THE BIG GAME
The days immediately preceding the final examinations were long dreary
days of hard work and very little time for thoughts of baseball for
Jeff or any of the other fellows at Pennington. They were not even
relieved by a mid-week game nor was the afternoon practice carried
on for any extended period. All of the fellows were too much worried
and fretted by their school work. But they did have events of real
importance to look forward to after the examinations were held and they
were, in the order of their importance to Jeff, the final game of the
season with Lawrencetown and the commencement “hop” and various other
“spreads” that immediately preceded or followed the game.
That Lawrencetown game loomed up to Thatcher as the most important
event in his school career so far, and he looked forward to it with
a tremendous lot of interest. Perhaps it was this enthusiasm that
carried him through the deadly examination week and kept him from
growing gray with study. Still, he was mighty glad when the last exam
was over and he could fare forth to the gym. and the baseball field,
light hearted and unburdened with worries about his scholastic standing.
The last examination occurred on Wednesday afternoon, and Jeff answered
the last problem with a suppressed cheer and turned in his paper. He
felt as if a load had dropped from his shoulders with that act, and he
made haste to quit the study hall and hurry over to the gym. to get on
his baseball togs.
He found Wade and Honey Wiggins in the locker room ahead of him and
they were as jubilant as he was, and while he was getting into his duds
more and more members of the team came straggling in, all bearing happy
grins to know that the unpleasant period was behind them.
“Whew-w-w. _That’s_ all over, thank goodness,” said Captain Tad Sloan.
“All over but the shouting. They will announce our marks after chapel
to-morrow morning. Let’s hope we all pass. Anyhow, now for a real
practice. Come on. Let’s go.”
A real practice it proved to be, the fellows cavorting on the diamond
until dinner time. And whatever mental disquietude remained was
dispersed next morning when the marks were announced from the chapel
platform, and it was made evident that every fellow on the baseball
squad passed with flying colors. That meant that none of them would
be disqualified or dropped from the team because of a poor scholastic
record, and the way was wide open for the team to prepare itself for
the big contest.
Thursday afternoon practice was just as good as Wednesday’s had been,
and Friday the team warmed up in its preparations by playing a sizzling
five-inning game with the Penguins, who were brought together again
for the especial purpose of giving the big team a good work out. There
was a mass meeting in chapel on Friday evening at which the cheer
leaders stirred the student body into a perfect frenzy of cheer and
song, and made them so worked up to have the scalp of Lawrencetown that
it began to look as if the baseball diamond would be the scene of a
mob encounter or something equally as dreadful. New school yells were
developed for the occasion, and practiced until the chapel rafters
rang. All the members of the team were brought up on the platform one
by one (much to the consternation of Jeff and a number of other more or
less bashful spirits), and as each appeared they were roundly cheered
by the enthusiastic and thoroughly excited students. Altogether it was
really a thrilling scene and Jeff became as excited as any of the rest
of them.
Jeff and Wade went to bed that night so thoroughly keyed up that it was
some time before either of them could get to sleep. And when they did
finally drop off it seemed to them as if they had only had their eyes
closed about five minutes when the seven o’clock bell sounded, and they
awoke to the realization that it was Saturday morning and that the day
of the big contest of the year was actually at hand.
Attendance at chapel was the only school work required of the boys that
day, and after the morning services were over the students flocked
to the campus, where in the fine warm June sunshine, for the day was
perfectly wonderful, they gathered in little groups to discuss the
game. Some dashed off to the railroad station to meet the eleven
o’clock train which would bring in loads of parents, friends and
bright-eyed, prettily frocked girl friends, eager to attend the game
and the “hop” after.
Jeff and Wade, having no friends of this sort to greet them, mingled
with the fellows on the campus or on the steps of the school buildings
until noon time when the call for dinner stirred them to action.
The noonday meal in the big mess hall proved to be more than a meal;
it resembled a continuation of the mass meeting the day before in
which the cheer leaders stirred up the boys to the point of singing
enthusiastically, and “_Pennington, old Pennington_” swelled forth
in such a mighty chorus that little prickles raced up and down Jeff
Thatcher’s spine as he heard the chorus roared, and just at that moment
he, and doubtless every other boy in the room, would have laid down his
life if need be for the honor of the school.
