JERRY TO THE RESCUE
Billy was a rather stocky boy of sixteen, with a cheerful countenance
and a pair of steady gray eyes. He was a junior in high school and
had played on the team for two years. Enthusiastic admirers of Billy
declared that he had “everything there was,” meaning by that that he
was master of all the deliveries known to the science of pitching. This
was more enthusiastic than truthful, but still it was a fact that Billy
was a good deal of a pitcher for a boy of his age, and could cause the
ball to “break” in a number of puzzling ways. First of all, though,
it was Billy’s craft and coolness that made him great. Billy studied
the batsman and seemed to divine his thoughts. And after that he set
himself craftily to circumventing him. Billy’s delivery was slow, but
his curves broke well, and it was a recognized fact among his admirers
that the more deliberate Billy became the more likely he was to add
further strike-outs to his credit.
Billy was extremely deliberate now. He viewed the batsman as though
that youth’s features were strangely familiar to him and he was
wondering whether they had ever met and whether it would not be well
for him to walk up and shake hands. The batsman pawed the earth and
waved his bat impatiently. The Providence coachers jeered and the
bleacherites laughed appreciatively. Then, apparently deciding that
he did not know the batsman after all, Billy Younger lifted his arms
languidly above his head, spun half around and sent the ball slowly and
exactly over the center of the plate. The batsman watched it go by and
then turned inquiringly to the umpire.
“Strike!” said Mr. Chase.
The batsman tapped the plate and smiled contemptuously. Billy wound up
again, stepped easily forward and sped the ball. It looked good until
it was almost within reach of the impatient bat. Then it drifted lazily
out of the straight and narrow path and the bat swung harmlessly over
it. And George Connors, dropping to one knee, picked the ball almost
out of the dirt! After that Billy wasted two, a high one outside and a
low one that nicked the corner of the plate. By that time the coachers
and the players on the visitors’ bench were howling encouragement to
the batter and aspersions on the pitcher’s offerings.
“He hasn’t got a thing, Gus! Pick out a good one! Make him pitch to
you! He’s dead easy, Gus, old boy! This is the one!”
It was. It was a nice slow drop that never pretended at any moment
during its flight to be anything but a drop. And the batsman knew it
was a drop and was ready for it. And after he had swung he took two
full steps in the direction of first base before it dawned on him that
there are drops and drops, and that that particular drop had held a
drop too much! He retired to the bench scowling while Audelsville in
the grand stand clapped with well-behaved enthusiasm, and Audelsville
on the bleachers stamped and howled in abandoned glee.
“One down!” bawled the coachers to the runners.
“One gone!” called Madden from third.
The next batsman managed to connect with Billy’s second offering and
popped a high fly to leftfielder, going out without advancing the
runners. The Providence captain was the next victim to Billy’s slants
and turned away in disgust after watching just four deliveries float by
him. Audelsville heaved a vast sigh of relief and applauded as Billy
Younger trotted back to the bench.
“That’s all well enough,” grunted Willard, “but they’ve got six mighty
big tallies on that scorebook. We’ve got to do some hitting to get this
game, fellows!”
The rest agreed, all except Spider and Teddy, who were arguing heatedly
over the question of how to score that second run. Spider declared that
the runner should be credited with a steal, while Teddy insisted that
it was somebody’s error, he didn’t know whose!
“If it was anybody’s error,” said Jerry, “it was Chester’s. The big
boob ought to have asked for time.”
“The man stole on catcher,” suggested Tom. “Wasn’t it catcher’s error?”
“No, because pitcher held the ball,” contradicted Willard. “It’s
plainly Chester’s error.”
“It was everybody’s error, I guess,” murmured Teddy, scowling at his
scorebook. “Guess I’ll present everyone with one-ninth of an error!”
