THE JAY PITCHER.
“You won’t never regret it!” chuckled the jay in deep satisfaction.
“I’m goin’ to make them fellers look like twenty-nine cents.”
“Don’t you want to get into a suit?”
“Not this innin’. I’ll jest peel off my co’t an’ go out jest as I be.”
He had his coat off in a minute, and then he flung aside his vest.
The grin on his face was one of great satisfaction, and he presented
a comical aspect.
Keen, the catcher, ran up and grasped Trueman’s arm.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Are you going to put that man
in?”
“Yes.”
“Then the game will be a farce! We had better stop at once than to
make an exhibition of ourselves.”
“We’ll play it out,” said Trueman grimly.
Then he called the captain of the other team and told him what he
intended doing. Stebson laughed.
“I’m sorry for you, Trueman,” he said; “but we’ll pound that jay all
over the field.”
“I expect you will,” nodded Trueman gloomily; “but I can’t help it.
You do not object to him, do you?”
“Not a bit.”
“Then he goes in.”
The excited crowd had been wondering what was going to happen, and
few of the spectators understood when they saw the countryman fling
off his coat and vest.
However, when the farmerish youth walked out to the pitcher’s box a
great shout of derision went up.
“Look at that!”
“What is it?”
“Where did it come from?”
“Rube! Rube!”
“He’s going to pitch!”
There were shouts of laughter, and everybody felt that a good game
had suddenly degenerated into a ridiculous exhibition.
The stranger ambled along awkwardly as he walked onto the diamond,
his shoulders pitched forward, and his arms swinging in a queer way.
That half-foolish grin remained on his face, but he did not seem at
all disturbed by the shouts and laughter of the crowd.
“Jest give me a few seconds to limber my arm, Mr. Empire?” he asked.
The umpire nodded, and the stranger faced first base. He threw
awkwardly, and did not seem to put much force into the throw.
“He’ll be pudding for our batters,” said a Minneapolis man. “Come,
let’s get out.”
“Hold on,” said a dark-faced man at his side. “I have money bet on
this game, and I want to make sure I’ll win.”
“You’re sure enough now,” said the other, who had a thin, pale face
and a listless manner.
“I want to see him pitch a few.”
“Bet the first man gets a hit.”
“I expect he will.”
“Play ball!” cried the umpire.
The batter stepped up to the plate, and then the new pitcher motioned
for the catcher to meet him, in order to get the signals.
Keen sullenly came down and told the countryman what the signals were.
“Do you think you kin hold me?” asked the jay.
“Hold you?” exclaimed Keen. “Well, if I can’t I’ll give up trying to
catch!”
“All right,” grinned the new pitcher. “We’ll see what we kin do.”
Keen returned to his position and adjusted his mask. Then he gave a
sign, and the jay prepared to deliver the ball. The movements of the
countryman in his delivery were very queer, and the crowd shouted
with laughter.
“Get onto his delivery!” cried many.
The first ball came sailing up to the batter “as large as a barn,”
and the man tried to hit it, but struck too soon.
“There’s speed for you!” laughed Stebson.
“Oh, brace up!” cried the batter. “What do you think this is, anyhow?”
The jay grinned.
“Didn’t hit it, did ye?” he said.
Keen sent the ball back hotly with a snap throw, but the pitcher
caught it with one hand, not seeming to mind it at all.
Then he went through more erratic movements, swung his right arm,
thrust out his left, and jerked the ball through under his left arm,
sending it over the plate.
The movement was so surprising that the batter failed to strike at
all.
“Two strikes!” cried the umpire.
“Well, I’ll be kicked!” gasped the batter.
“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” laughed the jay. “That’s one on you, by gorry!
Didn’t know I had that up my sleeve, did ye? It’s one I learnt off a
feller by the name of Wiley, an’ he’s purty good when he has a mind
to be. I’ll show ye lots of queer quirks before I’m done with ye.”
Following this he cut several peculiar geometrical figures in the
air with the ball, laid it exactly on the back of his neck, looked
hard at the batter, and sent in one that had the speed of a darting
swallow.
The batter struck too slowly, and the ball went straight through
the hands of the catcher, striking against his body-protector, then
falling to the ground.
“Did you see that?” cried twenty persons.
