A HOT OPENING.
It was a remarkable crowd that turned out to witness the game between
Merriwell’s ball-team and the Philadelphia Athletics. It was made up
mainly of young people. A good part of the young men were college
fellows who knew Merriwell by reputation, or had met him.
As the Athletics had shown themselves to be one of the fastest among
the big league teams, it was generally admitted that Merriwell’s nine
would have a hard show to win. Nevertheless, the youthful element of
the gathering was strongly in sympathy with Frank.
But the Athletics had plenty of fans on hand to root for them, and
odds of five to one were offered that the home team would win.
“It’s a shame to see so much good money go begging!” sighed Jack
Ready; “but Merry has given notice that we are to make no bets. The
trouble with him is that he has too much conscience to play baseball.
Why, he wouldn’t even buy an umpire if he knew the other side was
stealing a game! He needs a pair of wings and a harp!”
The Athletics appeared on the field first and got in some
batting-practise. They were not at all inclined to work, but Nick
Robinson was a man who permitted no soldiering, and every man had to
stand up and swing the club a certain number of times.
It was a team of hitters, and they agreed among themselves to put
Merriwell out of the box in less than three innings. They fancied it
would be no trick at all.
When Merriwell’s nine appeared they were received with a shout
of applause from the college men and waving of handkerchiefs in
the hands of the young ladies assembled. Frank was pointed out to
hundreds of girls who were eager to see him, and all declared him
“just perfectly splendid!”
But the appearance of Dick Merriwell in uniform was the surprise of
the day at the start.
“Look at that boy!” exclaimed more than one. “It can’t be he is going
to play!”
But when Merry’s team trotted out onto the field to practise, Dick
went to short. It was not long before it became almost generally
known that the boy was Frank’s brother, which caused the spectators
to watch him with great interest.
It happened that the very first ball batted to Dick went through him,
and that gave the spectators the impression that he could not fill
his position.
“Merriwell is foolish to put him in there,” said more than one. “He
has another man.”
The tenth man was Carker, who was to sit on the bench.
In practise Frank’s team did not show up quite as well as the
professionals, though Merry tried to impart some of his restless
energy to them and fill them with life and spirit.
Rattleton was somewhat oppressed by the magnitude of the task before
them, which Frank had discovered. Merry knew it would be a bad thing
if the others got to feeling that they were outclassed.
When they came in from practise the positions of both teams had been
given to the scorers thus:
MERRIES. ATHLETICS.
Ready, 3d b. Hayward, 1st b.
Carson, rf. McGlinkey, rf.
Hodge, c. Waldron, 2d b.
Browning, 1st b. Bowers, c.
Gamp, cf. Webster, lf.
Swiftwing, lf. Joiler, ss.
F. Merriwell, p. Maloney, cf.
Rattleton, 2d b. Flobert, 3d b.
D. Merriwell, ss. Nesbitt, p.
The home team chose to take the field first, and Ready was sent to
the bat.
As they sat on the bench Dick Merriwell observed a fellow on the
bench of the home players, and a second look showed the boy that it
was his antagonist of the day before, Squinty Jim. He was talking to
a stocky-looking chap in the uniform of the Athletics, the latter
seeming to be a spare man on the team, and Dick noticed that they
were looking across toward the bench of the visitors.
At once the boy was struck by the belief that they were talking about
him. He had heard that the young bully had a brother who played with
the Athletics, but the name of McCann was not on the batting-order.
The umpire’s command to play ball drew the lad’s attention from the
pair on the opposite bench, and he fell to watching Ready.
Jack was a confident chap, and a good fellow to head the
batting-order, although not a hard hitter. His eye was good, and he
seldom went after bad ones, which made it possible for him to get
first on balls more than any other man on the team.
To-day, however, Jack was soon to find that he could not work Nesbitt
for a pass to first. The Athletic pitcher was satisfied that the
youthful players against him would be dazed by his speed, and so he
began by “burning ’em over.”
Two strikes were called on Jack in short order, and he had not swung
for either of them.
Frank signed for Jack to hit it out.
Nesbitt was laughing, and several of the players behind him assured
him that the “kids” could not see the ball.
The third ball came with fearful speed.
Ready simply held up his bat, gripping it firmly, and let the ball
hit it. The result was surprising, for a clean single was secured in
this manner.
Then Frank went down to the coaching-line by first and opened up.
This hit won for Ready a round of applause, while Nesbitt looked
surprised.
“Don’t mind that, Nes!” cried the men behind him. “It was an
accident.”
Carson advanced to the plate, taking a look toward Frank. Merry
signaled for Berlin to bunt toward third.
