TO THE AUTO SHOW
"Come on now, Dick! Give him a teaser!"
"You know how to make him bite!"
"Two down! Only one more Dick, old man!"
The occasion was the last of a series of baseball games between the
Kentfield Military Academy and the Blue Hill Cadets, a rival
organization. It was for the championship of the league, which coveted
honor lay between Kentfield and Blue Hill, with the chances in favor of
the former.
Each nine had won a game in the final series of the best two out of
three, and to-day would decide the matter.
"That's the stuff, Dick old man!"
"That's got him going!"
"Make him fan again!"
These cries greeted Dick's delivery of the ball to Lem Gordon, who was
up for Blue Hill, for Lem had struck and missed.
"Only two more like that Dick!" called Paul Drew, "and we'll be all to
the merry."
"Watch Lem poke it, though!" called Joe Bell, the plucky little captain
of the Blue Hill nine. "A home run, Lem, or a broken bat."
The lad at home plate nodded, and kept a close watch on Dick, who was
winding up for another delivery.
"Two balls--one strike," Innis Beeby called. "Watch yourself, Dick."
Dick nodded comprehendingly. This was several days after the visit of
Uncle Ezra Larabee, and the time had been devoted to getting the
Kentfield team in shape for the final contest. It was an important one,
for, as I have said, it would carry with it the championship of the
Military League.
The game had run along with nothing remarkable to distinguish it, and
was now at the beginning of the ninth inning. Blue Hill had six runs to
Kentfield's seven, and if Dick could strike this last man out the game
would be ended in favor of the Kentfield nine, since they would not play
out their half of the ninth. Blue Hill had two out, but Lem Gordon, the
cadet at the bat, was a doughty hitter. Had he gone in earlier in that
inning there might have been a different story to tell.
"Strike two!" called the umpire, and a wave of cheering seemed to roll
over the grandstand--cheers in which the shrill voices of girls could be
heard.
"Oh, I do hope Dick strikes him out!" exclaimed Mabel Hanford, one of a
party of pretty girls in the main stand. "Isn't he fine?"
"Who--Dick or Lem?" asked Nellie Fordice.
"Dick, of course, though Lem is very nice, and he's a dandy dancer."
"So is Dick," declared Nettie French. "Oh girls! are you going to the
graduation ball?"
"If we're asked," answered Mildred Adams.
"Oh, let's watch the game," suggested Mabel, and the four girls, with
whom Dick and his chums were on friendly terms, gave their attention to
the contest.
The interest on the part of the big crowd present was now intense. The
next ball might tell the tale, for if Dick struck out the batter, the
game would end. On the other hand if Gordon got a safe hit, he would be
followed by another good batsman, and the game might go at least another
half inning, and in case Kentfield could not make a winning run,
continue on for some time longer.
Dick felt a bit nervous as he got ready to deliver the next ball. It was
two and two now.
"I've got to get it over the plate, and yet fool him," thought Dick. "I
wonder if I dare risk a little slow twister. If he hits it, we're goners
though--that is, we'll have to fight it out the rest of this inning.
Well, here goes!"
As he was about to deliver the ball he heard the barking of Grit over in
one of the grandstands, where a chum, who was not playing, was keeping
the bulldog.
"Good old Grit!" mused Dick. "That's his way of cheering, I guess!"
Swiftly the ball left Dick's fingers, shooting toward the batter. Lem
stepped back a trifle, and then lunged forward to meet the horsehide.
And he did meet it with his bat, full and true.
With a vicious "ping!" the ball shot back, out over the diamond,
shooting upward, and laying a course just between the left and centre
fielders. Both players converged to meet it, but the ball passed over
their heads, as they had to run back.
"Go on, Lem! Sprint for it!"
"Show 'em how you can run!"
"Leg it, old man! Leg it!"
"A home run! A home run!"
"We'll beat 'em yet! Go on! Go on!"
But Lem needed not the hoarse cries to urge him on. He needed not the
frantic cheers of his comrades in arms nor those who sat in the
grandstands. No sooner had he felt the magic of that meeting between his
bat and the ball, than he sprang forward like some stone from an ancient
catapult, tossing the stick to one side. And how he did run!
The second baseman stood ready to relay the ball home, as soon as the
frantic rightfielder should get it. But the horsehide had rolled into
the deep grass. There was some delay in finding it, and by that time Lem
was at second. As he rounded that the centrefielder got his fingers on
the ball. Like a flash he threw.
