THE SECOND GAME
Certainly, as Tony said, our luck had turned. As the morning advanced,
the rain continued to fall, so the question of playing ball was
practically settled. About ten o’clock Tony telegraphed to the
secretary of the Park nine, “Raining hard. Shall we come?” Within an
hour he received the following answer from Berkeley, “Impossible to
play. Game will have to be postponed. Will write you later.”
Mutual congratulations followed. The fellows were all delighted, and
at noon a jubilant, happy crowd assembled in Ray’s room to discuss the
matter.
“Nothing could have pleased me better,” said Ray. “For the first
time in my life I am glad to see it rain on a baseball day. It gives
Harry time to cure his wrist, and the rest of us several days more of
practice. It is just what we most needed.”
“Pour away, old boy!” exclaimed Tony, as a sudden gust of wind brought
the rain swirling against the window panes. “You have done the square
thing by us to-day. I’ll never complain of the weather again――never.
Say, Ray, what new date had we better arrange for the game?”
“I was just thinking of that,” answered Ray. “We can’t get a day off in
the middle of the week. The faculty don’t want us to go away except on
Saturdays.”
“Suppose we appoint the Monday following the Halford game,” I said.
“The faculty might object to our going away twice. Now, as the Halford
game takes place next Saturday, we might stay at Halford over Sunday,
and play the Park men Monday afternoon, on our way back. In that way we
can do it all up in one trip, and be back here Monday night.”
“A very good idea,” answered Ray, “and if the Park men are agreeable,
we had better fix it that way by all means.”
The consent of our faculty to this scheme was easily obtained, and the
correspondence which Tony held with the Park men resulted in their
acceptance of the arrangement, so the game was appointed to take place
on the Monday following our trip to Halford.
The marked improvement in uniformity and excellence of play on the
part of our nine during the next week confirmed Ray’s statement that
all we needed to perfect ourselves was a few days’ more practice.
My wrist give me little trouble in the early part of the week, so
Wednesday morning I made the experiment of pitching a whole practice
game through and found that I suffered nothing in consequence. Thursday
and Friday, therefore, I took my regular practice with the others, and
in proportion as my wrist recovered strength I recovered confidence.
During these last two days I do not think any one would have known
that I had suffered any injury. My enforced rest seemed, if anything,
to have done me good, for Friday I certainly felt more in the spirit of
the game, and pitched more effectively, than I had done before I hurt
my wrist.
“You needn’t come down this afternoon, fellows,” said Ray, as we left
the grounds at one o’clock. “Keep quiet and remember to go to bed early
to-night.”
We had arranged to leave the next morning on the 9:30 train, but I was
up by seven o’clock anxious to know what the weather had in store for
us. To my delight, I found on opening my curtains that fortune again
favored us, this time with bright sunshine and an almost cloudless sky.
“It may be hot,” I thought, “but still what of that, so long as it
doesn’t rain.”
At the depot I found a large and interested crowd of students who had
assembled, as was their custom, to see us off. The nine were all there,
cheerful and in good spirits, Tony Larcom rushing around like a chicken
with its head off, buying our tickets, checking our luggage, and
answering all sorts of questions at the same time.
“At last!” he exclaimed as he caught sight of me, and stopped a moment
to mop the perspiration from his face. “I was afraid you were going to
be late. Got your valise? Here give it to me, I’ll get it checked. Jim;
Jim! come here and get this valise. Hullo, Jim! Where in thunder is
that fellow?――oh there you are――get this checked right away and have
it ready with the other things. Cæsar’s ghost! but isn’t it hot? Yes,
Frank, I’ll telegraph the score immediately after the game, don’t you
fear. Here, you fellows, get out of my way――how do you expect me to
do anything with a dozen or more crowding and jamming――――” and off he
rushed while I joined the other members of the nine.
In a few moments the train arrived and we quickly clambered aboard,
Tony making sure that we were all there before he ascended the
platform. Then, as the train moved off, Tony waved his hat, while
the crowd at the station gave three rousing cheers, and with this
encouraging sound ringing in our ears, we set off for Halford.
