A GREAT GAME OF BALL
Word soon went around that Bart, who was captain of the nine, had
decided to accept the challenge which had come to Harry Mathews as
manager of the team. The challenge had only arrived that morning and
there were few of the high school boys who believed their nine stood any
chance of winning.
The Lakeville Preparatory School was a private institution located about
three miles from Darewell. It was attended by youths who were fitted for
college there, and the pupils were, on the average, older and larger
than the Darewell High School lads. Their nine had an enviable
reputation in local sporting circles.
The high school boys were so worked up over the prospect of the game,
with rivals they had never yet ventured to play, that there was less
attention to lessons than usual among the members of the nine, and their
supporters, that morning.
Fenn must have been thinking quite seriously of the pending contest
for, when answering in the ancient history class the question: "Who was
Caesar's greatest rival?" he replied solemnly:
"The Lakeville Prep. School!"
There was a burst of laughter in which even the instructor had to join.
"We'll have to practice for the next three days," said Bart at noon
recess. "I'll have to get my new glove limbered up, and, Lem, you'll
have to think up some new curves."
"Yes, I need practice all right," responded the pitcher. "Suppose we
have a scrub game this afternoon?"
"That suits me," replied Bart.
When school was over a picked nine prepared to give battle to the
regular one in order to bring out the weak points.
"Don't you think we ought to have a substitute pitcher?" asked Lem, as
he prepared to go into the box.
"You aren't afraid of breaking down, are you?" asked Bart anxiously.
"No, only you never can tell what is going to happen."
"Here you go, Stumpy!" called Bart as his chum was tossing the ball to
the right-fielder in the warming-up practice.
Fenn sent the leather spheroid toward the catcher with all the strength
of his arm. Bart caught it on his heavy glove. As he did so he called in
a low voice to Lem, and the two held a whispered conversation.
"Do you think he can do it?" Lem asked.
"Yes, if we spring it on him suddenly and don't give him a chance to get
nervous. That's Stumpy's main fault. But I'm hoping there'll be no need
for it."
"Well, I'll do my best," responded Lem.
The practice game was started, and several weak points developed in the
regular high school nine. But Bart was not discouraged. There had been
little opportunity for games, of late, and the boys were a trifle slow.
He coached them along, suggesting improvements and offering words of
advice to some players.
"Good!" cried the captain to Frank, who made a brilliant catch in center
field. Frank was playing on the scrub nine. "You'll be a regular if you
keep on."
Frank was not a natural baseball player. His forte was football, but
once in a while he made brilliant plays on the nine, when he took some
other player's place.
"A couple of days more like this and we'll be fit to give 'em all they
want, to beat us," remarked Bart as the boys gathered up the balls, bats
and gloves preparatory to going home.
"If we only could beat 'em!" exclaimed Ned.
"If we hold 'em to a tie I'll be satisfied," retorted Bart. "That's
something no high school nine has ever done to 'em."
For the next two afternoons there was hard practice. On one occasion
Bart called on Stumpy to take the pitcher's box, Lem making an excuse
that he wanted to rest his arm. Stumpy wondered at this, as Sandy Merton
was the one who usually substituted for Lem. But this time Sandy was
left on third, his regular position.
Fenn had no idea he could pitch. He knew he could send in a straight
ball, and he did this in practice. When Lem came back in the box on one
occasion after Stumpy had been filling it, he asked in a low tone of
Bart:
"Will he do?"
"I think so, but don't say anything."
The morning of the game the Darewell nine assembled before school, on
the campus and indulged in some fast practice. The contest was to take
place on the Preparatory school grounds, and in answer to a general
petition Professor McCloud agreed to dismiss all classes an hour earlier
that day to enable the journey to be made.
The nine and the substitutes went over in a big stage but the boys and
girls who were to be spectators took trolley cars that ran close to the
grounds.
"They're a husky looking lot," observed Bart as the stage dropped its
load close to the diamond, and he observed the other nine on the field.
"They play fast, snappy ball, and we've got our work cut out for us."
The Darewell team soon got into practice, their methods being closely
watched by their rivals. Captain Benson, of the other club, greeted
Bart, and the preliminaries were soon arranged.
"Play ball!" called the umpire, and the game was on.