The fellows piled out of the dining hall still singing and then,
because it was one o’clock and the game was called at two-thirty, they
all scattered to their rooms to “doll up” for the benefit of the horde
of pretty girls who would be present, as indicated from the number who
already had appeared and were strolling across the campus, with boy
companions or with attentive parents.
Jeff and Wade, with a peculiar, nervous feeling, in the vicinity of
their belts, for want of something better to do, went down in the
locker room and got out their fielding mitts, which they proceeded to
“work” into better shape by generous applications of saliva, soap suds,
oil and other “dope” that had been recommended to them from various
quarters. They meant to have their gloves in the pink of condition.
The call to get into uniform was sounded at one o’clock, but that was
hardly necessary for by that hour the entire squad was in the locker
room getting into their duds. Shortly after the head coach appeared
there was a blare of brass out on the campus, and a ringing cheer,
and the fellows all crowded to the basement windows to peer out at a
line of fifteen yellow automobile busses that came careening up the
long gravel drive, to come to a stop in front of the Administration
Building. This was the Lawrencetown team and rooters, arriving for the
fray.
Led by the band the rooters gathered in a column four abreast and
started to parade around the campus, later turning in the direction of
the baseball diamond where they took up their section of the bleachers
and forthwith began to hurl challenges at the now crowded buff and blue
stands along third base line. Cheer for cheer was hurled across the
diamond while the rooters waited for the teams to appear.
Lawrencetown was given locker room in the basement of the Administration
Building, and while they were getting into their uniforms the Pennington
team completed that ordeal and appeared in a group on the steps of the
gymnasium building where the Pennington band was waiting for them.
Immediately the school’s marching song pealed forth, and the players,
with Mr. Rice and Mr. Clarkson leading, and Captain Tad directly behind
them, started across the campus for the field.
As they came into sight of the bleachers, a wild cheer started that
rolled on and on and developed into a thunder-like roar as they
finally reached the center of the diamond where they were scattered to
their positions by the coach, while the school band took its place in
the stands.
Warming up practice started with enthusiasm for the fellows had
suppressed themselves so long that only a lot of vigorous physical
action could serve to “let them down” and bring them back to normal.
Dutch Hecht found his particular mace and began “batting ’em out” to
the outfielders, while Captain Tad, the sturdy little catcher, began to
slash some hot ones to Jeff and the rest of the infield.
It was surely snappy practice and before long the Pennington rooters
began to realize that their team was at the very top of its form and
that if the Lawrencetown aggregation were as good, they were destined
to see a game that would be historic.
And the Lawrencetown players soon proved that they were in every bit as
good form. A wild cheer greeted their appearance about twenty minutes
after the Pennington fellows had arrived on the field, and, of course,
the home team came in to the bench while the fellows wearing the red
and black stocking of the visiting aggregation took the field. There
was snap to their practice, too. The infield worked as smoothly as a
well-oiled machine, and their lightning-like handling of the ball,
their snappy throws and remarkable “get” soon had even the Pennington
rooters on their toes.
“They are good, mighty good, and you boys are going to know you were
in a game when you get through to-day,” said Coach Rice. Then, looking
at his watch, he added, “Come on, Tad. They are coming in now and here
comes the umpire. Get your men out into the field. Here’s the batting
order.”
Jeff, who was pulling on his glove, looked over Tad’s shoulder to read
the line-up of players. He noticed with interest that the batting order
had been shifted slightly. Long Lafe Gammage led off, with Mickey Daily
next in line and walloping Dutch Hecht third man up. They were the “big
stickers” of the outfit. Captain Tad followed and Wade Grenville came
in fifth. Jed Stafford, also a reliable clouter, was sixth. He found
his own name seventh, Buck Hart eighth and pitcher George Dixon last
in line, though big George was not a weak batter as pitchers go.