Meanwhile high school was falling before the clever curves of the
opposing pitcher, and, although the home team managed to get a runner
as far as second, there was no scoring in the last of the fourth. Nor
was there any scoring in either half of the fifth or sixth. The game
settled down to a pitchers’ battle, with the honors pretty evenly
divided between Billy and the purple-stockinged youth. Then, in the
last of the seventh, things began to look up for Audelsville. Berger,
rightfielder and a mediocre batsman, was hit on the arm and went down
to first rubbing his elbow and grinning. The incident unsteadied
the Providence pitcher for a moment, and Connors, who usually fanned
out expeditiously, somehow managed to get his bat in the way of the
ball and sent a slow bunt toward third. A mix-up ensued between third
baseman and pitcher, and Connors was safe on first and Berger was
hopping gleefully around at second. Billy Younger was an erratic
performer with the stick and his retirement was already discounted
when he faced the pitcher. But luck was with Billy to-day and he swung
against the first delivery and cracked it out over second baseman’s
head for a long roller that sent Berger across the plate and left
Connors on second. The bleachers howled approval and the High School
coachers danced and cavorted and uttered weird noises at first and
second. Lyman, head of the batting list, might be expected to bring in
another run, and he received evidences of distinguished consideration
as he stepped to the plate and faced the pitcher determinedly. But for
once the clever little shortstop proved a distinct disappointment,
for the best he could do, after watching two strikes go past him and
then fouling off two deliveries, was to send a weak grounder to third
baseman, who hurled to second in time to catch Billy. Second completed
the double. Meanwhile Connors had reached third, however, and there was
still a chance of another run. Ness, first baseman, long and lank and
a mighty swatter, came up and was passed to first. Cook, centerfielder,
while not as dependable as Ness, was a fair batter, and this time he
did his duty, banging a hot liner at shortstop which that youth stopped
but could not field in time to prevent another score. With men on first
and second Chester Madden fell a victim to the pitcher’s wiles and sent
an arching fly into centerfielder’s hands, and the inning was over.
In their half of the eighth the Providence players squeezed in another
tally, although Billy added one more strike-out to his growing score.
High School started badly, Jordan and Jones each being thrown out at
first. Berger, however, managed to do some heady waiting and got his
base on balls. Connor connected with a low ball and popped it up into
short centerfield. Shortstop went back for it and centerfielder raced
in for it. Even second baseman showed a disposition to take a hand in
the catching of that fly. The result was that it fell to the turf while
the three players stood and glared at each other. It was Billy’s turn
at bat again, and it was a foregone conclusion that, having had one
streak of luck, Billy couldn’t expect another and would prove an easy
out. But the pitcher, worried by the misadventure that had left two on
bases instead of retiring the side, went suddenly wild. Billy used his
head and waited. One ball, two balls, a strike, three balls――Billy
waved his bat and danced at the plate. Another strike!
“He can’t do it again, Billy!” called Chester Madden.
And he didn’t. What was meant for a strike slanted erratically past
Billy’s chin and Billy trotted to first, and the bases were full!
“Oh, for a home run!” sighed Tom, squirming excitedly about on the hot
seat. “Who’s up, Will?”
“Lyman,” replied Spider promptly. “He didn’t do a thing last time.”
“Gives him a better show now,” said Teddy hopefully. “Even a little old
hit would bring in two runs.”
Lyman was cautious. The pitcher, who had seemingly recovered from
his momentary unsteadiness, worked a slow drop and scored a strike.
He followed that with a fast high ball that Lyman refused, and Mr.
Chase confirmed his decision. Another delivery went as a ball by a
narrow margin. Then one shot by right in the groove and although Lyman
swung desperately he missed it. The next one went hurtling off with a
loud crack, but proved to be a foul outside of third base line. But
the following delivery found Lyman ready, and Lyman’s bat, too, and
away screeched the ball between second and third and Lyman sped for
the base. The Providence shortstop made a frenzied leap into the air
and possibly just touched the ball with his finger tips. But it was
not for him. Center and leftfielder ran in for it, and centerfielder
got it on a lucky bound. By that time Berger had scored, Connors was
rounding third, Billy was half-way between that bag and second, and
Lyman was still on the go. One fatal moment of indecision on the part
of centerfielder worked for high school. Seeing that he could not stop
Connors, the fielder sped the ball to second to get Lyman. At third
Chester Madden was on the coacher’s line. Just as the ball reached
second baseman, too late to put out Lyman, Billy Younger raced to
third. Chester, studying the situation rapidly, took a desperate chance
and waved Billy on toward the plate! There were two out, anyway, and it
was a time for risking something!
Billy was fleet of foot and he had hardly broken his stride at the
third corner, and now he was putting out for the plate for all he
was worth, while the Providence catcher, astride the rubber, shouted
imploringly for the ball. Across the diamond the second baseman,
recovering after an unsuccessful sweep at Lyman, who had slid safely to
the bag, saw what was happening and, in a panic, heaved the ball home.
It was a hurried throw and it came in far to the right of the plate,
striking the dust ten feet away and bounding into the catcher’s hands
by the merest good luck instead of going on to the backstop. But the
good luck wasn’t good enough, for, although the catcher threw himself
heroically toward the plate, Billy was there before him by a hair’s
breadth, and as the two rolled over together in the dust the umpire
spread his hands wide, palms downward. When the catcher had struggled
to his feet again, Lyman was seated on third base, panting but content,
and the score stood five to seven.