Nesbitt gathered himself, and sent the next ball over with the same
wonderful speed. In the most scientific manner possible, Carson
bunted, and the ball rolled toward third.
Ready had started “with the pitch,” and therefore he was too far on
his way to be stopped.
Flobert ran in and got the ball, saw he could not stop Ready, and
threw to first.
With the speed of a frightened jack-rabbit, Carson raced down to
first, and he reached the bag ahead of the ball.
It was a close decision, and the captain of the home team raised a
kick when the umpire declared it safe; but the umpire quickly quieted
the protest, ordering the next batter up.
Hodge was the man, and he longed to hit the ball hard, believing he
could drive in at least one score. Merry, however, signed for Bart to
bunt toward first.
Frank’s system of signals was complete, and both base-runners knew
just what was to happen if Hodge could meet the ball right.
Holding his bat loosely, Bart succeeded in bunting the very first
ball, sending it rolling along just inside the chalk-line that led
from the home plate to first bag.
Hodge sped toward first, while Ready raced up to third and Carson
went down to second.
Bowers sprang after the ball, but it rolled along beyond his reach
in a most provoking manner, and he secured it just too late to throw
Bart out.
This clever opening by Frank’s team set the spectators on edge and
astounded the home team.
Nesbitt had fancied the youngsters could not get five safe hits off
him, yet three had been made by the first three batters to face him,
although two of them were bunts.
At this point Frank fancied he had made a mistake in placing Browning
fourth on the list, for Bruce could not sacrifice very well, and a
sacrifice hit would make it easy to bring in a run.
Bruce had seen the others bunting, and that led him to believe
Nesbitt easy to hit. He picked out his own heavy bat and loafed up to
the plate.
Rattleton was chattering away near third, and every one was on edge
for what was to follow.
The first ball was high, and Bruce let it pass.
“One ball,” was the decision.
The next was wide.
“Two balls.”
Then came a sharp drop, which fooled the big fellow, who fancied it
a straight one.
Bruce fanned.
“One strike!”
Nesbitt followed with a rise, and Browning struck under it.
“Two strikes!”
“Got him in a hole, Nes!” was the cry.
Nesbitt ventured to waste a ball, but Browning did not bite at it.
The next one would have to be over, or a run might be forced in.
Frank had decided that Nesbitt was a heady pitcher in a tight place,
and he began to fear that Browning would not prove equal to the
emergency.
Ready was taking a long lead off third at every pitch, resolved to go
in the instant he found an opportunity.
Nesbitt held the ball as long as permissible, made sure every man was
in the proper place, looked hard at Browning, then sent in one with
a movement that seemed to indicate it would be very speedy.
Right there in that moment the professional twirler showed his brains
and nerve, for the ball was a very slow one, sailing up to the plate
like a wounded duck.
Browning was fooled completely, for he slashed at it far too soon,
failing to hit it at all.
“You’re out!” declared the umpire, as the catcher held the ball.
A shout went up from the admirers of the home team. Browning looked
disgusted as he flung aside his bat and retired to the bench.
“I’m a chump!” he growled. “Why, a baby could have knocked that out
of the lot!”
“Let him gug-gug-gug-give me one of them darn things!” muttered Gamp,
as he picked out a bat. “Bet a Hubbard squash I’ll hit it!”
But Nesbitt started with a high one that pulled Gamp easily, and a
strike was called.
More than ever Merry feared that the clever work at the start would
be wasted through the failure of the following batters to connect
with the sphere.
Another high one followed, but Joe shook his head, though he came
near swinging.
“No, ye dud-dud-don’t!” he muttered.
Nesbitt grinned. Then came a drop, and a second strike was called on
Joe, who failed to swing at the ball.
Again Nesbitt grinned.
Gamp was anxious now, and his anxiety led him to go after an out
drop, which he could not touch.
“You’re out!” declared the umpire.
Another shout went up, and the home players laughed loudly.
Gamp’s face was red as a beet.
“I oughter go sus-sus-sus-soak my head!” he stuttered, as he retired
to the bench.
Swiftwing was the next hitter. He stalked out with his bat, and
somebody raised a whoop.
“Fan the chief, Nes!” cried somebody from the bleachers.
The pitcher showed his teeth again, and then he put over a high one,
to start with.
Swiftwing half-swung at the ball, but held his bat in time, so that
the umpire called it a ball. An in shoot followed, and the young
Indian was compelled to spring back from the plate.
Then came a drop, and Swiftwing lifted a high foul back of first
base, which was easily captured by Hayward.
The thing Merry had feared had happened. For all of the clever work
at the start, not a score had been made, and Nesbitt had shown
himself a heady pitcher in a tight place.
“Hard luck,” said Merry, but Swiftwing grimly shook his head as he
trotted out onto the field.
