PITCHING FOR THE ARMY NINE
"Dick, old fellow, this is going to be a Gridley day for us!
It will carry us back to the good old High School days!"
Cadet Greg Holmes was radiant as he moved about their room in
quarters that Saturday morning while preparing for the call to
breakfast formation.
Until one o'clock these young men of West Point would be busy
in the section rooms, as on other week days. But the afternoon
of Saturday belonged to pleasure---on this Saturday to sport!
Lehigh University was sending over the strongest baseball nine
it could put up, in the effort to beat West Point on the Military
Academy's diamond.
"It'll seem just like good old Gridley High School days," repeated
Greg.
"Yes," smiled Dick darkly, "with the same rascal, Bert Dodge, to
keep my thoughts going."
"Dodge won't be in the game, anyway."
"He wasn't much in Gridley, either," smiled Dick darkly.
"Oh, well, forget him until the game is over."
Morning recitations passed off as usual. It was when the cadets
came back from dinner,
First, there was a brief inspection, after which cadets, with
leave to visit the West Point Hotel, or officers' homes, strolled
away to meet young women friends.
"I'm due to be only a rooter today," sigh Greg, as he saw his
roommate start off to the gym to meet the other members of the
nine.
"Your luck may change," rejoined Dick. "You'd better go along
to the gym. You're the sub. shortstop, you know, and Meacham
may not be on deck. Better come along, now."
"I will, then; I wasn't going over until just before time to get
into togs and sit on the bench."
Up to this time, neither Prescott nor Holmes had judged their
academic standing to be good enough to make it safe for them to
enter into sports. This winter and spring, however, had found
them "safe" enough for them to go into training with the baseball
squad.
Dick had tried for the position of pitcher, but Kennedy had been
chosen, while Prescott had gone to second base. Tatham was the
sub. pitcher.
"Say, have you seen the Lehighs?" demanded Furlong, as the chums
joined the crowd at the gym. "They're big fellows. They weigh
a ton and a half to our ton."
"Lightness and speed count for more than beef in this game," smiled
Prescott.
"Lehigh has sent some huskies, all right, and they look as if
they'd give us a tough battle."
In baseball and football West Point plays college teams. The
college men are generally older and much heavier. Besides, the
college men, not having the same intense grind at their institutions,
are able to devote four or five times as much actual time to the
work of training.
Despite these handicaps, the West Point team generally holds its
own end up very well indeed. The West Point men have one advantage;
they are always in training, for which reason their bodily condition
is always good. It is in the finer points of the technique of
the game that the United States military cadets suffer from less
practice.
Maitland, of the second class, was captain of the team this year.
He was a much disturbed man when Dick and Greg reached the gym.
"What ails Maitland?" Dick asked Furlong.
"Haven't you heard? Kennedy is a great tosser, but he has his bad
days when his wrist goes stale. And Tatham, the sub., fought his
way through a poor dinner, but then he had to give up and go to
hospital. He's threatened with some kind of fever, we hear. That
leaves us without a sub. today."
"Oh, does it?" thought Prescott. With quick step and eager eye
he sought Captain Maitland, who was also catcher for the nine.
"Mr. Maitland, I understand you're without a satisfactory sub.
pitcher for today?"
"Confound it, yes; we're praying for the strength of Kennedy's
wrist."
"You may remember that I tried for pitcher."
"I know you did," replied Maitland gloomily. "But the coaches
thought Kennedy and Tatham ahead of you."
"If Kennedy should go bad today," pressed Dick eagerly, "I trust
you will be willing order me in from second to the box. I know
that I won't disappoint you. Ebbett and Dunstan are both good
men at second."
Captain Maitland looked thoughtful.
"I'm afraid, Prescott, if Kennedy does happen to go stale, we'll
have to call on you."
"I won't disappoint you, if you do, Captain!"
Then Maitland turned to regard Meacham, who was entering at that
moment.
"What on earth ails you, Meacham?" demanded the worried captain
of the nine.
"I was at a loot party last night," confessed Meacham miserably.
"Overeating yourself---when you're in training, man?"
"Honestly, Maitland, I didn't believe the little that I put down
was going to throw me. There wasn't a murmur until eleven this
morning, and I felt sure that was going to work off. But it won't,
and, oh, my!"