"Come on! Come on!" screamed the Blue Hill captain, and Lem came.
He beat the ball to third base, and kept on. He heard the thud of the
horsehide striking the mit of the third baseman, and thought all was
lost, but he dared not turn to see. Then a groan--a groan of despair
from the Kentfield stand--told him what had happened. The third baseman
had muffed it. There was still a chance for the runner.
Lem's feet and legs scarce could carry him onward, but he forced them
to. The shortstop was racing madly for the ball. He and Dick collided,
and when the ball was finally recovered by the chagrined third baseman
himself, Lem was so near home that it was a foregone conclusion that he
would tally the tieing run.
And he did. The ball came with a "plunk" into the catcher's big mit, and
then the umpire called out:
"Safe!"
Joyful pandemonium broke loose in the Blue Hill ranks.
"We've got a chance to beat 'em!" they yelled. And truly this was so,
but it was a very slim chance.
"Never mind, Dick," consoled Beeby. "You can strike out Ed Mayfield."
"Don't let him get a look in, and we can easily pull one run out when
we get to the bat," urged Paul Drew.
"All right," answered Dick, shortly. He had taken a chance on Lem not
hitting that ball, but the unexpected had happened. Dick pulled himself
together, and faced Ed Mayfield, the next batter up, who was nervously
dancing about the plate, trying by means of grins and gibes to
disconcert the pitcher.
But Dick was not built that way. Calmly he sized up his opponent and
sent in a ball that fooled him. Then came something in the nature of a
fizzle, when the umpire called a ball. It began to look a bit dubious
when the next was a ball also.
"Careful, Dick," warned the captain. "We can't afford to go to pieces
now."
Dick did not answer, but there was a grim tightening of his lips. Then
he sent in a viciously swift ball.
"Strike two!" called the umpire, sharply.
"Ah!" came as a sort of chorus from the big crowd.
"Dick's all right now," declared Paul Drew, in a low voice.
And so it proved. Without giving another ball, Dick put over another
delivery, which resulted in a strike, and to it the umpire added:
"Strike three--batter's out!" The score was a tie.
"Now, Kentfield!" came the excited cry. "Show 'em how to win this game!
One run will do it!"
The home team came pouring in from the various parts of the diamond,
ready to bat. Paul Drew was to start off, and managed to get to first.
But he was caught stealing second. Then Teddy Naylor got to third, but
was held there as Hal Foster struck out.
"Two down," came the mournful cry. It began to look as though the game
would go ten innings, with the ever-increasing chance that Blue Hill
would win, or at least improve her opportunity. The score was still a
tie.
"Hamilton up!" called the scorer.
"Dick, you've just got to make a hit!"
"Bring in Naylor!" was implored.
"Knock the cover off, Dick!"
These were only a few of the cries that greeted our hero as he stepped
to the plate. Ordinarily Dick was a good safe hitter, in contrast to
many pitchers, but this time, when so much depended on his skill, he
found himself feeling nervous.
"Here, this won't do!" he told himself. "Brace up. Think of that big
touring car you're going to get and the fun you'll have. Think of
Grit--and Uncle Ezra."
The memory of how the aged man had hurried away from Grit's threatened
attack brought a smile to Dick's face. He could feel his nervousness
leaving him, but he was brought to a realizing sense of the importance
of paying more strict attention to baseball, by hearing the umpire call
sharply:
"Strike one!"
Dick had let the first ball pass him without making a motion toward it,
though it was just where he wanted it.
"Watch yourself," called Paul Drew, in a low voice.
Dick saw that he must. He looked narrowly at the pitcher and, from
previous experience, he thought he knew what kind of a ball was coming.
"I'm going to hit it!" said Dick fiercely to himself.
He stepped right into it, before the curve had time to "break," and when
he felt the impact of his bat on the horsehide he knew that he had made
a hit.
"It's good for two bags anyhow!" he murmured as he sprinted toward
first, and had a vision of Naylor racing in from third.
"Go on Dick! Go on!"
"Run! Run old man!"
"A homer--a homer!"
"And a homer it's going to be!" cried Dick, as he passed second, and saw
the right fielder vainly racing after the ball which had been sent away
over his head and back of him. It was a better hit than that of Gordon.
Dick saw Naylor cross the home plate and then he was at third himself.
The ball was slowly coming in from the fielder, but the throw was such
a long one that the second baseman had to run out to meet it.
