A SLIDE TO THE PLATE
The minute “sister” was over the boys were hurrying toward the
playing-field, followed more leisurely by Sam and Mr. Gifford and Steve
Brown, who was to umpire the contest. The way led through the woods for
nearly a quarter of a mile, over a well-worn path that now skirted the
lake, and now turned inland to cross a brook by a log bridge. Then it
climbed up-hill through a plantation of young maples, hugged the face
of a limestone boulder and dipped again to the edge of the field. The
whole camp turned out, if we omit Mr. Langham, Kitty-Bett, and Jerry;
and Mr. Langham arrived later. Sam and Mr. Gifford set their teams to
warming up and the fellows who were to play the parts of spectators
arranged themselves along the base-lines. It was fairly hot this
afternoon and scarcely a ripple stirred the surface of the lake. The
Indians won the toss and went into the field and Steve Brown called:
“Play ball!”
George Porter disposed of the first three Mascots handily. Tom
Crossbush, who led the batting list, was the only one of the trio to
connect with the ball and his effort only resulted in an easy out at
first. Dick Barry, who pitched for Sam’s nine, was a chunky, stub-nosed
youth of fourteen with very little science but a whole big lot of
assurance. Ned Welch caught him, and Ned, a year older, was a steady
chap behind the plate and handled Dick cleverly. But to-day, as usual,
Dick was touched up pretty frequently. Ed Thursby began the fun for Mr.
Gifford’s tribe with a fly that Dan Peterson, in left field, misjudged
miserably. Ed got to second and the Indians’ third baseman bunted
him to third and reached first himself when Dick Barry threw low to
Crossbush, who played the initial sack. The next man fanned and Dick’s
friends in the audience shouted approval. But Sawyer, the Indian first
baseman, found something he liked and slammed a hit between second and
short and Thursby came home with the first tally. Another hit a minute
later scored a second run and then a pop fly descended into Dick’s
glove and made the second out and before the runner on third could
score a second strike-out was secured by Dick.
The game ran along at two to nothing until the first of the third. Then
the Mascots managed to get a run across by a combination of a hit, a
sacrifice fly, and an error by the Indians’ third baseman. But the
Indians came back in their half with a slugging fest and put two more
tallies across. Neither team was able to do anything in the fourth or
fifth. George Porter ran his strike-out total up to seven and Dick
Barry, while he only fooled one more Indian, somehow managed to escape
punishment. Steve Brown made a decision at first that dissatisfied the
Mascots, when Dick suddenly shot the ball across to Tom Crossbush and
apparently nailed Ned Welch a foot off the bag. But the umpire didn’t
see it that way and, anyhow, the decision made no difference in the
outcome.
In the first of the sixth inning Sam’s team started off with a rush.
Young Fairchild dribbled a weak bunt along third-base line and the
throw to first went wild. The runner scurried to second and then,
coached frantically to go on, made an apparently hopeless attempt to
reach third. But another wild heave saved him. Third baseman blocked
the ball, but not in time to make the out, and Terry Fairchild,
immensely proud of his feat, sat on the bag and tried to recover his
breath and made derisive remarks to the baseman. Sam instructed the
next batter, Pete Simpson, to try to bunt, hoping that the ball would
be played to the plate and that Pete would get his base. Naturally, the
runner on third was not supposed to go home unless the way was clear,
for there were no outs.
Pete had a strike and two balls called on him before he found anything
he thought he could use to advantage. Then he struck loosely against
a high ball and by good luck sent it rolling along the first-base
path. Pete raced for first and Pitcher Porter raced for the ball. And,
contrary to instructions from the third-base coach, young Fairchild,
doubtless desiring to still further glorify himself, sprinted for
home. He had about one chance in twenty of reaching it safely, for
Porter scooped up the ball on the run, turned swiftly, and threw to the
plate. And Jimmy Benson, astride the platter, caught it waist-high,
and everything should have been lovely for the Indians. But Terry
Fairchild, sprawling on his back, with both legs kicking in the air,
arrived a fraction of a second after the ball and, since Benson was in
the way, Terry just naturally collided with him, knocked his feet from
under him, and went by. Unfortunately, the shock was so disturbing to
the catcher that he inadvertently loosed his hold on the ball and the
ball followed Terry into the dust. And Steve Brown, who had already
motioned the runner out, reversed his decision, and Peter Simpson slid
to second.
Jimmy Benson was disgruntled, even angry, and said unkind things to
Terry. But Terry, picking himself up with a swagger and patting the
dust from his scant costume, only grinned exasperatingly and walked to
the bench, there to be hilariously patted and hugged by his team-mates.
When, however, he glanced toward Sam, expecting praise, he got a
surprise.
“Don’t do that again, Fairchild,” said the junior councillor severely.
“Mind what the coach tells you. You made it, but you had no business
making it, and if Benson hadn’t dropped the ball you’d have looked
pretty cheap. You take your orders from the coach, Fairchild, after
this.”
