THIRD BASE THATCHER
The question of whether there was to be a game or not was long debated
that morning by the Custer School authorities. The fire had created no
end of excitement at the school and in the village. And when the news
of the burning of the fine old school building got abroad by means of
the newspaper telegraph system anxious parents from all corners of the
country began to telephone and telegraph concerning the safety of their
boys.
It was long after daylight before the firemen got control of the fire
and finally put it out, and when the last of them had gone back to
their stations the gaunt, smoking ruins of one wing of the building
stood out against the green spring verdure of the campus, stark and
grimly fire-blackened.
There was a tremendous feeling of unrest among the students, too, for
all of them had been aroused from their beds at an early hour that
morning and of course none of them had returned to catch up on their
sleep. Under such conditions the school authorities were not certain
whether to attempt to play the scheduled baseball game or not.
At eleven o’clock that morning a conference was called in the
administration building by Headmaster Dr. Shwagert, of Custer School.
Coach Rice and Mr. Clarkson, and the Pennington captain, Tad Sloan,
were included, with the two coaches of the Custer School team, Roy
Milliken, and several of the school department heads. And at this
conference the advisability of playing the game was carefully talked
over. The conclusion was, however, that the students needed something
to take their minds off the catastrophe of the night and announcement
was made that the game would go on.
The announcement was greeted with enthusiasm by the students and the
players of both teams as well, for all of the boys were as eager for
the contest as they had been before the fire. To be sure, most of the
Pennington boys, including Jeff, had lost their baseball togs and
some of their equipment in the flames, but an hour’s rummaging in
the gymnasium of the Custer School brought to light enough available
equipment and cast-off uniforms to fit out the players who had lost
their things, and by noon time everything was ready for the contest.
The game was arranged for two-thirty, as it had been originally
scheduled, and of course the entire student body of the East Hampton
school turned out and lined the field. Even the mascot, Spike, was
brought out from his resting place in the basement of the gym. and
taken to the Custer School’s bench, where, swathed in bandages, he was
propped up on several gay pillows requisitioned from some of the boys’
rooms, and despite his suffering he evidently enjoyed the attentions
showed to him, because he made a valiant effort to wag his stump
of a tail every time any of the boys approached him. And he seemed
especially grateful to Jeff, for when the third baseman went over to
give him an affectionate pat the dog licked his hand by way of thanking
him for his rescue.
But as a contest the game was far from a success. Indeed it was a
very poor exhibition of baseball on the part of both teams, for when
the boys got out on the field they realized soon enough that the
excitement, keyed-up nerves, and loss of sleep had left them in far
from fit condition to do their best as athletes.
Coach Rice approached Jeff just before the game was called and taking
him aside spoke to him in a very fatherly fashion.
“Look here, Thatcher, I planned to start you at third to-day, as I told
you. But you had a rather trying experience last night which must have
taken a hard toll of your physical resources. I am inclined to keep you
on the bench to-day and let Gould play. You may need a rest more than
you need the physical exertion of playing the game. How do you feel,
boy?”
Jeff’s disappointment was evident instantly.
“Oh, look here, coach,” he said eagerly, “there’s nothing the matter
with me at all. Really there isn’t. I feel as fit as a fiddle. That
swim and rub down I had just about set me up. And I got a good nap over
in the gym., too. I’m just crazy to play.”
The coach was silent for a moment while he studied the boy. Then he
smiled and said:
“All right. I’ll let you go in. But promise me when you feel that the
exertion is too much for you you will let me know. I don’t want to be
responsible for having you break down when you get back to school and
cause you to have a session in the infirmary, you know.”
“Oh, don’t fear, coach. I’m all right. Just let me go in.”
The coach gave Jeff his way, but the new third baseman soon realized
that Mr. Rice knew a lot more about the physical capabilities of boys
than he did. He was far from being at the top of his game and his
playing was decidedly ragged. But at that he seemed to have himself
better in hand than most of the other players, for they were all just
as ragged as he was and some of them a great deal more so. About the
only one who seemed to have his feet on the ground at all was sturdy
little Tad Sloan, the catcher and captain. He played a good, heady
baseball game, and he tried valiantly to instill his own confidence
into the rest, but with little success.
The game opened up a veritable “swat fest,” to quote the baseball
writers. The Custer School pitcher, Ray Strong, was in bad shape during
the first three innings and the visitors found him for several bunches
of clean hits ranging from sizzling singles, to a long three-base drive
by Dutch Hecht that brought in two runs.
But big George Dixon seemed to be no better off than the Custer School
man, for he was “as wild as a tom cat,” as Coach Rice expressed it. He
passed the first and second man up and served a wide out to the next
Custer batter, who promptly landed on it for a smash into right field
that brought both runners home and put him in a position to score on
the next hit, which was not long in coming. Indeed, the Custer School
players buried Dixon under an avalanche of hits in the first and second
innings and he finally appealed to Coach Rice to take him out until he
could steady down. Honey Wiggins went in after that and seemed to be
just the man to step into the breach, for he steadied down and actually
struck out two of the opposing players for the first two strike outs of
the game.
They took out Ray Long, too, in the third and put in a young husky
with terrific speed and fine control, but very little versatility in
pitching anything but straight balls. He was good, however, and he
seemed to be working on something more than pure nerve which had been
Long’s case for the first three innings.
Each side had scored heavily in the opening innings, with the
advantage going to the Custer School team. The tally stood 8 to 6
at the beginning of the fourth inning. But both teams showed signs
of steadying down, however, and with the advent of new pitchers the
hitting suddenly let down. Indeed, Honey Wiggins held the Custer
team to two hits in the succeeding three innings and neither of them
amounted to more than getting a man on base.