“Well, fellows, let’s give ’em both barrels――all we got. Win the game
in the first inning if we can but play hard all the way through,” said
Captain Tad. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The fellows romped out to their positions and big George Dixon, with
his slow deliberate stride, walked out to the pitcher’s box, spat into
his glove, took the shining new ball that the umpire offered him,
and turned to face the batter: the first man up of the Lawrencetown
team, a chap by the name of Southers, who played second base and was a
formidable batter.
“Play ball!” called the umpire.
Southers pulled down the peak of his cap and stepped to the plate.
Captain Tad thumped his fist into his mitt. “Come on, George. Get this
first one. On your toes, fellows. Let’s go.”
George Dixon wound up his long arms, then uncurled like a steel spring.
There was a flash of white between the box and the catcher, a thump,
and the umpire shouted:
“Strike one.”
The big game of the season was on.
In spite of that auspicious start, however, George Dixon did not strike
the first man out. He managed to get two and two on him and then tried
to sneak over the necessary third strike. But Southers saw it was a
tempting offering and slammed it for a beautiful long fly which found
safety in the hands of Wade Grenville out in right field.
“One down. That’s the way they all have to go to-day. Give ’em the
gate. Get this guy now,” came the peppery coaching from all corners of
the diamond as the ball was relayed in to Dixon and Wild, first baseman
of the red and black team, selected his particular mace and stepped to
the plate. He was a versatile batter, and as he stepped into position
he shifted about and decided to bat left handed against Dixon.
“Left or right. It doesn’t make any difference to you, George, ol’ boy.
Put the bee on this boy. Thatta boy.”
Wild was a wily batter. He drew three balls before Dixon settled down
to pitch to him, and then he poked the first good ball down to Buck
Hart on a sizzling liner that Buck fielded to perfection and plunked
into Lafe Gammage’s hands in plenty of time.
“Two gone. One more left,” coached Captain Tad, as he thumped his mitt
and gave Dixon the signal. And Dixon, pitching to Freeman, the big left
fielder of the Lawrencetown team, the heaviest hitter of them all,
settled down and struck him out with four pitched balls, retiring the
side.
The team came in and as Jeff walked toward the bench he looked up into
the crowd along third base line and grinned, for there he saw Mr.
Davidson, President of the Third National Bank of New City, sitting in
the stand beside a charming lady whom Jeff concluded was Mrs. Davidson.
As the banker caught Jeff’s eye he waved to him and called:
“I’m out to see you fellows win the big game, Jeff.”
“All right, we’ll win it for you, Mr. Davidson,” said Jeff lifting his
cap.
Long Lafe was at the plate tapping his bat on the rubber and pulling
down his cap when Jeff took his seat on the players’ bench beside
Wade. Lefty Wells, the southpaw pitching ace of the Lawrencetown team
was in the box adjusting his glove, and Captain Tad was on the first
base line coaching.
“Show ’em where you live, Lafe,” called Tad.
The good-natured first baseman grinned as Wells wound up and shot a
swift one over for a strike. He tried another of the same kind but
Lafe, who was set for a slam, slashed at it and sent a Texas leaguer
humming over the second baseman’s head into short center for a single.
“Wow, the first man on. Here’s where you score, Lafe,” shouted Tad, as
he passed the signals he took from the coach on to Mickey Daily the
next man up.
Obedient Mickey struck at the first ball over and hit it, trying hard
to make the sacrifice play he was instructed to. But Bradley, the
Lawrencetown shortstop, covered a little more ground than Daily thought
he could and what was meant for a sacrifice resulted in a neat double
play, Gammage and Daily going out in quick succession.
“Well, we got one big man left,” coached Captain Tad as ponderous
Dutch Hecht stepped up, spat on his hands and took a squint at Wells.
The Lawrencetown man knew how formidable Hecht was from previous
experience with him and he was taking no chances. He never pitched to
the left fielder at all and passed him to first on five pitched balls.