West Point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking
comically miserable. But to Captain Maitland there was no humor
in the situation.
"You're a fine one!" growled Maitland. "Oh, Holmesy! Come over
here, please. You haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?"
"I don't know that I have a stomach," replied Greg promptly.
"You'll play shortstop today, then."
Half an hour later, the Lehigh fellows were out on the field,
going through some practice plays. Below the center of the grandstand,
the West Point band was playing its most spirited music. The
seats reserved for officers and their families, and for invited
guests, were filling up rapidly. At the smaller stand, over at
the east side of the field, Lehigh had some two hundred friends
and rooters.
Now on to the field marched the corps of cadets, filing into the
seats reserved for them, just north of the officers' seats.
Now, the band began to play the U.S.M.A. songs, the cadets joining
in under the leadership of the cheer-master.
Then, amid a storm of West Point yells, the Army nine strode on
to the field. Things moved quickly now. Lehigh won the toss and
went to bat.
Kennedy appeared to be in excellent form. He struck out the first
two Lehigh men at bat. The third man, however, gained first on
called balls. The fourth man at bat drove a two-bagger, and now
second and third were occupied. As the fifth of the Lehigh batsmen
stepped up to the plate, the Lehigh cheers resounded, and West
Point's rooters sat in tense silence. What was the matter with
Kennedy? But the Army pitcher struck out his man, and Lehigh
went out to grass without having scored. Lehigh's revenge, though,
was swift. Three West Point men were struck out almost as rapidly
as they could move to the plate.
In the second inning both sides got men to bases, but neither
side scored. In the third Lehigh took one solitary run, but it
looked well on the score-board at the north end of the field.
West Point, in the last half of the third, put men on first and
second, but that was all.
By the fourth inning, Kennedy was pitching a bit wildly. Maitland
gazed at his comrade of the battery with anxious eyes. Lehigh
began to grin with the ease of the thing now. One after another
men walked to bases on called balls, until all of the bags were
occupied.
Suddenly Kennedy, after taking a twist on the ball, signaled Maitland.
The captain turned the umpire and spoke.
"Kennedy's old trick! He's gone stale and Tatham is down at hospital,"
passed from mouth to mouth among the home rooters. "Now, what's
left for us?"
After a brief conversation with the umpire Maitland signaled.
Dick Prescott came bounding in from second, to receive the ball
from Kennedy, while Ebbett was seen racing out to second.
"Play ball!" called the umpire crisply.
"Oh, pshaw!" called one of the cadets. "In training season Prescott
tried for pitcher and the coaches turned him down. Now we're done
for today!"
Spirits were gloomy among the West Point rooters. Yet, within
a few moments, they sat up, taking notice.
Dick, with his nerves a-tingle, his eye keen, measured up the
Lehigh batsman and sent in one of his old-time, famous Gridley
spit-balls. It looked slow and easy. The Lehigh man swung a
well-aimed crack at the ball.
"Strike one," announced the umpire.
Again Prescott turned his wrist and twirled.
"Strike two!"
Then an outcurve.
"Strike three! Out!"
Lehigh began to look with some interest at this new, confident
pitcher.
The next Lehigh man to bat met a similar fate. So did the third man.
Now, the West Point yells went up with new force and purpose.
The corps yell rose, loud and thunderous, followed by three cries
of "Prescott!"
In their half of the inning, West Point put men on first and second,
but that was the best they could do.
So it dragged along to the seventh inning. Army rooters were
now sure that West Point's star pitcher had been found at last,
and that Lehigh would have rare luck to score again today. But
West Point didn't seem able to score, either, and Lehigh had the
one needed dot.
As Army went to bat Greg took up the stick and swung it expectantly.
"Do something, Greg," Dick had whispered. "I'm the second man
after you, and I'll back you if you can get a start. Remember
the old Gridley days of victory. Get some of that same old ginger
into you!"
Holmes, as he swung the stick over the plate, seemed to feel himself
back on the old athletic field of Gridley High School. And these
stalwart college boys before him seemed to him to be the old,
old Tottenville High School youngsters.