We expected to arrive there about eleven o’clock, for Halford was not
many miles beyond Berkeley. Ray took advantage of this opportunity to
say a few final words of caution. During the week he had frequently
mentioned several points of weakness in the Halford nine, and given us
directions as to the best manner of taking advantage of them. One point
in particular he had brought out strong, and this he reiterated now.
“Remember,” he said, “the Halford men chiefly lack nerve at critical
junctures. They are apt to go to pieces if pushed hard. They will play
a strong game while they are in the lead, and while they can keep the
bases clear; but heavy batting will demoralize them, and I think we
can easily manage their pitcher. We must try to fill the bases. We must
hit the ball _every time_. Don’t try to make home runs all the time,
but _hit the ball_, and run bases daringly. Take every possible chance.
We may lose one or two points by so doing, but we will gain in the end,
for it will demoralize them, I know.”
When we arrived at Halford we found Slade and Bennett, the secretary
and captain of their nine, awaiting us. The feeling between Halford and
Belmont Colleges had always been extremely friendly, and kept up by
succeeding generations with as much respect for the tradition as had
our bitter animosity for Park College. Our reception, therefore, was of
the pleasantest nature possible.
“Very sorry to hear of your hard luck over at Dean,” said Slade, as he
shook hands with Ray and me.
“Yes, it was too bad,” answered Ray, “but you have had your share of
misfortune too――last Wednesday, I mean. I think you should have had
that game.”
“Well, so do we,” said Bennett, “but what could we expect, playing as
we did on their ground? We had to play the nine and the whole crowd
too. I fear you will get your dose of it on Monday.”
“I suppose so,” answered Ray.
Halford had received a donation from a wealthy graduate of money enough
to lay out new grounds and construct a new and large grand stand. As
we entered the gate in our carriages after dinner, the sight that met
our eyes was enough to gladden the heart of any baseball enthusiast.
The new diamond was as level as a billiard table, and covered with
fresh, green, closely cropped grass, while the grand stand was gaily
decorated with flags, and filled with a chattering and laughing crowd
of people.
“Great Scott,” exclaimed Percy Randall, “just look at that outfield,
boys! There isn’t a blade of grass on it, and it is as smooth and hard
as a board. If we knock a hard ball outside of the diamond it will roll
into the middle of next week.”
“That’s just what we want to do, fellows,” answered Ray promptly. “Hit
low and hard, and the ball won’t stop this side of the fence. Remember
now for the last time, fellows: don’t hit up in the air――hit hard and
low, and run your bases like tigers.”
We were accorded the compliment of a round burst of applause, as the
Halford men came in from their practice, and we ran out on the field.
This put us in the best of spirits, and we set to work picking up the
balls, catching them on the fly, and throwing them from base to base
with a brilliancy and dash that elicited frequent acknowledgment from
the grand stand. We had only ten minutes for our preliminary exercise;
then the signal sounded, and the game was called.
Now that fortune had turned, it persisted in our favor, for we won the
toss, and chose the field. Full of confidence we ran to our various
positions, and their first batter took his place.
Not being quite warmed to work yet, I made the mistake of placing the
first ball directly over the plate. The batter caught it about the
center of his bat, and sent it away out to center field. It had not
occurred to us in our calculations that the outfield might prove as
advantageous to our opponents as to ourselves in case they hit hard;
but this was brought forcibly to my mind, for, before the ball was
captured on the ground by Lewis Page, the batter reached second base.
This was greeted by a round of applause, but nothing daunted, we
settled down to work, and put out the next man in short order.
Then came a hard ground hit to George Ives, who threw the batter out at
first base, but this enabled the first batter to reach third. Then a
safe hit was made just over Ray Wendell’s head, and the runner on third
base scored. The next man I succeeded in striking out, and we took the
bat.
George Ives opened with a good safe hit, and according to Ray Wendell’s
direction, he dashed down to second base at the first ball pitched. The
catcher hardly expected this, threw over the second baseman’s head,
and George reached third. The next two, Percy Randall and myself, were
thrown out at first base, and it looked almost as if George Ives would
be left on third, but Holland saved us from this by hitting safe and
bringing George home. We made no more runs, and the inning closed with
the score 1–1.
