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Frank Merriwell’s Support
OR,
A TRIPLE PLAY
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.
[Illustration: (publisher colophon)]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1901
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell’s Support
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
FRANK MERRIWELL’S SUPPORT.
CHAPTER I.
AN EXCITING INNING.
It was the seventh inning, Frank Merriwell’s team had not scored,
while the Omaha Stars, who had been putting up a hard game against
the boys from the East, had made two runs, one in the first inning
and one in the fifth.
Frank had been pitching a fine game, although his wrist, sprained
some time before, had not permitted him to use the double-shoot. In
the seventh inning, with the very first ball he pitched, he gave his
wrist a twist that sent a shooting pain all the way to his shoulder.
The ball went wide of the plate, and the batter did not strike at it.
When Bart Hodge returned the ball, he knew something had happened, by
the expression on Frank’s face. Merry caught the ball with his left
hand and stood still, holding it.
“Play ball!” roared the excited crowd. “Make him pitch!”
Still Frank seemed in no hurry. He took the ball in his hand, while
Bart gave the signal for a drop. Merry shook his head, and Bart
signed for an out. Again Frank shook his head, assuming a position
that told the entire team he intended to use a high, straight ball.
But he did not pitch.
Dorrity, the captain and first-baseman of the Stars, demanded of the
umpire that Merriwell be compelled to deliver the ball.
“Pitch the ball!” roared the crowd.
Even that did not seem to incite Frank to put it over.
“Two balls!” called the umpire, although Frank had not again
delivered the sphere to the bat.
“Ha!” shouted the crowd. “That’s the stuff!”
The second ball had been called on Merry as a penalty for delaying
the game for no good reason.
A grim look came into the face of the greatest pitcher ever graduated
from Yale. He did not kick at the decision of the umpire, nor did he
show great haste in pitching after this.
“Call another!” cried several of the spectators. “He’s in a hole, and
he knows it!”
Frank settled himself firmly on the ground, just as Bart was ready
to start down to ask what was the matter. Then he sent over a high,
straight one that would have been a ball had the batter let it alone.
But the batter hit it. The man with the stick happened to be Hanson,
the heavy hitter of the Stars, and he tapped the ball a terrible
crack.
Away sailed the sphere, going out on a line over the infield, and
Hanson’s legs took him flying down to first.
Both Swiftwing and Gamp went after the ball, but Frank saw at once
that neither of them could catch it.
Swiftwing was a great runner, and he sped to cut the ball off after
it struck the ground.
Hanson crossed first and tore along to second, urged by the roaring
crowd.
Bart Hodge groaned as he saw the ball strike the ground and go
bounding away into left field, with Swiftwing tearing after it.
“Home run! home run!” yelled the spectators, while one of the home
team raced down to third, to be on hand there and send Hanson home as
he came along.
Away out in the far extreme of left field Swiftwing finally ran down
the ball. But Hanson was almost to third, and the spectators in the
grand stand and on the bleachers were certain he could reach home
before the ball could be sent in.
“Come home! come home!” they screamed.
Hanson crossed third, and the coacher sent him right along.
In the meantime Swiftwing had picked up the ball and given it a quick
snap to Gamp, the long New Hampshire youth, who was within two rods
of him. Joe turned with the ball in his hand, and saw Hanson crossing
third.
Then Joe set his teeth and swung back the hand that held the ball.
The crowd expected he would throw to Rattleton, on second. At first
it seemed that he had thrown to second, but had failed to get the
range correctly.
Then it was seen that Gamp had tried the seemingly impossible task of
throwing to the plate to cut the runner off.
“Run, Hanson--run!” shouted the spectators.
Hanson was doing his best to beat the ball to the plate, but that
ball came on with amazing speed. It was almost a “line throw” from
the far outfield, and the crowd was amazed by the manner in which the
ball hung up in the air instead of dropping to the ground. It showed
what wonderful force had been put into the throw.
Hodge settled himself in position to take the ball, and suddenly, as
Hanson neared the plate, the coachers shrieked for him to slide.