Terry, chastened in spirit, subsided amidst the smiles of the others
as Jones faced the Indian pitcher. Porter was in the air now, and,
although Mr. Gifford called encouragement and Benson counselled him to
take his time and “put them over,” he slammed the ball in vindictively
and Jones drew a pass. Porter steadied down then, but the team,
especially the infield, was unsettled, and, after Welch, with two
strikes against him, hit squarely to first baseman and made the first
out, Simpson and Jones tried a double steal and got away with it, the
Indian shortstop dropping the throw from the plate. Cheers and jeers
rewarded this event. Benson tried to steady the team as Dick Barry went
to bat.
“Never mind that, fellows!” called Jimmy. “Here’s an easy one! Strike
him out, George! Three will do it! Put ’em right over the middle, he
couldn’t hit a basket-ball!”
Possibly Dick couldn’t have hit a basket-ball, but he did manage to
connect with one of Porter’s curves and send it just over second
baseman’s head. When the ball was back in the pitcher’s hands two more
runs had crossed the plate, Dick was safe at first, and the score was a
tie at four runs each. But the Mascots were not through even then. Sam,
realising that now was the time to win, if ever, urged his fellows to
their best endeavours. Tom Crossbush, however, over-anxious for a hit,
struck at everything and, after fouling off two good ones, bit at a
wide curve, and retired morosely to the bench.
“Two gone!” announced the coaches. “Run on anything, Dick!”
So Dick took a chance and scuttled for second and beat the ball by
several feet. Peterson waited while Porter worked a strike and two
balls on him. Then he met the next offering fairly and squarely for
the longest hit of the game, and sent it far into centre field, at
least a yard over Meldrum’s head, and while that youth scampered back
for it, raced desperately around the bases in an attempt to stretch
a three-bagger into a home run. Fortunately, though, he was held up
at third, to score the sixth tally a minute later when Groom’s easy
infield hit got by Thursby at second. Peterson reached the plate on
his stomach, the merest fraction of an instant ahead of the ball.
Then White hit a swift one to Thursby, and that youth, retrieving his
previous error, made a flying one-hand catch for the third out.
But six to four looked good to the Mascots and they trotted into the
field with the determination to hold their advantage. And they did,
for the rest of the sixth at least. For Dick Barry, summoning all the
craft he knew, and ably seconded by Ned Welch, disposed of the next two
Indians without trouble. The third banged out a two-bagger into right,
and subsequently stole third when Welch let a delivery get past him,
but he got no further that inning, for the next batsman was an easy
out, second baseman to first.
There was no scoring in either half of the seventh, although the
Indians had two men on bases at one time, with only one out. What luck
there was broke for the Mascots; and the first double-play of the game,
participated in by Groom and Crossbush, put an end to the inning. In
the eighth the Mascots came near to scoring when Peterson reached third
on a base hit and a wild throw to second and tried to score on White’s
grounder to shortstop. At that the decision at the plate was close and
might have gone either way.
In their half the Indians set to work with vim and lighted on Dick
Barry hard. Codman hit safely, Benson got his base on balls, Porter
struck out, Thursby sacrificed, and Nettleton, with only one gone,
filled the bases by a pop fly to Dick, which that overeager youth
dropped. Things looked desperate then for Sam’s charges, but a minute
later Sawyer had fouled out to third baseman and the Mascots and their
allies breathed freer. They were not to emerge unscathed, however,
for Meldrum hit a bounder that just tipped Dick’s upstretched fingers
and was finally fielded by Groom too late to throw to the plate or to
first, and the Indians scored their fifth run. Then, after missing the
plate three times out of four, and putting himself in a hole, Dick
made a sudden throw to second and, after a wildly exciting moment, the
runner was caught between bases.
Simpson opened the ninth for the Mascots with a bunt that trickled down
the first-base line and threatened every instant to roll out, but never
did, much to the disgust of Porter and Benson, who hovered anxiously
over it. Had Porter fielded it at once he could have made the assist,
but he left the decision with the ball and the ball fooled him. Then
Jones sacrificed Peterson to second, Welch struck out, Barry lifted
a fly to left field that was an easy catch and, with two down and a
runner on second, the inning looked about over. But Tom Crossbush drew
a pass and stole second on the first pitch, while Simpson went to
third, and then Dan Peterson scored Simpson, with a hit over second
base.
The Mascots leaped and shrieked with delight, and while the Indians
were still wondering what had happened, and while George Porter was
winding up to send his first offering to Billy White, Crossbush, who
was dancing back and forth a dozen feet from third, suddenly broke for
the plate. Shouts of warning, shrieks of excitement! Porter momentarily
faltering as he pitched! Crossbush sliding feet foremost for the
platter! Benson leaping far to the right in a despairing effort to get
the ball! Peterson rounding second like a runaway colt! And then, while
the brown dust billowed, Steve Brown announcing, “Safe!”
Eight to five then, and nothing to it but the Mascots! Shouting and
dancing and pandemonium along the lines! And, finally, White striking
out and a deep breath of relief from the Indians and their supporters.
And there practically ended the game, for the Indians failed to put
over a single tally in their half of the final inning, and ten minutes
later the camp was thronging homeward, the Mascots very cocky and
talkative, and the Indians confiding to their friends what they would
do the next time!