The new Custer pitcher also kept the hits scattered until the beginning
of the seventh, when big Lafe Gammage, the second man up, slammed a
likely bingle between short and third, and Mickey Daily beat out a
pretty bunt and advanced Lafe to second. There were two on and one out.
Buck Hart was up next and Buck was due for a hit.
The speed artist on the Custer mound looked the situation over
carefully and realized that he was in a hole. He tried to coax Buck to
swing at an offering a trifle wide that zipped over with the speed of a
cannon ball, but Buck refused. He tried another one a little low and
Buck only smiled. There were two balls on him and no strikes.
The Custer pitcher calculated that it was time now to put over a
strike, figuring that Buck would pass it just on a chance that it might
be called a ball, so he whipped over one that fairly sizzled as it cut
the inside corner of the plate. Buck saw it was a likely ball, and he
made a vicious stab at it and connected. It went crashing toward the
first baseman, who was playing close to his bag, and it looked for a
moment as if Buck had batted into a double play.
It was a terrifically hot ball that the first baseman tried to field,
but he fumbled it, the sphere shooting at a tangent toward second base.
Wildly he scrambled for it, while the pitcher raced to cover first.
Meanwhile, Lafe had gone down to third and Mickey Daily was racing to
second. The chances for a double play had gone glimmering with that
error and it was evident that it was going to be a hard job to even
catch Buck at first. Lafe overran third, and watching the scrambling
first baseman started for home, Gleason, on the coaching line, gave him
the signal and he sprinted for the plate.
By that time the first baseman had fielded the ball, and seeing a
runner streaking for the plate he whipped the horsehide down to the
catcher. But the throw was low, and as the catcher tried to dig the
sphere out of the dust Lafe slid over with long arms and legs flying,
and the umpire called him safe.
That left Daily on second and Buck Hart on first and Jeff Thatcher was
the next man up.
Jeff had one hit to his credit so far. He decided that he wanted
another to bring Daily in and tie the score. And he got it. He leaned
on the very first ball pitched and smashed it over the second baseman’s
head for a fine clean single, and meanwhile Daily, who was working on
a long lead off the base, scored standing up, while Buck Hart went to
third. The score was evened up, with a man on first and a man on third
and only one out. It looked as if Pennington could sew up the game
right there,――it looked that way but it did not work out that way.
Instead, Dave Gleason, the next man up, batted into a double play. Jeff
was caught at second by a snappy play by the Custer short stop, and
Dave Gleason was thrown out with a yard or two to spare at first and
the side was retired.
With the score tied the Custer team came up to the bat for the last
half of the seventh full of determination. And they started to make
good with the first player, who found Honey Wiggins for a hit just out
of reach of the shortstop.
The next player up was one of the best batters on the Custer team and
Jeff had been watching him the entire game. As he picked up his stick,
Jeff noticed that the Custer coach passed him a signal. He could not
interpret it but he made a wild guess at it. The man at the bat was a
slugger. A wise coach, under the present circumstances, with all of
the players looking for a slashing hit, would doubtless signal the
batter to bunt and try and beat it out while the man on first went down
to second. Jeff realized that there were a dozen chances to one that
he had guessed wrong; but playing for a lucky break, and instead of
backing out when the slugger came to bat, he set himself for a sprint
in toward the plate.
He started a moment after the ball left Honey Wiggins’ hand, and
sprinted toward the batter. And he had guessed right. The Custer
slugger shorted his bat and bunted a soft rolling bunt that bounded
directly toward the oncoming Jeff. On the run Jeff scooped it up,
snapped it down to first, and Lafe Gammage, on his toes, relayed it to
second for a double play. The Pennington crowd went wild, and there
were cheers for Jeff even from the Custer School contingent, for he had
displayed a brand of snappy baseball in a game that had been as ragged
as could be, which, perhaps, was one reason why his play stood out so
conspicuously. But regardless of that fact the cheers sounded good to
him, and especially good came the shout from right field, where Wade
Grenville yelled:
“That’s baseball, old Frog.”
With two out it looked as if the inning would be closed with the next
man up, and Honey Wiggins pitched to him, determined to make him fan.
But Honey did not know how really dangerous this batter was or he
would have been more discreet. The third ball that was served to him
evidently looked to be just what he wanted, for he swung with all his
might. A startling crash resulted, and the horsehide went soaring up
and up and out, far over Jeff Thatcher’s head and on into left field.
Dutch Hecht was running back as fast as his short legs could carry him,
which was mighty fast at times. But in this instance Dutch and his
legs were not equal to the occasion, for when the ball hit the ground
Dutch was still running toward the spot it dropped, and when he finally
recovered it and threw it back to Jeff, a wild shout went up from the
stands, for the runner had crossed the plate for a home run, and, as it
proved, the winning run of the game, for in the remaining two innings
neither Custer nor Pennington were able to score again, and the final
tally was 9 to 8 in favor of the home team.
But despite the loss of the game Jeff did not feel as despondent
as might have been the case, for on their way back to the Custer
gymnasium, Coach Rice came over to his side and walked with him a
little way.
“That was heady baseball you played in the seventh inning. I like to
see a man use his head that way. Of course you got a lucky break,
too, but I like to see a man on his toes and ready to take advantage
of lucky breaks just as you did. I guess we’ll have to give you the
regular job at third base, Thatcher.”