The visitors had won the toss for innings, and in consequence Lem had to
open the struggle. The first ball he pitched went wild, and the next one
struck the batter, giving him his base.
"Rotten!" whispered Lem to himself, disgustedly.
"Take it easy," advised Bart, walking out to the pitcher's box. "Keep
cool."
The advice did Lem good, and he struck out the next two men. Then they
began to find his curves and he was hit for two single baggers and one
three. At the end of the inning the game stood three runs in favor of
the Preparatory school.
It was Bart's first turn at the bat, and he managed to get to first on
balls. Then Ned lined out a nice two bagger, and Fenn planted one over
in right field that enabled Bart and Ned to get in. The inning ended
three to two in favor of the home team.
For the next four innings neither side scored. It was a pitchers' battle
and Lem was doing fine work. But, on the other hand few of the Darewell
boys could find the curves of the Preparatory school's pitcher.
The next inning the home team got in three more runs and the visitors
two, making the score four to six, against the high school boys.
"We've got to do better than this," said Bart, as his team came to the
bat for the eighth inning which had netted the Preparatory team one run,
making their total seven.
The high school team seemed to "take a brace," for they made three runs
by hard work.
"That ties 'em!" cried Bart excitedly, as he came to the bat. "Now to
beat 'em."
As he spoke there was some sort of a commotion near the bench where the
Darewell players were sitting. Then came a cry:
"Ouch! My wrist! Let up, Sandy!"
"What's the matter?" asked the captain, running over to where he saw a
struggle.
"Oh, Sandy Merton tried to play a trick on Lem," explained Ned. "He's
always up to some foolishness."
"I was only showing a new wrestling hold," said Sandy. "My foot slipped
and I fell on him."
"Are you hurt, Lem?" asked the captain.
"Wrist sprained, I guess," and he extended his hand which was beginning
to swell.
"That settles your pitching," remarked Bart. "Pity you aren't left
handed. Well, it's a good thing we provided for an emergency. Sandy, you
ought to have better sense," and he spoke sternly.
"Oh, if you're going to act that way about it I'll not play," and Sandy
started away.
"Suit yourself," said Bart calmly. "Frank, you take third in Sandy's
place."
"Who'll pitch?" asked Ned.
"I'll decide when the inning's over," replied Bart, as he went back to
the bat.
Probably the little scene made Bart nervous, for he struck out, an
unusual thing with him. That put the side out, the inning ending in the
tie score. There was little apprehension in the ranks of the Preparatory
team, but there were anxious hearts among the high school supporters.
The cheering died away.
"Stumpy; you pitch," called Bart.
"Me! Why I can't pitch! I never pitched a regular game."
"I'm captain, and you pitch," said Bart decidedly, and much amazed at
his selection Stumpy walked into the box.
The suddenness of it was just his salvation. He had no chance to get
nervous.
"Can he do it?" asked Ned, as he started for his place.
"He's got a fine, natural curve," replied Bart. "I never noticed it
until the other day. Discovered it by accident. I think he'll make
good."
And Stumpy did. He hardly knew how he did it, but he had a knack of
throwing the ball that fooled the best batters on the other team. He
struck out the first two men, and there arose murmurs of anxiety among
the rivals.
"Why didn't they put him in first?" asked the captain of the home team
of some of his men, wondering why so good a pitcher had been left to the
last.
The third batter managed to plant the leather in a long flight in the
direction of third base. But Frank was right on the alert. He made a
splendid jump and caught it, putting the side out minus a run. There was
a wild burst of cheering from the high school girls and boys.
"Only takes one run to beat 'em!" exclaimed Bart as his team went to the
bat for the last time. "Somebody get it!"
Somebody did. It was Ned, who came first to the plate. He lined a beauty
just over the center fielder's head, and got two bases on it. Joe Wright
brought him in, and such a yell as went up from the high school crowd
was seldom heard on that diamond.
"That does it!" yelled Bart, capering about. "Stumpy! you're all to the
good!"
"But Ned won the game," objected Fenn.
"Your pitching held them down just when they would have walked away from
us. You're all to the good, Stumpy!"
"Three cheers for Stumpy!" called some one, and they came with a vim
that made Fenn blush.