A GAME WORTH WINNING.
“Well, what do you think of it, Gowan?” laughed old man Grafter, as the
seventh inning closed with the score still one to nothing in favor of
the Merries.
McGann had joined Gowan. He showed that he was worried.
“Think?” wheezed the corpulent backer of the Outcasts. “I think it’s
something unreasonable. I believe Merriwell has bought the game!”
“No, no!” said McGann, shaking his head. “You’re wrong, Bob.”
“Then why don’t they bat that fellow?”
“He’s using a new curve, and they can’t hit it. Hurley says it’s
something absolutely novel.”
“Well, are they going to let this fellow hold them down and break their
streak?” wheezed Gowan angrily. “I have money bet on this game. Wake
them up and get them into it. They’ve got to win!”
Mike Grafter laughed.
“No use to squirm, Gowan, my boy,” he said. “We’ve got you.”
“If they lose this game, McGann,” said Gowan, “I lose a thousand
dollars.”
“That’s not all we lose,” said McGann. “I have a contract with
Merriwell by which the winners take all the gate money.”
“What?” gasped Gowan.
“That’s right. He sort of forced me into it. Refused every other offer
I made.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Wallace Grafter. “You forget that I was present,
Mr. McGann, when the arrangement was made.”
“Well, he refused every reasonable offer.”
“Not at all. He was willing to play with the understanding that the
winners should have two-thirds and the losers one-third. He even
offered to split the receipts even.”
“Well, was that reasonable?” snapped McGann. “Here we have the
reputation, and a youngster like him wants to split even with us.”
“It might have been better for you than the arrangement you made. If
you do not get a dollar, you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”
“They must win!” growled McGann.
He left the bleachers and hurried to the bench, where he waited to
speak with Captain Hurley.
In the first half of the seventh the Merries fell on the ball hard,
three men making long drives to the outfield, but the fielders were
able to catch each one, and so there was no danger of more scores for
Frank.
“We must do something, Hurley!” exclaimed McGann, as the captain of the
Outcasts reached the bench. “If we lose this game, all the gate money
goes to those chaps.”
“How is that?”
McGann explained.
“That’s bad,” admitted Hurley. “We’ve been doing everything in our
power. The boys can’t bear the thought of being beaten by those chaps,
but we can’t seem to hit Merriwell. That new curve of his is a
puzzler.”
McGann implored Hurley to do something, but again he was assured that
everything possible was being done.
However, there was some excitement in that inning. The Outcasts had
found they could hit Merry safely only by bunting. Marcey, however, was
an easy out at first. Bimm followed with a bunt that rolled foul, then
struck a pebble and rolled fair again.
Merry got it and snapped it to Browning, who muffed it.
Bimm crossed first in safety.
The Outcasts began to whoop things up. They had many sympathizers in
the crowd, and a great uproar arose.
Hurley followed with a bunt that landed Bimm on second.
The captain of the Outcasts was thrown out at first.
Swatt longed to “lace” the ball, but Hurley was positive in his signal
for a bunt and he obeyed.
The bunt was sent down the line toward third.
Bimm raced for third as he saw Ready come off for the ball. Morgan
covered the sack and Ready snapped the ball to him, instead of throwing
to first. In his haste, Jack made a bad throw, and Morgan barely
touched it with his fingers.
“Up!” yelled Wiley, who was on the coaching line. “Up and sail for
port! Hooray, the score is tied! Now we’ll win! I knew the disgrace of
defeat could not fall on us!”
Bimm scrambled up and scooted for the plate, while the spectators rose
and watched, some yelling for joy.
Bob Gowan yelled as loudly as his wheezy voice would permit, at the
same time slapping Grafter on the shoulder.
“It’s our game, after all!” he said. “Right here is where we win it!”
Among the spectators another man was highly elated. He was Hobe Manton,
who whooped lustily.
“That’s the trick!” he shouted. “I thought my money was gone, but now I
feel it in my pocket with some more to keep it company.”
Of course Melvin McGann was delighted.
But suddenly something happened to change the tune of the rejoicing
ones. Apparently no one had observed that Buck Badger had worked in
from the far outfield until he was not a great distance behind third.
He happened to be in the right place to get the ball with little delay.
Bimm was halfway from third to the plate when Badger threw.
Hodge was on the plate. He saw the ball coming, but did not put up his
hands until it was quite near. An instant after he did put them up the
ball spanked into them.
Bimm had not been warned, and he had made no effort to slide. Bart
stepped off instantly and met him, tagging him with the ball.
There was silence—then another roar. This time the Merriwell admirers
shouted.
“What’s this?” gasped Cap’n Wiley, looking round in amazement. “Who
threw in that ball?”
The umpire declared Bimm out.
Wiley saw that Badger had thrown the ball, and his head dropped.
“Alas!” he muttered; “thus my fondest hopes vanish one by one. It has
been thus ever since the days of my innocent boyhood on Nigger Island.”
Mike Grafter smote Bob Gowan on the shoulder and yelled with delight,
while Gowan seemed ready to collapse in a heap.
“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Grafter. “Ho! ho! ho! The wind changed suddenly,
Bob. It’s different now. They’re all out. It’s over, my boy. They won’t
have another chance like that. The game is just the same as finished.”
“I dunno but you’re right,” admitted Gowan weakly. “That was awful!
I’ll never recover from it.”
Frank congratulated Badger as the Kansan came in.
“The right man in the right place, Buck!” he said. “That was pretty
work.”
Wiley was silent now. An atmosphere of sadness had fallen on him, and
his mouth was closed.
Perhaps no one present felt worse than Hobe Manton.
“Rotten! rotten! rotten!” he kept repeating. “If they’d tied it then
they would have won. I’ve lost my money! I’m busted.”
“It looks that way,” said Dent Frost.
“And we’ve lost something on your advice,” muttered Necker sourly.
The ninth inning was a swift one. O’Neill held the Merries down, but in
turn Frank did not permit a single one of the three Outcasts to face
him to touch the ball. All through the game he had done his level
best, and the new curve had kept the great Outcasts from doing any
hitting.
The game ended with the score one to nothing in favor of the Merries,
who were wildly cheered by their admirers as the conquering heroes who
had broken the wonderful streak of the Outcasts.
As the crowd was leaving the ground a sudden uproar broke forth. Two
men were engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter not far from the home
plate.
Pink Cassidy had stopped Hobe Manton and demanded the money promised
him.
Manton promptly hit Cassidy, nearly knocking him down.
With a roar, Pink recovered and went at the gentleman pugilist, who
immediately found that he had a real fight on his hands.
The uproar alarmed Frost and Necker.
“This is no place for us!” exclaimed Frost.
“Right!” agreed Necker. “Skip!”
They lost not a moment in getting away.
Two officers reached the fighting men and hesitated not a moment about
using their clubs. Both chaps were stretched out and then arrested.
As the fighters were being dragged from the grounds Merry got a good
look at one of them.
“Hello!” he cried. “So it’s you, Manton! Well, you’re in trouble, as
you deserve. Lock him up, Mr. Officer; if you hold him long enough I’ll
have something in the way of a warrant to serve on him.”
“Ye’ll have plenty av chance, sor,” said the policeman.