Little Tad had come in from the coaching box for he was on deck, and
as Hecht lumbered to first Tad stepped to the rubber with a look of
determination on his face. But there were two down and the best that
the captain could do was to lace a grounder down to Dick Leslie, the
Lawrencetown third baseman, who promptly threw Hecht out at second and
retired the side. The score was 0 to 0 at the end of the first inning.
Nothing scintillating marked the second or the third innings. Both
Dixon and Wells were pitching at the top of their form and with the
best sort of support behind them the batters went down in almost one,
two, three order, only two Pennington men reached first base in the
two innings and only one Lawrencetown man got a clean hit, a slashing
double by Taylor, the red and black team’s center fielder. But the hit
went for nothing for the next man up could not advance the runner and
his out retired the side.
The beginning of the fourth, however, was different. Freeman, the
slugger of the Lawrencetown aggregation, was the first man up and
Dixon, although he tried to play safe, put one of the variety that
Freeman most liked within his reach and he landed on it for a two base
clout into deep right field.
Oleson, the Lawrencetown catcher, and no mean man with the stick, was
up next, and on the first ball pitched he poled out a single that all
but scored Freeman. The heavy hitter rounded third and started for home
when the Lawrencetown coach on the third base line warned him back to
the base.
With a man on first and third and none out it looked serious for Dixon
and the Pennington team. And it was serious. Miller, the Lawrencetown
right fielder, was next up and he slammed a hot one to Buck Hart,
Freeman going down with the crack of the bat. Buck played the man going
home and with a lightning-like throw to Tad Sloan, nailed him at the
plate. But it was such a close call at being a score that it gave the
Pennington rooters heart trouble for a moment. Still, there were two
men on, and only one out and a single meant that two runs would come
in. And center fielder Taylor, already credited with a hit, was at the
bat.
He made good a second time, lacing a single into short right field, and
Oleson and Miller rounded third and started for home hardly twenty feet
apart. Oleson made it standing up but little Tad was crouched over the
rubber waiting for the ball as Miller came thundering down from third,
and Wade Grenville with a fine throw shot it down into Tad’s mitt just
as the runner slid feet first for the plate. Tad and Miller were all
tangled up when the dust cleared away. The umpire signaled that Miller
was out, and the little Pennington captain got to his feet with a look
of pain on his face. His stocking was ripped down the shin and blood
was oozing from a nasty spike wound that he had received in the mêlée.
When Miller saw what he had done he scrambled to his feet and put his
arm around Tad’s shoulder.
“Sorry, old fellow,” he said. “That’s tough, but I couldn’t help it.”
“It’s nothing. Could have been much worse,” said Tad bravely, as he
walked over to pick up his cage, limping slightly as he did so. Then he
turned and shouted:
“Come on, fellows. Two down. Play the batter,” and he got a round of
hearty applause from the bleachers and a rousing cheer besides, both
for the fine play he had made and the gameness he showed after being
spiked.
Play the batter they did. He was Dick Leslie, not a particularly strong
hitter, and his best efforts netted Thatcher an assist for he scooped
up a humming grounder and shot it over to Lafe Gammage with a will.
Then the side came in and Captain Tad went over to the bench where Dr.
Stout was waiting with some bandage and iodine to patch up his wounds.
Unfortunate Dave Gleason, still limping slightly from his injury
sustained early in the season, crawled under the ropes and came over to
the bench to congratulate Tad.
“Hope it isn’t as serious as mine was, old fellow,” he said as he
slapped the captain on the shoulder.
“Nothing to it, old dear,” said Tad heartily as he made a wry face
while Dr. Stout poured iodine into the wound.
But the Pennington players could not get to Wells as the Lawrencetown
batters had reached Dixon. Wells never wavered and his port side
delivery was as deadly in the fourth as it had been in the third,
second and first; more deadly if anything for he struck the first and
third men out while the second batter up, who happened to be Wade
Grenville, was out on a high fly that the center fielder did not have
to move twenty feet to get. The score at the end of the fourth was 1
to 0 in favor of the Lawrencetown aggregation, and the Pennington boys
went into the field with the realization that they were up against a
fighting team of ball players who were out to earn a victory and had a
pretty clear idea of how they had to earn it.