One strike Greg essayed and lost. At the second offer, he hit
the ball a sharp crack and started. He reached first, but as
he turned, the ball fell into the hands of Lehigh's second baseman,
and Greg fell back to safety at first.
Ebbett, who followed, hit at the third offer, driving the ball
almost under the feet of Lehigh's right-fielder. As that man
seized it he saw that Greg was within kicking distance of second
bag, so he threw to first and Ebbett was out.
Dick now stepped confidently forward. He looked at Lehigh's tired
pitcher with a challenging smile.
At the first offer, Prescott struck the leather sphere---crack!
In an instant Greg was in motion, while Dick raced as though
bent on catching his chum. The ball had gone out over the head
of center, who was now faithfully chasing it across outfield.
Greg came in and hit the plate amid a cyclone of Army enthusiasm.
The band was playing in sheer joy. Dick kicked second bag, then
darted back as he saw the ball drop into the hands of the Lehigh
catcher, who promptly sent it spinning straight into the third
baseman's hands.
Then Maitland gained first on called balls, and Furlong did the
same, which advanced Prescott to third.
Now Carson came up with the stick, sending out a slow grounder.
In like an Apache runner came Prescott, kicking the plate just
before the ball dropped.
From the seats of the Army came the triumphant yell:
"North point, east point, south point, West Point---_two points_!"
The next Army man struck out, but West Point was breathing, now,
with score two to one.
"Don't let Lehigh put another dot on the card, Prescott, and you'll
be our pitcher this year," promised Maitland.
"Wait and see if the visitors can get any more from us," laughed
Dick coolly. He felt that he had his old Gridley winning gait
on now. He proved it by striking out three straight in the first
half of the eighth. But West Point did not score, either, in
that inning.
Then came Lehigh, grim and desperate, to bat for the ninth time.
The first man Dick struck out. But even his wrist seemed to
be treacherous now. The second Lehigh man offered at nothing,
and went to first on called balls. So did the second, and a third
man, and the bags were filled.
Maitland glanced appealingly at Dick.
The new batsman, at the second offer, drove a slow grounder.
Greg Holmes raced forward for it, like a deer. As he caught it
up there was no perceptible pause before he sent it straight into
Maitland's hands, and the man headed for the plate was out. But
the three bags were again full.
Another Lehigh man hit one of Dick's drives, but only faintly
with the edge of his bat, and he went out on a foul hit.
"Now, I'm going to strike this new man out," resolved Dick desperately,
steeling nerves and muscles for the effort.
"Strike one!" called the umpire. "Ball one! Ball two! Strike
two! Strike three! Out!"
It was over, and Lehigh, covered with chagrin, gave up the contest,
while a pandemonium of Army cheers went loose. Two to one!
"Prescott, I guess you're our pitcher here-after" called Maitland
hoarsely. "And you, Holmesy, for shortstop!"
Dick Prescott found himself the center of a swift rush of cadets.
Then he was hoisted aloft, and rushed off the field in triumph
and glory, while the corps yell rang out for him. Over in the
gym. Prescott was forced to hold an impromptu reception. Greg
got much of the ovation.
Captain Verbeck, the head coach, came up to grasp Dick's hand.
"Prescott, I don't understand how you ever got by us. But Maitland
wants you for our star pitcher after this, and you'll have to
be. It was the greatest Army game, from the box, that I've seen
in many a year."
"Say, you fellows," greeted Anstey, breaking into their room after
the chums had returned to barracks, "you two had better go over
today, and the men who are to drag the spooniest femmes tonight
are all plotting to write you down on the dance cards of their
femmes."
"That's the best reason in the world for keeping away from Cullum,
then," laughed Dick.
"But I mean it seriously," protested Anstey.
"So do I," replied Dick
"I'm really a committee of one, sent here by some of tonight's
draggers," protested the Virginian.
"Tell them of your non-success, then, do," urged Dick. "For I'm
not going to Cullum tonight. Are you, Greg?"
"Ye-es," returned Holmes promptly. Then, suddenly, he paused
in his moving about the room.
He now stood looking at his left hand, on which appeared a small
smear of black.
"No!" suddenly uttered Greg. "I'm not going. I've changed my
mind---and for the best reasons possible."
"Now, what on earth has made you so excited?" demanded Anstey
wonderingly.