WHEN THE HOME FANS QUIVERED
"Is Prescott going to toss!"
"They say not."
"It's a shame."
"And there's a suspicion," whispered one of the High School speakers,
"that the other name of the shame is Fred Ripley."
"He ought to be lynched!"
"But he claims that an attempt was made against him, also."
"Ripley never was strong on the truth."
Though the gossip about Fred Ripley was not general, the anxiety
over Pitcher Prescott was heard on all sides.
"It'll be a sure hoodoo if Prescott can't pitch the season's first
game," declared a man who seldom missed a High School game on
the home diamond.
Before three o'clock the grand stand was comfortably filled.
The cheaper seats beyond held about as many spectators as they
were built to hold.
The attendance, that day, was nearly three thousand. Gardiner
had sent a delegation of nearly one-tenth of this number.
Before three o'clock the band began to play. Whenever the musicians
launched into a popular baseball ditty the crowd joined with the
words.
"Prescott is going to pitch!"
"No, he isn't."
"The word has just been passed around. Besides, his name's down
on the score card."
"The score cards were printed yesterday."
Finally, curiosity could stand it no longer. A committee left
the grand stand to go toward the dressing rooms building. But
a policeman waved them back.
"None but players and officials allowed in there," declared the
officer.
"We want to find out whether Prescott is going to pitch," urged
the spokesman.
"I heard something about that," admitted the policeman.
"What was it? Quick!"
"Let me see. Oh! Prescott wants to pitch; the coach is half
willing, but the doctor ain't certain."
This was the best they could do, so the committee returned to
their seats. But nothing was settled.
At three-twenty, just as the band ceased playing, the compact
bunch of Gardiner fans sent up the yell:
"Here they come! Our fellows! The only ones!"
Using their privilege as visiting team, the Gardiner players were
now filing on to the field for a little warming-up practice.
"Throw him down, McCluskey!" tooted the band, derisively. But
the cheers from the wild Gardiner fans nearly drowned out the
instrumental racket. Quickly the visitors had a practice ball
in motion. Now the home fans waited breathlessly.
At last the band played again. "See the Conquering Hero Comes!"
Gridley High School, natty and clean looking in their gray and
black uniforms, with black stockings, caps and belts, came out
on the field. Instantly there was craning of necks to see if
Prescott were among the players.
"There he is!" yelled one of the High School fans. "There's our
Dick! Wow!"
Cheering went up from every Gridley seat. The bleachers contributed
a bedlam of noise. "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!" blared forth
the band. Girls and women stood up, waving fans, handkerchiefs,
banners. Another round of cheering started. Dick walked quietly,
looking neither to right nor left. Yet the boy was wondering,
in astonishment, if kings usually got such a welcome.
By the time the cheering had ceased, Fred Ripley, also in uniform,
strolled out and walked toward the sub bench.
A hiss greeted Ripley. It was not loud, nor insistent, and presently
died out. But Fred went as white as a sheet, then, with eyes
cast downward, he dropped to his seat at the end of the sub bench.
His chest heaved, for the greeting had unnerved him.
"I wonder why I usually get that sort of thing, while that fellow
Prescott has a band to play him in," muttered Fred.
The bulk of the audience was now quiet, while the three hundred
visiting fans roared out one of their school yells.
Then followed a noisy whooping of the Gridley High School yell.
Coach Luce had walked over to a post behind the sub bench.
Umpire Foley, his mask dangling from his left hand, now summoned
Purcell and the Gardiner captain. A coin spun up in the air.
Gardiner's diamond chieftain won the toss, and chose first chance
at the bat. Purcell's men scattered to their fielding posts,
while the young captain of the home team fastened on his catcher's
mask.
The umpire took a ball from its package, inspected it, then tossed
it to Dick Prescott, who stood in the box awaiting it. There
was a moment's tense expectation, followed by the command that
set all the real fans wild:
"_Play ball_!"
Gardiner High School had put up a husky young giant who stood
beside the plate, a confident grin on his face as he swung the
bat.
Dick moistened his fingers. The batsman saw that, and guessed
what was coming. He didn't guess quite low enough, however, for,
though he stooped and swung the stick lower, the ball went under
it by three inches.
"Strike one!" called Mr. Foley, judicially.
An imperceptible signal told Purcell what was coming next. Then
it came---a jump ball. This time Gardiner's batsman aimed low
enough but it proved to be a jump ball.
"Strike two!"
A howl of glee went up from all quarters, save from the Gardiner
visitors.
Again Dick signaled. His third was altogether different---a bewildering
out-curve. Gardiner's batsman didn't offer, but Purcell caught
the leather neatly.
"Strike three, and out! One out!" announced the umpire.
"Whoop!" The joy from the home fans was let loose. With a disgusted
look, Gardiner's man slouched back to the players' bench.