The fifth inning opened auspiciously for the visitors. Shortstop
Bradley lammed one just out of reach of Thatcher, for a single. But
he tried to reach second while Dixon was pitching to Wells, the
Lawrencetown pitcher. That was where he made his big mistake, for
Captain Tad was waiting for just such an attempt, and he shot the
ball down to Buck Hart, who had slipped over to second when the play
started, and Bradley slid right into a neat put out, while the stands
went wild with cheers for Tad and Hart. Wells went down after the next
two balls were pitched, for he was a weak hitter, and Wild came up for
the third man.
With two down Dixon played the batter, feeling that the support behind
him could hold Wild down. The team so far had played an errorless game
and he felt reasonably safe in pitching to the Lawrencetown batter.
The second ball across seemed to be just what Wild was waiting for and
he leaned on it with all his strength. It was a wicked slash, and like
a cannonball it crashed right back at Dixon. Before the pitcher could
set himself to field it, it hit him on the elbow and made him double
up with a grunt of pain. The ball bounded off between first and second
and Daily fielded it and shot it down to Gammage in time to put out the
runner.
The coach and Dr. Stout met Dixon as he walked off the diamond rubbing
his arm, and they paused a moment to feel of the injured member. Dr.
Stout looked serious as he felt about with practiced fingers.
“That was a wicked ball, Dixon, and I’m afraid――yes――I think there
is a slight fracture of the end of the bone there. That settles your
pitching for to-day, anyway. Too bad. Come over to the bench while I
fix you up.”
“Wiggins, you warm up. You’ll have to go in next inning,” called the
coach. “Gould, take Tad’s mitt and catch Wiggins for a while.”
Captain Tad became active immediately. He saw that the loss of Dixon
might have a disheartening effect upon the Pennington players and he
began to talk to them as only he knew how to talk.
“Come on, fellows. Up and at ’em. We’ve got to get them for this. It
was an accident, of course, but let’s show ’em that it’s when we get
hurt the most we fight the best. Thatcher, you are up first. Come on
and do something. We want a hit from you. Go to it, old boy.”
Tad’s spirit of fight was infectious and Jeff went to the plate with a
determination to make good that made him almost formidable.
Wells pitched to him, for doubtless he held Jeff lightly as a batter.
The Pennington third baseman had not done anything notable with the
stick so far that day.
The first one over was a ball. The next was a clean strike that
Jeff let pass, and the next ball would have been the same, but Jeff
interrupted its career with a vicious swing that smashed out a sizzling
single; a clean hit.
“Wow, on your toes. This is our night to howl,” yelled Tad, hurrying
over to the coach line.
“Go down with his arm,” he signaled Jeff, and Thatcher, obeying the
captain, started for second on the first ball pitched, while Buck
Hart, at the bat, stabbed at the ball but purposely missed it. Jeff
saw Southers, the second baseman, set himself to catch the throw and
he slid. In a cloud of dust he clutched the bag and looked up to see
Southers recovering a fumbled ball. He made a mental note as he stood
up and brushed himself off that that was the first error of the game.
Now, if ever, it was time for Pennington to score. With a man on
second and none out, it was the opportunity of the game, and the
Pennington players determined to take advantage of it. A single of the
right sort could bring in a run, or at best move Thatcher on to third.
Buck Hart spat on his hands, and with one strike on him settled down
to the business at hand. And he was equal to the task, for presently
he found Wells’ delivery for a hit that somehow got between third and
short and enough out of reach to allow Thatcher to get to third, while
Buck romped safely to first.
With a man on first and third and none out, scoring looked like a
certainty, and the Pennington bleachers went into a frenzy of cheering,
while the band blared forth a spirited school song.
Jeff, from third, looked toward the bench, curious to know who would
be put up next. It was Dixon’s turn at bat, but Jeff realized that the
pitcher could not take his place. Who would be put in to bat for him?
