A MATCH GAME
For a long time there had been great rivalry between the ball teams of
Riverdale and Exeter; the latter, a small town lying five miles inland,
where there was a boys’ preparatory school. This year each had won five
games out of a series of ten, and the extra game to be played to-day
was to decide the championship. The Riverdale high school captain, Al
Hayden, the druggist’s son, had picked his team with great care for
this important occasion, and Phil had been chosen pitcher.
The ball grounds were just outside of the village, and not only were
the people of Riverdale there in large numbers, but the crowd was
augmented by farmers from the surrounding country who had come in
for their Saturday trading and took advantage of the opportunity to
see a good ball game. Several wagon loads of “fans” from Exeter also
rode over in the wake of the bus that carried their ball players, to
participate in the fun and excitement.
All classes of people occupied the “bleachers.” Merchants, lawyers and
even two liberal minded ministers of the gospel were among them, while
Judge Ferguson strolled over as the game commenced, accompanied by his
pretty daughter, Janet, to see how Phil conducted himself. The Randolph
children were plebeian enough to attend; the manager of the mill was
there, and all the small Darings, except Phœbe, eagerly awaited the
contest.
There was a stand where red lemonade was sold, and boys carried around
baskets of peanuts and popcorn to refresh the audience. Nearly every
high school in town had thought it her duty to be present, and their
bright ribbons and dresses added a picturesque element to the scene.
Phil Daring appeared as composed as ever, when he entered the arena
with his comrades; but, never for a moment, since his interview with
Mr. Ferguson had his mind been free from grief, humiliation and bitter
disappointment. He nodded and smiled as the throng greeted him with
hearty cheers; yet all the time he was thinking to himself: “My days of
fun and freedom are nearly over now. I must give up college, for good
and all, and settle down somewhere to make a living and help support
the children. I don’t know what I can do, I’m sure, that will earn the
needed money. No one in Riverdale needs any help such as I can give,
and I’m not experienced enough to be of much service in a big city. It
will be a hard fight, with all the chances against me; but I’ve got to
undertake it and make a go of it.”
These and similar thoughts flooded his mind to the exclusion of all
else. Mechanically, he tossed the ball in practice, and when time
was called he took his position in the pitcher’s box with scarcely a
realization of what he was doing.
A sudden silence fell upon the throng as Phil pressed the new ball into
his palm, drew back with his well-known easy swing and sent the sphere
flying through the air. There followed a low murmur that sounded like
a groan as the ball flew wide and smashed against the back-stop. Some
of the Exeter people laughed. But Phil was unaware of either moans or
laughter. He was thinking of something else more important. Getting
the ball again, he made another toss and the batter caught it with a
full blow and sent it flying into the field for a two-bagger. Al Hayden
looked grave at this but said nothing. Phil was Riverdale’s crack
pitcher, as a rule; but, perhaps he hadn’t his hand in yet.
As the game progressed, however, it was evident to all that Phil Daring
had “fallen down” and was pitching a miserable game. The Exeters
had six runs to the best of it at the end of the sixth inning and
the prospects for the Riverdale nine’s being able to even the score
were decidedly gloomy. Phil had been equally unsuccessful at the bat,
“fanning out” whenever his turn came.
It was unwise to risk the winning of the game by allowing Daring to
play any longer. Al Hayden hurriedly consulted with his mates and then
called Phil aside.
“I’m sorry, old man,” he said; “but, you don’t seem fit, to-day, and
we’re bound to lose unless we make a desperate effort. Take the bench,
and I’ll put Eric in to pitch--and Jed Hopkins in Eric’s place.”
Phil gave a sudden start and drew his hand across his forehead, as
the full import of the words was understood. Retired? Retired and
discredited at this important juncture! Why, he never would be able to
hold up his head in Riverdale again, and all the honors he had formerly
won on the field would be wiped away by this disgrace.
“What’s wrong with me, Al?” he asked, anxiously.
“I don’t know, Phil; but something’s wrong. Look at that score--eight
to two!--and only three more innings to play. You are usually our
stand-by, old fellow; but, to-day you’re the only one of the nine who
hasn’t been up to scratch, and fighting to win. I’ve been watching you,
and you seem dazed, somehow. Have the Exeter fellows scared you?”
“No,” was the reply. The score, now noticed for the first time,
positively startled him. Aroused from his dreams at last he begged Al
to try him for another inning.