Lyman deserved a run for his trouble, but he didn’t score it, for Ness
was out, shortstop to first baseman, and the eighth inning had passed
into history. The stands settled themselves again after several minutes
of wild excitement and the teams changed places. It was getting toward
five o’clock and the air was cooling perceptibly. Billy Younger went
back to the mound, but his wild streak around the bases had told on him
and he was decidedly wobbly. He passed the first batsman, struck out
the second and allowed the third a clean base hit. Then the fourth man
popped a foul to first baseman and Billy settled down. A scratch hit
past second left men on first, second and third bases, and for a moment
it looked as if the visitors might add to their score. But the best the
next purple-stockinged youth could do was to smash a ball straight at
Captain Madden, who didn’t have to move an inch to get it, and the side
was out.
It was high school’s last chance now and the bleachers arose as one
man and implored victory. Cook was the first man up. Cook swung his
bat grimly as he faced the enemy and then proceeded to raise and lower
the hopes of his team-mates and friends by knocking fouls all over
the place, going after everything that was offered him. In the end he
struck out ingloriously, and Chester Madden took his place.
Chester looked grimly determined as he hitched his belt, rubbed one
hand in the dust and settled into position. But the very first ball
pitched proved his undoing, for, although it came straight along the
groove, it was a fast one and Chester swung a fraction too low. Up
went the ball, poised an instant against the blue of the afternoon sky
and then started to earth directly over the pitcher’s box. Pitcher,
catcher and first baseman all went for it and all claimed it, but the
captain called for the catcher to take it, and when it came down with
a final rush it settled into that player’s big mitt. That thud of
leather against leather sounded tragic indeed to the home team and its
supporters. In the grand stand the seats began to empty, although many
lingered along the edge of the field to see the final put-out.
This doubtful honor fell, apparently, to Jordan, who, although he
had played a rattling game at second, had not greatly distinguished
himself at the bat. When all is said and done, the one thing that makes
baseball the interesting game it is, is its quality of unexpectedness.
Here was the game all over but the shouting, the score 7 to 5 in
Providence Prep’s favor, and two men out in the last inning. They were
sliding the bats into the canvas bag in front of the visitors’ bench.
The occupants of the bleachers were donning their jackets and swarming
out on to the turf. And then, suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came
a sharp crack of the bat and Jordan was racing to first! And the dirty,
white sphere was a gray streak against the green turf, the second
baseman was rolling over and over after an unsuccessful attempt to stop
the ball, and the rightfielder was scurrying in for it! And Jordan was
rounding first now and flying like a rabbit for second! Fielder got
the ball and threw, but the throw was hurried and shortstop had to
step a couple of paces off base to catch it, and before he could tag
the runner the latter was safe. How Audelsville shouted and howled!
How Chester Madden and the rest of the team danced about! Chester sped
Jones to the plate, but the Providence pitcher refused to be hurried.
He took plenty of time to let his team-mates settle down again, and
then he faced the batsman. Now Jones, like Jordan, had failed to
produce hits so far, and the wise ones criticized Chester for not
putting in a pinch hitter. But Chester was banking on Fortune just
then, and Fortune didn’t fail him. Jones never had a chance to try at
the ball. The Providence pitcher was as wild as a hawk. The first two
deliveries went past Jones’ nose, the third bit the dust in front of
the plate and narrowly escaped being a passed ball, and the fourth went
wide of the plate. And Jones trotted to first, and the uproar, which
had continued unceasingly since Jordan’s hit, took on new volume.
But it wouldn’t do to put all the work on Fortune, and Chester realized
it. The next man on the list, Berger, was the weakest sort of a
batsman. It wouldn’t do to trust to Berger to bring in the two runs
needed to tie the game. So he waved that youth aside and looked about
him. Here were Poor and Tucker, but they weren’t likely to perform much
better than Berger.
“Where’s Lippit?” demanded Chester of the team at large.
No one seemed to know, and so everyone began to yell at once for
“Jerry! Jerry Lippit!” An answer came from back of third and Jerry
raced across the diamond. Chester seized him by the arm, whispered
instructions, and pushed him toward the plate. The uproar died away.