Hanson slid headlong, but Bart caught the ball and “bored” it into
his back, actually pinning him to the ground while his hand was yet a
foot from the plate. He tried to squirm forward and reach the plate,
but the voice of the umpire called:
“Out!”
A hush fell on the witnesses of this amazing piece of work. Only a
moment before they had been roaring loudly, but, of a sudden, they
were silent. Then somebody with a hoarse voice roared:
“Well, what do you think of that for a throw! Talk about a wing--that
fellow’s got it!”
Somebody clapped his hands, and a general volley of applause followed.
Hanson was filled with chagrin, for he had felt confident of making a
home run. He turned and quarreled with the coacher who sent him home
from third, and would not believe the ball had been thrown all the
distance from the farthest outfield to the plate.
Jack, the second-baseman of the Stars, now took his place to strike.
Merriwell had been rubbing his wrist as he walked down into the
box, after backing Hodge up on the catch of Gamp’s throw, and the
expression on his face, had any one studied it, seemed to indicate a
troubled mind.
“If Dick were here,” he muttered, thinking of his young brother,
“we’d be all right.”
But Dick Merriwell was not there, having been left behind in Wyoming,
to remain at the side of Old Joe Crowfoot, who had been shot and
severely wounded.
Despite his youth, Frank’s brother had shown himself a perfect little
wizard as a pitcher, being able to hold down heavy hitters. Just now
he would be handy to step into the box in Frank’s place, but he was
far away.
And there was no other pitcher on the team able to hold down the
heavy hitters of the Stars. So Frank set his teeth and resolved to
pitch the game through to the best of his ability.
Jack was a good hitter, but, up to this time, he had been unable to
touch Merriwell for a safe one. Frank tried a high one, which the
latter let pass. An out followed, and another ball was called.
Then Merry tried a drop, but again he felt that shooting pain, and
the ball went wide.
Now Frank was forced to put the ball over, in order to prevent the
batter from walking to first. He used speed, and kept it shoulder
high, with a slight in shoot.
Jack stepped forward and met the ball fairly, driving it out on a
line.
Carson jumped for the ball, touched it with his fingers, but did not
stop it. Jack reached first and started for second, but Rattleton got
the ball, and Carson covered second in time to drive the runner back
to first.
Maloney, the next hitter, was tall, red-headed, and freckle-faced.
He rapped the very first ball that Frank pitched, sending it down to
Rattleton so hotly that Harry fumbled, and the hitter was able to
reach first ahead of the throw.
“Everybody hits!” cried Dorrity, who was near third. “Get against
it, Corrigan, old man! Drive it out hard!”
Corrigan looked confident, but Frank caused him to fan at the first
ball delivered. Then Merry tried to work the corners, but found
himself rather wild, and three balls were called.
“Now he’s got to put ’em over!” cried Dorrity. “Wait it out!”
Frank took a chance and sent a straight one over.
Corrigan did not wait, but nailed the ball hard. It went to Ready
with the speed of a bullet. Ready put his body in front of the ball,
which took a nasty bound and struck him fairly between the eyes,
knocking him over.
Ready was dazed, and by the time he had recovered and got the ball,
Jack was on third and Maloney on second. Ready caught up the ball and
swung his arm to throw to first.
Frank saw that the throw would be useless, as Corrigan was already
too near the bag, and he shouted for Ready to hold the ball.
Ready could not stop the swing of his arm, but he held on to the ball
long enough to throw it down at his feet, and it bounded merrily away.
“Score!” yelled a coacher, and Jack made a jump off third to go home.
The spectators rose up and whooped madly once more.
Frank made a leap and got in front of the ball, which he succeeded in
stopping. Fortunately for him, Jack saw this soon enough to dive back
to third.
Merry recovered and drew back his hand to throw to third, but
instantly decided that it would be useless, knowing that a team often
goes to pieces and loses a game in a single inning by getting to
throwing the ball round in a hasty and reckless manner, so he held
the sphere.