“Just one,” he pleaded. “Eric can’t pitch as well as I can, I’m sure,
and if I don’t make good you can pull me out any time.”
Al hesitated, sighed, and then consented. He really despaired now of
winning the game and was so fond of Phil that he hated to humiliate him.
But the conference had been noted by the discontented Riverdale
audience and people began to shout: “Take him out!” “Put Daring on the
shelf!” “Phil’s gone bad to-day!” and other similar remarks that made
Phil straighten up and walk to his station with an air of resolve.
Groans and hoots greeted him, but he never wavered. The first batter to
face him, one of the crack Exeter players, struck out, and the crowd
ceased their jibes. The next man made a “pop-up” which Phil cleverly
caught, and a gentle murmur of applause, mostly from the women,
rewarded him. The third man also struck out, and then the crowd forgot
its grievance against the young pitcher and gave a hearty cheer.
“Why didn’t he do that, before?” grumbled Judge Ferguson, who had been
greatly annoyed at Phil’s poor showing.
“He hasn’t seemed himself, to-day,” replied Janet, with friendly
generosity. “It occurred to me that he had heard bad news, or perhaps
is not well. Really, papa, I’m not sure that Phil knew he was playing
ball, till just now.”
The old lawyer nodded. He knew very well, now that Janet shrewdly
called his attention to it, what had doubtless depressed his young
friend, and occupied his mind.
“He seems all right now,” he remarked with a sympathetic sigh. “That
last inning he played all by himself.”
Indeed, Phil’s record of three “put-outs” unassisted, inspired his
fellows with renewed confidence in him. Al Hayden went to bat and made
a two-bagger. Toby Clark, Mr. Ferguson’s office clerk, got first base
on balls. The next batter struck out, but the one following stepped up
to the plate and pounded out a clean hit that filled the bases. It was
Phil’s turn now, and he realized the full importance of the crisis.
Usually a pitcher is not a very good batter; yet, until to-day Phil
had been considered an exception to this rule. So far in the game,
however, his bat had never once touched a ball.
The spectators were thrilled by the excitement of the moment, but
expected young Daring to strike out and let the next man, a reliable
player, bring in some of the men on bases.
But Phil’s face was set and determined. He had not yet redeemed
himself. Having well-nigh lost the game for his team by his poor
showing, it now behooved him to save the day if he could. No thought
now engaged his mind, but this; he was living in the present--not in
the future. With watchful eye he followed the approaching ball on its
course, and at the proper time struck shrewdly with might and main.
High in the air rose the sphere, describing a perfect arch. With one
accord the spectators rose in their seats to watch the ball as it
sailed over the back fence, giving the batter a home run and bringing
in the three other men.
When the mighty cheer that rent the air had subsided the score was six
to eight, instead of eight to two.
In the eighth and ninth innings Phil pitched so well that no runs were
added by the Exeter team, while the Riverdales made one tally in each
inning and tied the score.
The excitement was now intense. Each team formerly had five games to
its credit, and in the present decisive game each side had scored eight
runs. An extra inning must be played to determine the championship.
The boys on both sides settled down to do their level best. Phil was
perfectly calm and confident. He struck out two and Al caught a long,
high fly that retired Exeter with a “goose-egg.” Then the Riverdale
team came to bat and the first two--poor Al one of them--went out in
short order. But when Phil again came to bat the opposing pitcher lost
his nerve, remembering that famous home run. The result was a long
drive that landed Daring on third, and the next batter, Jed Hopkins,
brought him home, winning the game and the series.
The Riverdale crowd was in an ecstasy of delight and cheered until it
was hoarse. Phil’s wonderful playing during the final three innings had
fully redeemed him in the eyes of his friends and a dozen young fellows
leaped into the arena and hoisted him upon their shoulders, carrying
him from the field in triumph. Even the defeated Exeters good-naturedly
joined in the applause, while Becky and Sue sobbed with joy at the
honors being showered upon their big brother.
“Wasn’t Phil splendid?” exclaimed Janet, as she followed her father
from the grand stand.
The old lawyer nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said he, “the lad has a wonderful amount of reserve force, which
makes him a good uphill fighter. He reminded me of his father, during
that last rally. If Phil Daring has only half the pluck and backbone
that Wallace Daring possessed, I predict he’ll some day make his mark
in the world.”
“Yet Mr. Daring died poor,” suggested Janet.
“True, my dear; and that was because he died. Had he lived, it would
have been a different story.”