Watching the players’ bench, Jeff saw Coach Rice look the fellows over
and motion to Gould. He said something to him, too, and slapped him
on the back, and as Jeff saw that his rival for third base honors was
going into the game as a pinch hitter he was thrilled with delight, for
he realized, as the jubilant Gould did, that going in as a pinch hitter
would mean that he would be credited with playing in the Lawrencetown
game and as a result be awarded his ’varsity letter. Jeff was as much
pleased as if it were himself who was being given the opportunity to
make good, and he called down from third base encouragingly:
“Land on it, Gould, for a single. That’s all we need to tie things up.”
Gould grinned at him as he selected his bat and stepped to the plate,
and Jeff hoped mightily that the pinch hitter would make good.
He did. Gould was capable, and when put to it could do as well as any
fellow on the field. And there was resolution and determination behind
the vicious swing that he took at the first pitched ball.
He connected in earnest and the sphere shot toward right field in a
long, low arc that started Miller running back as hard as he could. But
it was quickly evident that he would never catch that drive, and Jeff
and Buck Hart romped home, while Gould tore around the bases as fast as
he could go. It was a clean three-bagger, and had Gould been contented
to remain on third he might have ultimately scored. But in his
enthusiasm he tried to stretch it into a home run and he was caught at
the plate. But he was given a hand and a rousing cheer when he stood up
and brushed himself off, for the crowd recognized that he had brought
in two runs and put Pennington in the lead; indeed, pandemonium reigned
for some time, for the Pennington rooters had been hoping for just such
a break in the game and they cheered themselves almost voiceless when
it finally occurred.
But out of trouble once more and with one down the Lawrencetown pitcher
tightened up and the next two batters were played out both on infield
hits, and the team retired with the score 2 to 1 in Pennington’s favor
at the end of the fifth.
Considerably heartened, the team took to the field determined to play
air-tight ball behind Honey Wiggins, who made his way to the box,
while a cheer with his name tacked on the end of it resounded from the
bleachers. Honey was no slouch at pitching. He had been going well all
season and improving steadily, until now he was almost as capable as
big George Dixon, so his team mates had little doubt concerning his
ability to make a good showing.
And he did. Although he was pitching against a fighting team, a team
one run behind and determined to fight itself out of the hole and back
to an advantage again, he held them down to three scattered hits in
the succeeding three innings, and in the sixth and seventh sessions
he struck out one batter, while in the eighth, although he passed the
second man up and permitted the man following to find him for a hit,
he held the succeeding two men down to infield drives that retired the
side without a score.
In the same sessions, however, the Pennington crew could not do any
better. Wells never broke in his steady pitching nor did the team
behind him falter at all. They played the finest kind of baseball,
and try as the Pennington players did they could not break through
the wonderful defense, of an impregnable infield and an outfield that
seemed to cover every foot of territory with extreme ease. In the
eighth inning the Pennington batters began to find Wells more readily
than they had any inning before save the end of the fifth, but that
was where his fine support helped him out; although every fellow up
landed on his delivery, and two safe hits were made, the five batters
who came to the plate never scored. Wade Grenville, the first man up,
got a clean single. Jed Stafford, next man in line, banged out an
amazingly long fly that looked as if it was worth three bases anyway,
but Freeman traveled back and stabbed it with one hand, bringing forth
a wild round of applause and cheers from the rooters of both sides, for
it was a wonderful catch. Wade managed to get to second on the throw in.
Jeff Thatcher was the next batter up and he too found Wells for a
smashing drive that was picked up by Southers and shot down to third
in time to cut the flying Wade off. Dick Leslie tried to double by
catching Jeff before he made first, but Jeff beat the ball to the bag
by more than a yard and was safe. There were two down, a man on first,
and Buck Hart up. Buck Hart had made a hit before in the game and Wells
was very cautious with him. Indeed he showed his head work by passing
Buck to first and moving Jeff on to second, for he realized that the
next man up was Honey Wiggins, the pitcher, and he was more willing
to take a chance with Honey’s hitting ability than he was with Buck’s
bit stick. With two men on and a single needed to bring in a run the
Pennington stands went wild yelling for a single.
