BY A HAIR
The pitcher, a dark-skinned, rangy fellow, wound up deliberately and shot
the ball over. It split the plate clean. Larry swung at it--and missed it
by two inches.
He looked mildly surprised, but set it down to the luck of the game and
squared himself for a second attempt. This time he figured on a curve, but
the boxman out-guessed him with a slow one that floated up to the plate as
big as a balloon.
Larry almost broke his back in reaching for it, but again fanned the air.
The visiting players, who had looked on rather languidly, straightened up
on the bench.
"Some class to that pitcher," ejaculated Willis.
"It isn't often that a bush leaguer makes a monkey out of Larry," replied
Burkett.
"I've seen these minor league pitchers before," grinned "Red" Curry. "They
start off like a house afire, but about the fifth inning they begin to
crumple up."
The third ball pitched was a wide outcurve at which Larry refused to bite.
He fouled off the next two and then swung savagely at a wicked drop that
got away from him.
"You're out," called the umpire as the ball thudded into the catcher's
mitt, and Larry came back a little sheepishly to his grinning comrades on
the bench.
"What's the matter, Larry?" queried Iredell, as he moved up to make room
for him. "Off your feed to-day?"
"You'll find out what the matter is when you face that bird," snorted
Larry. "He's the real goods, and don't you forget it."
Denton, the second man in the batting order, took a ball and a strike, and
then dribbled an easy roller to the box, which the swarthy pitcher had no
trouble in getting to first on time.
Burkett, who followed, had better luck and sent a clean single between
first and second. A shout went up from the Giant bench, which became a
groan a moment later, when a snap throw by the pitcher nailed Burkett
three feet off the bag.
The half inning had been smartly played and the Giants took the field with
a slightly greater respect for their opponents.
Joe had pitched the day before, and it was up to Fraser to take his turn
in the box. He walked out to his position with easy confidence. He was
one of the best pitchers in either league, and it was he who had faced Joe
in that last battle royal of the World's Series and had gone down
defeated, but not disgraced.
But to-day from the start, it was evident that he was not himself. His
speed was there and the curves, but control was lacking.
"Wild as a hawk," muttered McRae, as the first Denver man trotted down to
base on balls.
"Can't seem to locate the plate at all," grunted Robbie.
"He'll pull himself together all right," remarked Brennan, hopefully.
But the prophecy proved false, and the next two men up waited him out and
were also rewarded with passes. The bases were full without a hit having
been made, and the crowds in the stand were roaring like mad.
Brennan from the coaching lines at first waved to Fraser and the latter,
drawing off his glove, walked disgustedly to the bench.
"What's the matter with you to-day?" queried McRae. "You seemed to think
the plate was up in the grandstand."
"Couldn't get the hang of it, somehow," Fraser excused himself. "Just my
off day, I guess."
Hamilton succeeded him in the box, and from the way he started out it
seemed as though he were going to redeem the poor work of his predecessor.
He struck out the first man on three pitched balls, made the second send
up a towering foul that Mylert caught after a long run, and the major
leaguers began to breathe more freely.
"Guess he'll pull out of the hole all right," remarked Robbie.
But for the next batter, Hamilton, grown perhaps a trifle too confident,
put one over in the groove, and the batter banged out a tremendous
three-bagger to right field. Curry made a gallant try for it but could not
quite reach.
Three runs came over the plate, while the panting batsman slid to third.
The crowd in the stands went wild then, and Thorpe, the manager of the
local team, grinned in a mocking way at Brennan.
"Is this interesting enough?" he drawled, referring to Brennan's
patronizing offer to lend him a player.
"Just a bit of luck," growled Brennan. "A few inches more and Curry would
have got his hooks on the ball. Beside, the game's young yet. We've got
the class and that's bound to tell."
Hamilton, whose blood was up, put on more steam, and the third player went
out on an infield fly. But the damage had been done, and those three runs
at the very start loomed up as a serious handicap.
"Three big juicy ones," mourned McRae.
"And all of them on passes," groaned Robbie. "Too bad we didn't put
Hamilton in right at the start."
Neither team scored in the second inning, and the third also passed
without result.