"They'll never get it home in time," thought Dick, as he staggered
onward, for he had run hard and his legs were trembling. "I can beat it
home."
And he did, crossing the rubber before the ball was in the catcher's
hands.
Then such cheering as broke out. Naylor's run had put Kentfield one
ahead, and Dick's made two. It was sensational playing, with two home
runs so close together, and the crowd appreciated it. Kentfield had the
championship now.
"Kentfield! Kentfield! Kentfield!
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Boom! Boom! _Boom!_
Ah! Ah! Ah!
Kentfield!"
Thus the school cry was given, coming from a thousand hoarse throats,
and then came:
"Three cheers for Dick Hamilton!"
The grandstands rocked and swayed and creaked with the stress of emotion
displayed.
"It was great, old man! Great!" cried Paul, clapping his panting chum on
the back.
"Thanks. I knew I had to do it to save the game."
"And you did!" exclaimed Beeby. "Somebody punch me--I'm too happy to
last!"
Some one obliged him with such force that Beeby stumbled, and to save
himself he had to execute a forward somersault, at which trick he was
an adept.
"Armstrong up!" called the scorer, when he could make himself heard.
"Oh, what's the use of playing it out?" asked Beeby.
"Let's sweeten the score if we can," urged Dick, who did not like doing
anything by halves. But there was little interest in the game now, for
Kentfield had won, and nothing could take it from her. Still Armstrong
got up, and promptly fanned out, over which fact there was no regret,
rather gladness on the part of the champions, who wanted to quit and
celebrate.
Dejectedly Blue Hill filed off the field, after they had cheered and
been cheered. The great game was over, the crowds thronged down from the
grandstands. The Kentfield nine and the substitutes got together, and
cheered Dick to the echo. Then with a singing of the song that always
followed a victory they dispersed to the dressing rooms. Their baseball
season was over.
"You certainly did yourself and us proud, Dick," said Paul, as he and
his chum walked away together. "I wish Uncle Ezra could have seen you."
"Oh, he'd probably say that the money spent on baseball might better be
used to buy interest-bearing bonds," laughed Dick. "But say, I thought I
saw some of the girls here."
"They are. We'll look 'em up after we tidy up a bit."
And then came the shower baths, a changing into clean raiment and a
gladsome time with the girls, who crowded around the hero of the day.
"Well, I suppose we'll soon be away from here," remarked Paul that night
as he, Dick and Innis Beeby sat in the room of the latter, and talked
over the great game.
"Yes, my folks wrote to say that the cottage by the sea was open, and
I'm expected there soon," said Innis.
"I'm booked for the White Mountains this trip," said Paul, "and I'm not
very keen for it, either."
Dick was silent for a few seconds, looking over some papers.
"What are you going to do, old man?" asked Paul.
"Fellows, I've got the best scheme yet!" exclaimed Dick. "I've just got
it worked out. What do you say to a trip to California with me in the
new auto I'm going to get? Will you come?"
"Will we!" cried Innis without a moment's hesitation. "Will a duck
swim?"
"Put her there, old man!" yelled Paul, slapping his hand into that of
Dick. "When do we start?"
"Do you mean it?" asked Dick, hardly believing his chums were in
earnest. They assured him that they did.
"Then here's my game," he went on. "Dad wrote to me to get some
catalogues and pick out the auto I wanted. I'm going to go him one
better."
"What's that?" asked Paul. "Have a car made to order?"
"No, that would take too long. But the New York Automobile Show is on,
in Madison Square Garden. There are lots of cars there that can be
bought for immediate delivery. And I can pick out a car twice as good
from seeing it, rather than by looking at a picture of it.
"Now we three will take in that auto show. I'll pick out the car I want,
dad will foot the bill, according to his promise, and we'll start on our
tour across country. How does that strike you?"
"Great!" declared Innis.
"Bully!" assented Paul. "Dick, you're a gentleman and a scholar. This is
too much!" and he pretended to weep on Beeby's shoulder.
"Then pack up, and we'll leave day after to-morrow for New York," said
Dick. "I'll write to dad. I'd go to-morrow only I don't want to miss the
graduation dance."
"No, and I fancy someone else doesn't either," said Paul, with a
significant glance at the picture of a pretty girl on the bureau.
So it was arranged. The dance was a success, as all such affairs at
Kentfield were, but we shall not concern ourselves with that. The day
after it saw Dick and his chums, with Grit, on the way to the big auto
show in New York.