Honey looked desperate as he faced the Lawrencetown pitcher, but Wells,
as cool as could be under the pressure of excitement, never wavered. He
paid no attention to the men on base, and pitched to the batter as if
he were the only man in the game. He put a perfect strike over for the
first ball. Then Honey drew two balls in succession and another strike.
With two and two, Wells tried to put over the third and final ball, but
Honey saw how good it was and slammed at it. It was a beautiful line
drive toward second and it certainly looked as if Honey had succeeded
in poking out the necessary hit to score Thatcher. Jeff and Buck,
running on anything, tore around the bases madly, but as Jeff rounded
third he heard the plunk of ball against leather and he turned his head
in time to see Southers coming down from a remarkable jump. He had made
a wonderful catch and shut off the chance that Pennington had to add
at least one more run to its advantage. The side was retired, but the
score still stood 2 to 1 in Pennington’s favor in the beginning of the
ninth.
With one frame left in which to do or die, the Lawrencetown players
came in from the field all set to break things wide open. It was a
fighting team, and a ninth inning situation of this sort was not new
to them. They had played through more than one of them and made good
during the season and they were determined to do it once again. The
Lawrencetown stands started up a volume of cheering that surpassed
anything in that line they had done so far during the game. The
band opened up with all the brass it had, too, and the team, on its
toes, began a line of coaching that indicated all too plainly to the
Pennington team out in the field that the Lawrencetown boys were far
from accepting the defeat that was staring them in the face. Their
fighting spirit had only just been aroused to its full pitch and
the buff and blue players knew that this was to be the really big
Lawrencetown inning of the game.
All this by way of preliminary may have worked a little under the skin
of Honey Wiggins, for with the first ball he pitched it was evident
to Jeff on third and to several other players, as well as Captain Tad,
that he was a little unsteady.
The catcher walked out to the box with the ball and gave him a word of
encouragement, and Jeff from third yelled: “Steady, old boy. Don’t let
this thing get on your nerve. We’ve got ’em beaten. Let’s hold ’em down
this one session and it’s all over but the shouting.”
“We’ve got ’em where we want ’em. Steady, boy,” called Buck Hart as he
spat on his glove and settled down to play short.
Southers, the head of the Lawrencetown batting order, was up. With one
ball to his credit, he stood there grinning at Honey Wiggins, who, very
deliberate in all his movements now, was striving to settle his jumping
nerves. He wound up for the second ball and delivered it, a perfect
strike. But Southers refused to let it be called a strike and landed on
it for a clean single into right field.
The Lawrencetown stand went wild and so did the team. With a man on and
none out and the opposing pitcher visibly nervous, things certainly
began to look brighter. The heavy artillery was up, too, and as Wild,
one of their big guns, stepped up to the rubber, the crowd began to
storm for a hit.
And Wild got it; a clean single almost in the same place where Southers
had placed his ball. Southers went down to second and Wild was safe
on first, and there were none out. Freeman, the heaviest slugger of
the Lawrencetown team, was the next man at bat. Things certainly did
look serious for the Pennington team and bright and cheerful for the
visitors.
When Honey Wiggins saw Freeman step to the plate he seemed to take a
long time to think things over. He certainly was in a hole. Whether
to pitch to Freeman and take a chance or whether to pass him was the
question that seemed to trouble him. Finally he appeared to decide on
the latter course, for he was very careful to keep the ball out of
reach of the heavy hitter’s stick, and presently the umpire called:
“Ball four.”
Freeman walked to first and the bases were full, with none out!
The stands shook under the wild behavior and ceaseless cheering of the
Lawrencetown contingent, for they realized only too well that a single
would sew up the game for them. “A hit! A hit! Just one little safe
bingle!” roared the crowd.
Oleson was up. Oleson, the only man to score for Lawrencetown so far
that day. His name pealed forth in a roaring cheer as he took his place
at the plate.