“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” roared the jay, as the umpire declared the
batter out, the catcher having caught up the ball and tagged the
surprised man. “Why, I didn’t s’pose you was so easy! Stand up yer
next victim.”
The witnesses were quite as surprised as the batter had been.
“He struck him out!”
“How did he do it?”
“It was an accident!”
“Robinson will hit him.”
Robinson was the following batter. He laughed at the one who had
struck out, saying:
“Well, you must feel foolish! Before I’d let that object do such a
thing to me!”
Then he stepped quickly up to the plate. He was a great hitter,
having connected with the ball every time up during the game thus far.
The jay took the sphere in his hand, glared at Robinson, then made a
swing, and sent in one of his speedy ones. The moment the ball left
his hand the queer pitcher yelled:
“Look aout!”
Robinson dropped just in time to avoid being hit by the ball, which
fairly whizzed as it passed his head. The catcher was not quick
enough to stop the ball at all.
Up on the bleachers rose another farmerish-looking fellow, who,
however, was dressed in good taste, and who shouted:
“Look out there, Bub-Bub-Bub-Bill! You gol-dud-dud-dud-darn fool!
Dud-dud-dud-do you want to kuk-kuk-kuk-kill somebody?”
“Jest a mistake, Joe,” returned the pitcher, with a grin. “The
consarned ball slipped.”
“Well, dud-dud-dud-don’t do it ag’in, for the lul-lul-lul-love of
goodness!” returned the chap on the bleachers. “You know ha-haow you
lul-lul-lul-laid up Zeb Nobbins fuf-for six months by hittin’ him
that way.”
Then the spectator sat down, looking rather anxious. By this time
all the spectators were getting interested, while the players were
beginning to mention to one another that the jay had speed when he
chose to let it out.
The batter had been surprised and alarmed by the swiftness of the
ball, and he now said:
“Look here, you, don’t you hit me with that ball! If you do, I’ll
throw the bat at you!”
“If I do,” said the pitcher, “you won’t be in any condition to throw
the bat at ennybody, mister.”
Then he tied himself in a knot, as if intending to use his highest
speed, but sent in such a slow one that Robinson swung too quick and
was deceived. For the third time the strange pitcher gave vent to
that braying laugh.
“Why, you chaps are the easiest fooled of anything I ever struck!”
he declared. “Why don’t ye hit the ball, not dab at it that way? Git
inter gear an’ do somethin’.”
Trueman and the St. Paul players were looking on in astonishment.
This was something entirely unexpected, and they were unable to make
up their minds in regard to its meaning.
The next ball delivered looked high, and the batter did not swing at
it; but it proved to be a drop, and it went down across the batter’s
shoulders.
“Two strikes,” said the umpire.
“What?” shouted Robinson.
“Don’t kick,” advised the jay. “You know you was bad fooled. Hit the
next one.”
Robinson was mad, and he slashed furiously at the next ball pitched,
which curved out and missed the end of his bat by eight inches.
“Striker out!” declared the umpire.
The jay had struck out the first two men, and now the amazed
spectators began to clap their hands.
“Thankee,” said the queer fellow, touching the brim of his rusty
derby. “You’re jest beginnin’ to ’preciate me.”
The next hitter grasped a bat and sprang up to the plate.
“Let’s see you strike me out!” he exclaimed. “I’ll bet a dollar you
don’t.”
“Don’t be so wasteful of your money,” advised the pitcher. “It may
come in handy fer ye some time.”
The first ball was a high one, and it did not drop at all. The batter
chased after it.
“Yeou’re easier than t’other ones,” grinned the Jay.
The batter set his teeth.
“Get ’em down!” cried several from the bench.
“All right,” said the pitcher, and he put the next one right over,
but with such speed that Keen dropped it.
“Two strikes!”
The crowd roared.
“A-haw! a-haw!” laughed the stranger. “I hain’t hed so much fun sense
I pitched agin’ the Sucker Run fellers. They was purty easy, but you
chaps are easier than anything I ever seen.”
The next one looked good, but it was a trifle wide and had a rise.
However, the batter hit savagely at it and was out.
“Hooray!” cried the stammering chap on the bleachers, shooting up
and waving his hat. “I knowed you could dud-dud-dud-do it, Bill! They
can’t tut-tut-tut-touch ye!”
“Thankee, Joe,” said the jay. “They’re a dang sight easier than I
thought they wuz.”
Then he walked out of the box.