But the bases were full and but one man was out. Something told Frank
that he was in a bad box. Still, he set his teeth and resolved to
“pull out” if it were possible.
The coachers were talking from both sides of the diamond, and the
excited crowd had not stopped its roaring.
Hodge was pale, and there was a fierce gleam in his eyes.
“Now we’ll hold ’em! Now we’ll hold ’em!” cried Rattleton, from
second.
“Talk about your stars!” exclaimed Ready. “I saw a few that time!”
“They won’t get another hit, Merry,” assured Carson, who was playing
short.
“Put ’em right over,” advised Browning.
“All a dud-dud-dinged accident!” asserted Gamp, from distant center
garden.
Swiftwing and Carker were the only silent ones behind Merry, for
even Hodge grimly asserted that it was all right.
Then Merriwell resolved to use the double-shoot, if it broke his
wrist. Bart called for an out curve as Dorrity stepped up to the
plate; but Merry assumed a position that told everybody on the team
he meant to use the famous reverse curve, which he alone could
command and control.
Bart knew Merry was desperate, for Frank had told him he would not
resort to that extreme in the game.
Dorrity was cool enough, but the first ball seemed just what he
desired, and he bit at it. The reverse curve fooled him nicely, and
he did not touch the ball.
“One strike!” declared the umpire.
Bart smiled grimly and nodded for another. Frank used exactly the
same sort of a curve, and again Dorrity went after it and failed to
connect.
“Why, it’s easy! it’s easy!” said Bart.
“A perfect snap,” assured Carson.
“Couldn’t hit one of them in fourteen million years,” said Ready.
“He’ll think he’s got the jam-jims--I mean the jim-jams,” came from
Rattleton.
“Please let him hit it,” urged Browning. “I want another put-out in
this inning. He can’t hit it out of the diamond.”
But Merry did not let up in the least. The very next one was a speed
ball, but Frank caused the curves to reverse the other way, and
Dorrity let it pass.
“Batter is out!” announced the umpire.
Dorrity threw down his bat and started into the diamond, yelling:
“What’s that? That ball didn’t come within a foot of the plate!”
“Sit down!” commanded the umpire grimly.
Dorrity insisted on kicking, and the umpire warned him again in a
manner that meant business.
“Robbery!” muttered the captain of the Stars, as he walked back to
the bench.
Two were out, and Batch, the pitcher of the home team, was the next
hitter. It happened that Merry had discovered Batch’s weak point,
and he did not fear him, for which reason he did not again use the
double-shoot in that inning.
A sharp drop caught Batch the first time. Then followed one close
to the batter’s hands, and he hit it on the handle of the bat. The
ball rolled out to Frank, who threw Batch out at first while Jack was
racing home.
The home team had not scored in that inning, but they were still two
ahead of the visitors, who had failed to make a single tally.
Hodge met Frank as he came in.
“How is the wrist?” asked Bart anxiously.
“Bad,” confessed Merry; “but don’t you say a word about it.”
“What made you use the double?”
“Had to do something to get out of that hole.”
“But----”
“It’s all right. We’re going to win this game--if we can.”
“It will take some scores to do it, and the weak end comes up this
time. We’ve got only one more chance after this.”
Swiftwing was the first batter. As a rule, the Indian hit well, but
had not secured a safe one thus far in the game. The former Carlisle
man now seized a bat and advanced to the plate, his manner betraying
determination to do something. Frank spoke to him, saying:
“Don’t try to kill the ball, John. A single is good enough, if you
can’t get a bag on balls. But wait--wait.”
Merry had found the Indian a poor waiter, and this case was no
exception. John was so eager to get a hit that he fell an easy victim
to the artifices of Batch, finally popping up a little fly, which was
taken by the third-baseman of the Stars.
Rattleton’s heart was in his boots when he advanced to the plate, but
he pretended to brace up. Batch worked the corners, and Harry bit at
two bad ones. Then, in sheer despair, Rattleton slashed at a high
one that was over his head, and hit it!