Honey Wiggins was in a worse predicament than he had been during the
entire game, and his nerves were all gone, that was evident. Already
Coach Rice had Cy Gordon warming up, and Honey looked appealingly
toward the bench, as if he hoped that the coach would “derrick” him
from the mound and take him out of his mighty unpleasant position.
But the coach motioned him to continue with the game, and Honey, to
steady himself, tried three times to catch the runner off of first.
Meanwhile, Jeff Thatcher, on third, all on edge himself, was watching
the batter and the Lawrencetown bench, where their coach sat. He saw
signals passed, and while he could not read them, he concluded that
Oleson had been instructed to do the obvious thing: try a squeeze play
in the hope of bringing in the necessary run to tie and still leave
runners in a position to score.
Honey Wiggins evidently guessed the play, too, and so did others on the
team, for Buck Hart yelled:
“Come on, Honey, play the batter. On your toes, every one, and watch
out for a hit-and-run play.”
Honey faced the batter, and as he did so every runner took a long lead
off base. They started with the snap of Honey’s arm. But Honey, using
his head, did not shoot over a ball that was good for a clean hit. It
was high and swift, and Oleson, doubtless nervous himself, and knowing
that he had to play the first ball, took a short, snappy swing at it.
He connected. There was a report and a flash of white in the air in the
direction of third base.
Jeff, on his toes, close to his bag, saw what had happened. He saw
the white sphere coming toward him four feet above his head. It was a
safe drive if it got by him, and it surely looked as if it would. All
three men on base were moving under full steam and Oleson was sprinting
toward first.
With a terrific jump Jeff shot up in the air and stuck out his gloved
hand. There was a thump of ball against leather and Jeff, clinging to
the sphere, dropped to the bag, then stepping out quickly, tagged the
runner who was coming full speed down from second.
[Illustration: With a terrific jump Jeff shot up in the air]
Then in the most matter-of-fact way he tossed the ball to Honey Wiggins
and began to trot toward the bench.
For a moment absolute silence settled over the field. No one save Jeff
seemed to realize what had happened.
“Man’s out――two out――_three out_!” called the umpire, after a moment’s
puzzled study.
Then, as the crowd heard his decisions and realized what Thatcher, the
third baseman, had accomplished, a cheer started that gathered and
gathered in volume until it mounted skyward like a peal of thunder.
Unassisted Jeff had made a triple play![1]
[1] A play of this sort took place in the World’s Series of
1920 between the Brooklyn and Cleveland team when the Cleveland
second baseman made a triple play unassisted. It was the first
play of its kind ever recorded in a World’s Series and only the
fourth on record in the history of the national game.
His brilliant catch of Oleson’s fly had put the batter out, and as he
dropped to third and touched the bag, automatically Southers, who
had left for home, also went out, and Wild, romping down from second,
had been tagged out within five feet of third base, thus putting out
the entire side in a single play and bringing to naught the most
critical situation that the Pennington team had been in during the
entire game.
Nothing as scintillating as this in the way of baseball had ever
occurred at Pennington, or at Lawrencetown, either, for that matter,
and the crowd went wild over Jeff.
His team mates, coming in from the field, literally mobbed him, and
picking him up bodily, carried him on their shoulders toward the
player’s bench, much to Jeff’s embarrassment. Then they started on a
parade around the diamond, for the game had ended there, the score
still 2 to 1 in Pennington’s favor, so it was not necessary to play the
last half of the ninth inning.
The student body, led by the blaring band, fell in behind the triumphal
procession of players, with Thatcher on their shoulders, and round and
round the diamond they went in a wild snake dance that finally worked
its way off the field and over to the gymnasium.
There, as the players mounted the steps, Jeff was cheered and cheered
again, and then in a brief lull in the noise some one shouted from the
crowd:
“Oh, you Third Base Thatcher. Won’t the girls be wild about you at the
‘hop’ to-night!”
Whereupon Jeff colored up like a turkey gobbler, and breaking away
from the crowd, bolted into the gymnasium building and dashed down
stairs to the locker room, while the rest of the joyous, grinning
players streamed down the stairs after him, laughing and joking at his
consternation.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.