The crowd watched almost breathlessly. At second, Jordan pawed the
earth and shouted. At first, Jones danced about and uttered taunts,
keeping, nevertheless, a sharp watch on the boxman, who had a way of
turning with disconcerting quickness and throwing to first. But when
first baseman left the bag Jones took a twelve foot lead and redoubled
his antics. Behind him was Chester, coaching. Over by third stood
Lyman. The voices of the two crossed the diamond like pistol volleys,
crashing by the ears of the opposing pitcher, who, in spite of his
efforts to keep cool, was plainly worried. The first ball proved it,
for it struck the plate; and the enemy howled with mingled glee and
derision. Catcher walked down the alley a few steps before he tossed
the ball back. Pitcher nodded, hitched at his belt, rubbed a hand in
the earth, and poised himself again. The catcher gave his signal, the
ball sped to the plate, catcher caught it and almost with one movement
sent it streaking to second. Jordan was a good fifteen feet away at the
instant. He made one step toward second, saw the futility of it, and
then, turning, dug out for third. A groan went up from the watchers.
Shortstop, who had taken the throw-down, started along the path after
the runner, then, pausing, snapped the ball to third baseman. Jordan,
headed off, doubled back. Third closed in a few steps and then threw to
second baseman, who was now covering the sack. Again Jordan turned,
but they were closing in on him fast and it seemed that the end had
come. But Fortune once more took a hand. Second baseman tossed the ball
to pitcher, who had run over to back up third baseman. The throw was
an easy one, over Jordan’s head, but it went high, and, although the
pitcher got it in one hand, it was at that moment that Jordan, grown
desperate, rushed for the third bag. Pitcher was on the base line and
Jordan struck him full in the breast with his shoulder. Down swept the
hand with the ball, as the pitcher staggered aside, and thumped against
Jordan’s back. Tom, watching from twenty feet away, groaned. Then, in
the next instant, he was dancing like a dervish and whacking Willard on
the back! For the ball was rolling in the dust and Jordan was clutching
third base frantically! Pitcher had dropped the ball! And on second
base sat Jones!
Well, anyone could guess what would likely happen after that. With two
balls already wasted, the pitcher tried to do what was wise; that is,
pass the pinch hitter and wait for the next batsman. And so, while
Audelsville howled and cheered and hooted, he tossed another wide ball.
Then Jerry saw what he was up to, saw his chance to make a hero of
himself being snatched from his grasp, and was enraged.
“Oh, put one over!” he taunted. “You don’t dare to give me a chance
at one!” He leaped to the end of the batter’s box and waved his bat
exasperatingly at the troubled pitcher. “You’re afraid, you Providence
Prune!”
Now whether the pitcher meant to sneak a strike over or whether he
meant the next delivery to be a ball will never be known, but Jerry
will tell you that no one could ask for a better offering than came
to him. It sped in fairly high, broke slowly and came straight over
the plate. To have refused it would have been a positive crime, Jerry
declared afterwards. So he didn’t refuse it. He swung sharply, met it
fairly and squarely and sent it whizzing high and far into rightfield.
All eyes followed it and hearts began to sink. Out there rightfielder,
turning, was running back slowly. He could catch it, certainly, and the
game would be over. Then, suddenly, the fielder scurried back further,
watching the descending ball over his shoulder. And then, just how it
happened wasn’t apparent, up went his right hand high in the air, he
toppled over backward, and the ball rolled away from him across the
grass! The tying runs had crossed the plate and Jerry was faltering at
second. Now he took up the running again. He was at third before the
fielder had recovered the ball and sped it to second baseman. Lyman
waved him toward home. Half-way there the ball left second baseman’s
hands and Jerry, with a final frantic charge, slid over ten feet of
dust and hooked one foot into the plate, avoiding the catcher’s wild
lunge of the ball and scoring the eighth and winning tally!
The high school scorer credited Jerry with a home run, on the
presumption that the ball had been an impossible one to handle. The
Providence scorer gave him a two-base hit and put an error down to
rightfielder. I fancy the latter story came nearer the truth of the
matter. Not that it mattered much, however, for Audelsville tramped
home in joyous triumph, Jerry became a hero, and Providence Preparatory
Academy retired with trailing banners and muttered vows of revenge.
So absorbed in the glorious ninth inning victory were Tom and Willard
and Spider that they reached town before it dawned on them that Teddy
Thurston had mysteriously disappeared and that they hadn’t got their
sodas!
“Never mind,” said Willard darkly, “we’ll make him pay up yet. That kid
will come to a bad end, you mark my words, fellows!”
Later, when Tom and Willard paused at a corner to say good night,
Willard volunteered:
“Say, Tom, you know something?”
“Not much,” laughed Tom. “What is it?”
“You haven’t said ‘automobile’ once all the afternoon!”