Hodge was sore, and he betrayed it.
“What’s the use of bunting?” he exclaimed. “If I had hit the ball
out, we’d made one run, anyhow.”
“If one of the batters behind you had hit the ball out, the chances
are that more than one run would have come in,” said Merry.
“But they didn’t hit it.”
“You might not have hit it.”
But Bart felt that he might, and he continued to look black and
dissatisfied.
Hodge was once more in good form for catching, and Merry felt that
his wrist would stand to use the double-shoot when the emergency
demanded.
Hayward seized a bat and rushed up to the plate, in order not to give
Frank a chance to limber up by throwing a few over to first. Frank
looked at the fellow a moment, simply observing:
“That’s all right, my friend.”
“I’m glad it is,” sneered Hayward. “Put ’em over, and I’ll bust the
stitches in the old thing.”
The action of the batter had placed Merry on his mettle, and he gave
the fellow a sharp in shoot at the start.
Hayward fancied the ball was straight over, and he swung hard. It was
a foul. As they were playing the game under old rules, this did not
count against the batter.
“Try another,” he urged.
Frank seemed to do so, but the ball dropped sharply just before
reaching the batter, and Hayward did not touch it.
“That’s pretty clever!” said the batter. “Try another, young fellow.”
Merry now assumed a position that told Hodge he would resort to the
double-shoot. He started the ball straight at Hayward, who jumped
back, only to see it give a queer double twist and cut a corner of
the plate. The umpire, however, fancied his eyes had deceived him,
and called a ball.
Again Merry used the double-shoot, but this time he reversed the
curves, and Hayward did not lift his bat from his shoulder. He was
amazed and disgusted when the umpire called a strike.
Following this, Merry sent in a sharp rise that nearly dragged the
batter off his feet in an endeavor to chase it. It was not even a
foul tip, and Bart smothered the ball in his big mitt.
“You’re out!” cried the umpire.
“He doesn’t seem to need to limber up, dear sir,” chirped Jack Ready.
“Oh, dear, dear! what queer quirks he can put into the ball! Isn’t it
really and truly remarkable!”
“You’re a mark, Hay!” laughed McGlinkey, as he picked up the bat the
first hitter had tossed aside. “Before I’d let him strike me out!
Why, I’m going to knock the ball a mile!”
He did not succeed in coming anywhere near keeping his word, for
Merry deceived him on the very first one pitched over. It was an in
shoot, and the ball struck the handle of the bat close to McGlinkey’s
knuckles. Up into the air went the sphere, and Merry easily captured
it as it came down.
“La! la!” came from Jack Ready. “Isn’t it awfully easy! But it isn’t
fair not to give anybody else a show. The rest of us want something
to do, just to keep warm.”
Now Merriwell’s admirers broke loose in a bunch, and the way they
shouted for him was enough to warm the heart of his brother.
“Everybody seems to know Frank,” thought Dick. “And they all think
him a wonder. Hear them cheer for him!”
Hodge was feeling better, and the frown was disappearing from
his face, for he saw that Merry was in the best possible trim,
which meant that there would be little heavy hitting done by the
professionals in that game.
“Keep it up, Merry,” he said. “They can’t touch you to-day, old man.”
Waldron was one of the surest batters on the home team. He picked
up his favorite slugger, and advanced to the plate with it over his
shoulder.
“Strike this man out, Merriwell,” cried somebody on the bleachers.
“I’ll bet a hundred dollars you can’t do it!”
This was enough to indicate just how Waldron was regarded as a
batter, and it made Merry decidedly cautious. He began with a sharp
drop, which Waldron fouled.
“That won’t do!” Merriwell mentally exclaimed. “He can hit drops.”
A rise followed, but it was higher than the batter’s shoulders when
it passed over the plate, and Waldron let it pass.
“One ball,” said the umpire.
Bart called for the double-shoot. Merry had not wished to use it on
the fellow so soon, but he nodded and sent it in.
Waldron saw the ball start for him and begin to curve quickly, as if
going over the plate. Regarding it as an ordinary out, the batter
swung. To his amazement, the ball reversed and shot in, striking him
glancingly on the wrist.
Waldron dropped the bat and started for first, but the umpire
promptly sent him back.
“I was hit!” cried the fellow. “Can’t I take my base on that?”
“Not when you strike at the ball,” was the answer. “Stand up there
and hit.”
So Waldron was forced to do so, and he proceeded to fan out, for all
that he was regarded as such a remarkable batter.
The first inning was over, and neither side had scored. The visitors
had filled the bags, but not one of the home team had reached first
in safety.
This opening seemed to indicate that the game would be a hot one.