In the second inning neither scored. In the third inning Halford made
one run, while we were blanked. But in the fourth inning we returned
the compliment by making a run and blanking them. In the fifth inning
they made one more run, making the score 3–2 in their favor. In the
sixth and seventh innings they kept this lead, and prevented us from
scoring.
In spite of their being ahead, we had felt no anxiety, for we were sure
of our superiority both in the field and at the bat, and we believed
that our time would come. It was only at the end of the seventh inning
that we felt the least uneasy.
“Boys,” said Ray, “this won’t do. We are nearing the end of the game,
and they are still in the lead. We must break this up. You see, it
is just as I told you: they play a fine game while they keep the
bases clean. We haven’t pushed them hard enough. We must set the ball
rolling. Start her off, Alfred.”
His last words were addressed to Burnett, who was first at the bat in
the ending of the eighth inning. But Alfred evidently did not see his
way clear, for he struck out.
“Oh, pshaw, let me show you,” cried Percy Randall cheerfully, as he
took his position.
Percy was as good as his word, and at the second ball pitched, placed
it nicely over the short stop’s head, reaching first base in safety.
This was Percy’s first chance and we immediately learned his value.
He followed Ray’s instructions by performing two successive feats of
reckless base running such as I had never in my life seen before.
At the very first ball he was off for second base. The catcher threw
straight and true, but Percy hurled himself forward head first, and
slid into the base safely. Hastily picking himself up and without
stopping to dust himself off, he started off at the next ball, and
dashed for third base. Again the catcher threw straight, but, by
another brilliant slide, Percy reached third.
This took the Halford men by storm. They had never seen anything quite
like Percy’s impudence, and the success of it staggered them. I was at
the bat and waiting for a good ball, but the pitcher disconcerted by
Percy’s feat, gave me my base on balls. At the next ball I ran down to
second, the catcher not daring to throw it down for fear of letting
Percy in home. Holland, who was at the bat, noticed that the pitcher
was unsettled, and coolly waited for two strikes to be called. The
pitcher continued to throw wild, and, as a result, Holland was given
his base on balls.
This left us with a runner on each base, and only one man out. Ray
Wendell then came to the bat and looked calmly at the situation.
“Now, Ray,” I said to myself, “you told _us_ what to do. Now show us
_how_. Practice what you’ve preached, my boy, and the day is saved.”
Ray planted himself firmly, and waited for a good ball. The pitcher,
knowing well that if he gave Ray also his base on balls, it would
force us all around, and bring Percy home, was careful to put the ball
straight over the plate.
“One strike,” called the umpire.
The pitcher hurled another ball almost exactly in the same spot.
“Hit it! Hit it!” I exclaimed in a whisper.
Ray’s bat flashed in the air. Crack! came a report that sounded over
the whole field. The ball shot over my head like lightning, about ten
feet above the ground, landing safely between left and center field,
and rolled on――on――on, while the two fielders ran desperately after it,
and Percy, I, Holland, and lastly, Ray himself, dashed around in home,
_making four runs in all_.
We were wild with joy, the other fellows receiving us with open arms.
The grand stand greeted the play with some applause, and, considering
the loss it brought to their friends in the field, we appreciated
greatly their generosity. Ray’s hit was a long and hard one, and he
could almost have walked around before the fielders reached the ball.
“Go around again, Ray!” shouted Tony, entirely forgetting the dignity
of his position as our scorer, in the delight of the moment.
We made no more runs that inning, the Halford men settling down bravely
to steady playing as they found the bases clear again. The game was
practically settled, however, for the score was now 6–3 in our favor.
Confidently we took the field for the ninth inning, and played a
strong, sure game which resulted in our closing the Halford men out
without a run. With evident signs of disappointment the large crowd
dispersed, and we found ourselves a jolly set of victors. We gathered
together and gave three cheers for the Halford men, which were
responded to by a similar compliment from their nine, and then hurried
to our carriages. Laughing, shouting, and joking, we scrambled in.
“There!” cried Percy, as he tumbled in a heap over me. “Who says we
can’t play ball?”
The driver wheeled his team about and we were off for our hotel.
“And now, boys,” said Ray, his face glowing with excitement and
pleasure――“Now for Park College, and the Crimson Banner!”