The ball was driven on a line between short and second, and Harry
raced down to first. If he had been contented with that, all would
have been well; but he tried to stretch a single into a two-bagger,
and O’Grady, the left-fielder, who had secured the ball, threw to
second.
When it was too late, Harry saw he could not reach second, and he
tried to turn back. Then he was caught between bases.
“That’s what loses the game!” groaned Hodge, as he saw the opposing
players get on the base-line to run Rattleton down.
Rattleton did his best to escape, while the players skilfully forced
him back toward first, and then pinned him so that he could not dodge
them. He was tagged with the ball, and the second man was out.
The crowd was delighted. They had expected a hot game, and they were
getting their money’s worth.
Frank’s team had been well advertised in Omaha, the papers telling
of its successful career through the Rocky Mountain region. Thus far
not a single defeat had been chalked against the Merries; but now it
began to seem that the long string of victories would be broken.
“La! la!” sighed Jack Ready. “How foolish it is for a man to try to
do more than he is capable of accomplishing!”
Then he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye as Rattleton, looking
very cheap and disgusted, came in to the bench.
“Somebody please kick me!” mumbled Harry.
“With great satisfaction!” exclaimed Jack, and he proceeded to do so.
“Thanks!” murmured Rattleton, as he sat down.
Frank said nothing to Harry, for he knew the unlucky chap felt bad
enough about what he had done, and Merry had learned by experience
that it did little good with a young team to “call down” the players
or “chew the rag” with them on the field.
Old stagers will take a call-down, but it takes the spirit out
of youngsters, sometimes making them sullen and sulky. A young
ball-player needs encouragement at all times, criticism often, but
public call-downs never. The captain or manager who is continually
yelling at his players on the field and telling them how bad they are
doing, causes them to lose five games where he drives them to win one.
Carker was the next man up, and Frank admonished him to wait for the
good ones. Greg was beaten already, and his appearance showed it.
Batch was full of confidence, and he put the balls right over.
Some batters have a faculty of working a pitcher, often getting
first base on balls; but the fellow who does this is usually a good
hitter, or he stands up to the plate, as if he was anxious to “line
it out.” When a pitcher is satisfied that the batter is longing to
hit he gets wary and declines to put the ball over. On the other
hand, let the pitcher suspect the batter is trying to get a base on
balls, and he does his best to “cut the plate.”
The first two balls pitched were strikes, yet Carker swung at neither
of them.
“It’s all off!” growled Hodge. “He’s the third victim.”
Then Batch sent in a wide one, and, knowing there were two strikes on
him, Greg reached for it.
Somehow Carker caught that ball on the end of his bat and sent it
skipping down past the first-baseman, who made an ineffectual effort
to block it.
“Run!” yelled Ready, suddenly rousing up. “Dig, you duffer! It’s a
hit!”
Carker had been amazed by his own success, but he came out of his
“trance” in a moment and hustled down to first. Gamp was there, and
he made Carker stick to the bag.
Merriwell grasped a bat and stepped up to the plate. Batch was afraid
of Merry, for he knew Frank was a good hitter, and he started in to
try to “pull” the batter.
Apparently Frank was ready and anxious to “lace” the first good one,
but his judgment seemed good, as he let the first two pass, and both
were called balls.
Batch was holding Carker close to first. As Hanson, the catcher of
the Stars, was a good thrower, there seemed little chance for Greg to
steal second.
The third ball was pretty high, and Merry took a chance on it by
failing to swing. A strike was called. Frank simply shook his head,
thus expressing his belief that the decision was not correct.
The next ball was a drop, and it seemed too low, so Merry let that
pass. Another ball was called.
“Got him!” chirped Ready. “Oh, ye Grecian gods! smile upon us now. Be
quiet, my good people, and watch us turn the trick. We are due to do
it.”
Batch settled himself for business, and whistled a speedy one to go
straight over the rubber. It didn’t get over, however, for Frank met
it “on the nose.”