hodge was cheerful.
“Accidents will happen, Merry,” he said. “Never mind that.”
Apparently Frank did not mind.
“I’ll have to try the double shoot for a strike-out ball,” he mentally
decided.
Sparks expected to find Frank easy.
“It’s a shame to do it,” he declared. “I’m afraid you’ll loss your
reputation to-day, my boy.”
“Don’t let that worry you,” said Frank, with perfect good nature.
“Oh, I’m not worrying. Still I’m sorry for you. It can’t be helped, you
know. We can’t afford to let you youngsters have this game. The whole
Central League would laugh at us.”
The Elks had discovered that Hodge was a beautiful thrower to the bags,
and it was not difficult to hold Cronin close to second, although he
took sufficient lead to go to third on a sacrifice or any sort of a
scratch hit.
Cronin was a fast runner, and Frank knew he might score on a clean
single.
Merry worked carefully. Finally, with two strikes and three balls
called, he ventured to try the double shoot.
Sparks was fooled handsomely and missed.
“Str-r-r-rike—kah! You’re out!” said the umpire.
“Now you’re doing it, Merry!” nodded Hodge.
But Frank had hurt his ankle with that final delivery, and he limped
about the pitching plate a few moments.
“Can’t use the double shoot unless I’m willing to go onto the shelf,” he
decided. “It’s out of the question.”
He felt now that it was necessary for him to win the game without
resorting to his most effective curve.
“Try it on me,” invited Rush, the talkative, as he danced out to the
plate.
“I’d like to,” thought Frank. “You’re one fellow I’d enjoy striking
out.”
“Get after him, Rushie!” urged an Elktonite. “You say he’s easy. Now
prove it.”
Rush made no retort to this, but he hit the second ball pitched. The
ball was driven straight at Badger, who was playing at short.
Buck felt sure of it, and Cronin did not try to take third, although he
was ready to move to draw a return throw if the stocky young Kansan
whistled the sphere over to first.
Just before the ball reached Badger it struck a small pebble and was
deflected. Buck managed to cuff it with his glove, but did not get hold
of it. It rolled toward second. Badger went after it, Cronin being
forced back to the bag.
Merry took in everything quickly, seeing that it would be dangerous for
the Kansan to attempt a throw to first. It was extremely doubtful if
Rush, a fast runner, could be caught, and a bad throw would let Cronin
reach third, to say nothing of the possibility that it might permit him
to score.
Therefore Frank shouted for Buck to hold the ball.
“Well! well! well!” laughed Rush, as he crossed the initial sack. “This
is too much!”
“It is,” agreed Browning. “You should have been out.”
Badger was dismayed, but he did not receive a calldown from Frank.
Nevertheless, Merry regretted that he had not placed Morgan at short
after taking him out of the box. Buck was playing out of his regular
position, while Morgan could cover shortstop’s territory in a most
beautiful manner.
It was too late now, however; Morgan had been retired. Badger was the
only man for the position, Stretcher having left the team at Ashport to
return to his home in Missouri.
Jack Lawrence, the manager of the Elks, was pleased by the prospect of
victory. On hearing that the Elks would play with the Merries, the
managers of other teams in the league had given Lawrence the laugh, all
of them saying his great aggregation would be downed by the visitors.
Lawrence was anxious to win the game.
Glade, the right fielder of the Elks, was the next man to hit. That is,
he was the next man in order on the batting list. He did not try to hit,
for it was not necessary. Merriwell’s control was poor, and he could not
find the plate. Two balls were called. Then came a strike, although, if
anything, the umpire favored Frank.
“He can’t find the pan again,” yelled a coacher.
It seemed that he was right, for the next one pitched was a ball—and the
next.
Glade was sent to first.
The bags were filled, with only one out.
Well might the Elks and the Elkton crowd be confident and jubilant.
Things were coming their way.
The local team had played an uphill game, and victory seemed in sight.
Frank was in a tight box.
Tinker, the next batter, was no slouch with the stick. He had a
reputation for making hits when they were badly needed.
Behind the wires of his mask, the face of Bart Hodge looked grim and a
trifle worried.
Hodge knew now that Merry was in anything but good form. He realized
that the game might go against them, and no one disliked to lose a game
more than did Bart, the bulldog. Especially hard was it to lose after
seeming to have victory within reach.
But Hodge did not have a thought of giving up.
“Line it out, Tink!” urged Rush. “We’ve quit fooling. Give us some
runs.”
Tinker looked harmless enough. He was an awkward chap with a
half-foolish face. Apparently he did not waste much of his time in
thinking real thoughts.
Merry knew the fellow was not nearly as foolish as he appeared. So Frank
worked carefully with the batter, using a change of pace, but making no
further effort to throw the double shoot.
Finally Tinker put up a foul.
Hodge went after it, although the spectators yelled derisively, thinking
he could not touch it.
In some manner the catcher stretched himself amazingly and got the ball
on the end of his big mitt as it was falling to the ground.
It bounded off.
On the dead run, Bart caught it a second time.
And held it.
After a moment of silence, the spectators applauded. The people of
Elkton were generous enough to recognize a good play, whether made by
one of their own team or by an opponent.
“Hard luck, Tink!” cried Rush. “That catcher ought to be decorated with
horseshoes.”
“Clever, Bart,” smiled Merry approvingly.
“Only one more man this inning, Frank,” said Bart.
Could Merriwell “get” the next batter?
The situation was one to work up the spectators, who felt that it would
be shameful to have their new team, on which they had spent so much
money, defeated by the visitors.
“A pall nefer couldt catch dot Part Hodge!” shouted Hans Dunnerwurst
joyously.
Sitting on the bench, Wolfers growled a little to the manager of the
team.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Why don’t they hit some? I can’t win the
game if they don’t hit. I’ll hold those kids down all right, but the
rest of the team must bat a little.”
“A hit right now will win the game,” asserted Lawrence.
“But Tink was the man to make the hit. If he had lifted a long one to
the field it would have been something. Cronin could have scored on it,
even if it had been caught.”
“Cross will have to turn the trick.”
“He ought to,” nodded Wolfers. “That pitcher is pie. He’s pie, I say.
Don’t see how he ever got such a reputation.”
“He has a lame ankle to-day.”
“Don’t you think it! That’s a bluff. He was afraid to pitch against us,
and so he put up that squeal about a lame ankle.”
“But the rest of his players say his ankle is lame.”
“He gets round on it all right, don’t he?”
“He limps.”
“Well, a lame ankle isn’t much beside a lame wing. Hey, there, Lem, what
are you doing?”
Cross had reached for a wide one. He shook his head and settled his feet
into position.
“He’s trying for the fence,” said Wolfers. “Better stop him.”
Instantly Lawrence rapped on the bench in a manner that caused Cross to
give him a look. The manager signaled for the batter to attempt to
single.
“Oh, it’s easy!” growled Cross.
Lawrence persisted.
A moment later the batter hit a ball that struck the ground and rolled
slowly toward Frank.
Merry sprang forward, but as he sought to pick the ball up his weak
ankle seemed to melt beneath him, and he went down onto one knee. He
secured the ball, however, and snapped it instantly to Hodge, who was
standing on the plate.
Bart promptly whistled the ball to Browning, although it was not
necessary, Cronin having been forced.
The local team had failed to secure a run in the eighth, after having
everything in its favor.
The crowd was keenly disappointed.
Frank was relieved and his players were delighted.
Now came the ninth inning.
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