THE BEWILDERED UMPIRE
But whatever the umpire's name might have been, he only resembled Solomon
in one respect. He was inclined to compromise and cut the play in two,
giving one part to the major leaguers and the other to the Oakland team.
He was not to blame for being bewildered, for the baseball magnates who
had framed the rules had never contemplated the special case of a player
catching the ball in his pocket.
Between the opposing claims he pulled out his book and scanned it
carefully but with no result.
"It's easy enough," rasped McRae. "He tried to catch a ball and muffed it.
It goes for a hit and Curry scores."
"Not on your life," barked Everett, the manager of the Oakland team. "He
got the ball and it never touched the ground."
"Got it," sneered McRae. "This is baseball, not pool. He can't pocket the
ball."
There was a laugh at this, and Mackay, the third baseman, looked a little
sheepish. The baited umpire suggested that the whole play be called off
and that Curry go back to third while Larry resumed his place at the bat.
Larry set up a howl at this, as he saw his perfectly good three-baser go
glimmering.
"Oh, hire a hall," snapped Everett. "Even if the umpire decides against
the catch it was only an error and you ought to have been out anyway."
"You can't crawl out of it that way," said McRae to the umpire. "A play is
a play and you've got to settle it one way or the other, even if you
settle it wrong."
The umpire hesitated, wiped his brow and finally decided that the ball was
caught. That put Larry out, and he retreated, growling, to the bench,
while Everett grinned his satisfaction.
"That's all right, Ump," said the latter. "But how about Curry? Mackay put
the ball on him all right and that makes three out."
"Say, what do you want, the earth?" queried McRae. "He didn't put the ball
on him. He didn't have the ball to put. It was in his pocket all the
time."
"Of course I put the ball on him," declared Mackay. "I must have. When I
fell on him I hit him everywhere at once."
The umpire finally decided that Mackay had not put the ball on Curry, and
the red-headed right-fielder chuckled at the thought of the run he had
scored.
"That makes it horse and horse," said the umpire. "Get back to your
places."
If he thought he was at the end of his troubles he was mistaken, for
Everett suddenly cried out:
"Look here. You said that Mackay caught that ball, didn't you?"
"That's what I said," snorted the umpire.
"Well, then," crowed Everett triumphantly, "why didn't Curry go back to
third and touch the bag before he lit out for home? He has to do that on a
caught fly ball, hasn't he?"
The umpire looked fairly stumped. Here was something on which the rules
were explicit. It was certain that Curry should have returned to the base
and it was equally certain that he hadn't. Mackay had caught him half-way
between third and home.
But McRae was equal to the occasion.
"Suppose he did have to," he cried. "You said that Mackay hadn't touched
him and he's free to go back yet."
"And I'm free to touch him with the ball," Mackay came back at him.
"But the ball isn't in play," put in Robbie, adding his mite to the
general confusion. "You called time when you came in to settle this."
"Who wouldn't be an umpire?" laughed Jim to Joe, as he saw the look of
despair on that worried individual's face.
"The most glorious mixup I ever saw on the ball field," answered Joe.
"'How happy he could be with either were 'tother dear charmer away,'"
chuckled Jim, pointing to the two pugnacious disputants on either side of
the umpire.
"Curry's out--Curry isn't out. Love me--love me not," responded Joe.
By this time the crowd had got over their laugh and impatiently demanded
action. The umpire cut the Gordian knot by sending Curry back to third,
where he and Mackay chaffed each other and the game went on.
It was not much of a game after that, however, as the laughable incident
had put all the players in a more or less frivolous mood. It finally ended
in a score of six to three in favor of the All-Americans, and the teams
made a break for the showers.
"The last game we play on American soil for many moons," remarked Joe, as,
having bathed and dressed, the two young athletes strolled toward their
hotel.
"And every one of them a victory," observed Jim. "Not a single mark on
the wrong side of the ledger!"
"That game at Denver was the closest call we had," said Joe. "The trip so
far has been a big money-maker, too. McRae was telling me yesterday that
we'd already topped ninety-five thousand, and there was ten thousand in
that crowd to-day if there was a penny."
"I guess Mac won't have any trouble in buying steamship tickets," laughed
Jim. "By the way, we haven't had a look at the old boat yet. Let's go down
to-morrow and inspect her."
"Why not make it the day after to-morrow?" suggested Joe. "The girls will
be here by that time and we'll take them with us."
"That will suit me, Joe."
"I've been thinking of something, Jim," went on the crack pitcher, after a
pause. "It won't be long now before we leave America. What do you say if
we do a little shopping, and buy some things for ourselves and for the
girls?"
"Say, that's queer! I was thinking the same thing." Jim paused for a
moment. "Won't it be fine to have the others with us again?"
"Yes; I'll be very glad to see Mabel, and glad to see Clara, too. I
suppose you've been getting letters pretty regularly, eh, Jim?"
"I don't believe I've been getting any more letters than you have, Joe,"
returned the other.
"Well, you're welcome to them, Jim. I wish you luck!" said Joe, and placed
a hand on his chum's shoulder. For a moment they looked into each other's
eyes, and each understood perfectly what was passing in the other's mind.
But Jim just then did not feel he could say too much.
"I'll be glad to see Reggie again, too," remarked Joe, after a moment of
silence. "He's something of a queer stick, but pretty good at that."
"Oh, he's all right, Joe," answered Jim. "As he grows older and sees more
of the seamy side of life, he'll get some of that nonsense knocked out of
him."
They ate their supper that night with a sense of relaxation to which they
had long been strangers. For the first time since they had gone to the
training camp at Texas in the spring, they were out of harness. There had
been the fierce, tense race for the pennant that had strained them to the
utmost.
Then, with only a few days intervening, had come the still more exciting
battle for the championship of the world. They had won and won gloriously,
but even then they had not felt wholly free, for the long trip across the
continent which they had just finished was then before them, and although
this struggle had been less close and important, it had still kept them on
edge and in training.
But now their strenuous year had ended. Before them lay a glorious trip
around the world, a voyage over summer seas, a pilgrimage through lands of
mystery and romance, the fulfillment of cherished dreams, and with them
were to go the two charming girls who represented to them all that was
worth while in life and who even now were hurrying toward them as fast as
steam could bring them.
"This is the end of a perfect day," hummed Jim, as he sat back and lighted
a cigar.
"You're wrong there, Jim," replied Joe, with a smile. "The perfect day
will be to-morrow."
"Right you are!"
Yet little did Baseball Joe and his chum dream of the many adventures and
perils which lay ahead of them.