Hamilton was mowing down the opposing batters with ease and grace. But the
swarthy flinger for the local club was not a bit behind him. The heavy
sluggers of the visiting teams seemed as helpless before him as so many
school-boys.
"That fellow won't be in the minors long," commented Brennan. "I wonder
some of my scouts haven't gone after him before this. Who is he, anyway?"
"I'll tell you who he is," broke in Robbie, suddenly. "I knew I'd seen him
before somewhere, and I've been puzzling all this time to place him. Now
I've tumbled. It's Alvarez, the crack pitcher of Cuba."
"Do you mean the fellow that stood the Athletics on their heads when they
made that winter trip to Cuba a couple of years ago?" asked McRae.
"The same one," affirmed Robbie. "I happened to be there at one of the
games, and he showed them up--hundred thousand dollar infield and all.
Connie was fairly dancing as he saw his pets slaughtered. I tell you, that
fellow's a wonder--he'd have been in a major league long ago if it hadn't
been for his color. He may be only a Cuban, and he says he is, but he's so
dark-skinned that there'd be some prejudice against him and that's barred
him out."
"That's what made Thorpe so confident," growled Brennan. "He's worked in a
'ringer' on us. We ought to make a kick."
"That would put us in a nice light, wouldn't it?" replied McRae, stormily.
"We'd like to see it in the papers, that the major leagues played the baby
act because they couldn't bat a bush pitcher. Not on your life! Thorpe
would be tickled to death to have us make a squeal. We'll simply have to
lick him."
But if the promised licking was yet to come, it was not in evidence in the
next two innings. Alvarez seemed as fresh as at the beginning, and his arm
worked with the force and precision of a piston rod.
"What's the matter with you fellows, anyway?" raged McRae, when the end of
the fifth inning saw the score remain unchanged. "You ought to be in the
old ladies' home. It's a joke to call you ball players."
"It must be this Denver air," ventured Willis. "It's so high up here that
a fellow finds it hard to breathe. These Denver boobs are used to it and
we're not."
"Air! air!" snapped McRae. "I notice you've got plenty of hot air. Go in
and play the game, you bunch of false alarms."
Whether it was owing to his rasping tongue or their own growing resentment
at the impudence of the minor leaguers, the All-Americans broke the ice in
the sixth.
Burkett lined out a beauty between left and center that was good for two
bases. Willis followed with a towering sky scraper to right, which,
although it was caught after a long run, enabled Burkett to get to third
before the ball was returned. Then Becker who had perished twice before on
feeble taps to the infield, whaled out a home run to the intense
jubilation of his mates.
"We've got his number!" yelled Larry, doing a jig on the coaching lines.
"He's going up," sang out "Red" Curry.
"I knew he couldn't last," taunted Iredell, as he threw his cap in the
air.
But Alvarez was not through, by any means. Undaunted by that tremendous
home run which might have taken the heart out of any pitcher, he braced
himself, and the next two men went out on fouls.
"I thought we had them on the run that time," observed McRae, "but he's
got the old comeback right with him."
"Never mind," exulted Robbie. "We're beginning to find him now, and we've
cut down that big lead of theirs to one run. The boys will get after him
the next inning."
But even the lucky seventh passed without bringing any luck to the
visitors, and although the major leaguers got two men on bases in the
eighth, the inning ended with the score still three to two in favor of the
local club.
"Looks as though we were up against it," said Jim, anxiously, as the
Giants went to bat for the last time.
"It sure does," responded Joe. "I'll hate to look at the papers to-morrow
morning. The whole country will have the laugh on us."
"The boys will want to keep away from McRae if they lose," said Jim.
"He'll be as peeved as a bear with a sore head for the next three days or
so."
"Now, Larry, show them where you live," sang out Curry, as the head of the
Giant batting order strode to the plate.
"Kill it," entreated Willis. "Hit it on the seam."
"Send it a mile," exhorted Becker.
It was not a mile that Larry sent it, but it looked so to the left and
center fielders who chased it as it went on a line between the two. A
cleaner home run had probably never been knocked out on the Denver
grounds.
Larry came galloping in to be mauled and pounded by his exulting mates,
while McRae brought down his hand on Robbie's knee with a force that made
that worthy wince.
"That ties it up," he cried. "Now, boys, for a whirlwind finish!"