FRED PUT TO THE TEST
Through the game, Jack had been observing just how Fred Badger carried
himself. Since hits were so few and far between thus far, he had not had
a great deal to do in the field. Once he ran in on a bunt, and got it to
first in time to cut off the runner. No one could have carried out the
play in better shape. Another time he took a hot liner straight off the
bat, and received a salvo of cheers from the crowd, always pleased to
see such clever play, no matter on which side it occurs.
At bat Fred had not succeeded in shining brilliantly. Hendrix was
apparently a puzzle to him, as to many another player. He struck out
twice, and perished on a foul another time; but there could be no doubt
Fred was trying his best to get in a drive that might be effectual.
Jack noticed that he often cast glances in the direction of the
grand-stand where a number of enthusiastic Chester girls sat, and waved
their flags or handkerchiefs whenever anything occurred that aroused
their admiration. He remembered that pretty Molly Skinner was seated
there. Fred evidently had not forgotten that fact either, and Jack found
himself hoping it might have considerable influence with the sorely
tempted third baseman, in case he were finally put to the test.
Martin was apparently out for a hit, if one could judge from his
determined attitude as he stood there at the plate, and swung his bat
back and forth in his own peculiar fashion, meanwhile watching the
pitcher like a hawk.
The coaching had become vehement, Harmony players seeking to unnerve
Donohue by running back and forth around first, until the umpire called
a halt on this proceeding, after Jack had drawn his attention to the
infringement of the rules.
Then Martin swung. He missed connection, and a groan arose from his
crowd, while the Chester contingent cheered Donohue lustily. But Martin
only smiled. Such a little thing as that was not going to faze him. He
had still two more chances, and the next time he would make more
certain.
A deathly silence fell upon the crowd, waiting to see whether Harmony
could pull the game out of the fire in the ninth, as had happened
several times that same season, for they were famous on account of their
rallies.
Martin had a second strike called on him, though he made no effort to go
after the ball. In fact, it must have passed him so speedily that he
could not properly gauge whether it would be a strike or a ball.
Then suddenly Donohue, taking his cue from a motion Jack made, changed
his pace. Although he went through exactly the same gyrations as though
about to send up another swift one, the ball came lazily floating
through the air, and Martin was seen to viciously stab with his bat long
before there was any chance to make connections.
Bedlam broke loose again at that. Auto horns and sirens tooted
strenuously, boys shrieked through megaphones, girls waved their flags
furiously, and Donohue was greeted with encouraging shouts from every
side. Really, he was working wonderfully well considering that he could
be called a newcomer to the diamond. In time he was certain to make a
name for himself among the big clubs, if some wandering scout ever heard
of him, and visited Chester to size his work up.
But here came Oldsmith, and there was that about his manner to proclaim
how his whole heart was bent on making at least a single, if not better,
so that Harmony might break the tie, and get the home team on the run.
"Take him into camp, Alec!"
"You've got his measure all right, old scout! Twice before he whiffed,
and he's in line to make it three times!"
"Feed him your best sizzlers, Donohue!"
"Oldsmith, you're a back number today, don't you know?"
Then they heard the bat connect with the ball. Clifford was off toward
second in great style. Toby Hopkins threw himself and managed to stop
the shoot that was headed for centre, but he could not get to Jones on
second in time to nail the runner, for the umpire held up his hand, and
that meant Clifford was safe.
Again things began to look dark for Chester. Harmony had "found" Donohue
at last, it seemed, and there could be no telling when the salvo of hits
could stop. Perhaps the game would be "sewed up" right there, in case
Harmony scored, and Hendrix shut his opponents out when their turn at
bat came.
Now it was Bailey up.
The little shortstop was primed for anything. He struck at the first
ball, and knocked a foul which dropped safe. Then he missed the next
ball so that he was "two in the hole." Of course it was expected that
Donohue would now try to deceive him by tempting him with a curve that
would be wide of the plate; but Jack had signaled for a third one
straight, and it came with swiftness.
Bailey was ready, however, and knew he had to strike, for it would count
against him at any rate. He got a fluke hit that started toward first.
By jumping in Jack managed to pick up the ball, and then having touched
the bag, he hurled it toward second in hopes of making a double play.
Oldsmith, however, had made a fine slide, and was clutching the corner
of the second sack when Jones took the ball; while Clifford had won
third.
There were now two down, with men on second and third.
Everything depended on the next batter, and when it was seen to be that
formidable slugger O'Leary, the home-run maker, how those Harmony
rooters did scream. Some of the more irresponsible took to dancing like
idiots, clasped in each other's arms. In fact, every known device for
"rattling" a pitcher was resorted to, of course legitimately, in order
to further their waning cause.
Eagerly did many of the local fans watch to see whether Donohue gave any
evidence of going to pieces. He seemed as cool as ever, and smiled as he
handled the ball; while O'Leary was knocking his big bat on the ground
to test its reliability, as though he meant to put it to some good
service then and there. He was seen to turn his head and grin toward
some of his ardent admirers in the bleachers back of him. By this means
he doubtless informed them that he had been only playing with the
tenderfoot pitcher hitherto, and would now proceed to show what strength
lay in those muscular arms of his.
Jack waved the fielders back. He anticipated that O'Leary was due for
one of his famous lengthy drives, and it was necessary that those
guarding the outer gardens should be in position to make a great run,
once the ball left the bat. Still, he continued to feel fairly confident
that Donohue would recover from his temporary set-back, and possibly
deceive O'Leary, as he had done twice before.
He realized that the crisis he had feared was now upon them. If O'Leary
sent a scorcher toward Fred, how would the third baseman handle it?
Clifford knew what was expected of him, and already part way home on the
movement of the pitcher winding up to throw, he would shoot along at the
crack of the bat, taking his chances, since there were already two down.
He saw O'Leary actually turn his head slightly and take a quick look
toward third as though making up his mind just where he wanted to send
the ball, should he be able to connect with the horse-hide sphere. Jack
felt a cold chill pass over him. Could it be possible that O'Leary
actually _knew_ there was a weak link in the chain made by the
infield, and figured on taking advantage of Fred's intended treachery?
At that moment it seemed as though Jack lived years, so many things
flashed into his mind. He even remembered how earlier in the game two
men, strangers in town, had made themselves obnoxious by standing up in
the bleacher seats and shaking handfuls of greenbacks, daring Chester
people to back their favorites at odds of three to four. They had been
spotted almost immediately, and the mayor of Chester ordered them to
desist under penalty of being arrested, since it was against the law of
the town for any sort of wagering to be indulged in.
The presence of the local police, and their movement toward the spot had
resulted in the two sporty looking strangers subsiding. Some of the
Harmony boys, however, scoffed at such Puritanical methods of procedure,
since over at their town things were allowed to run wide open; or at
least winked at by the authorities.
Jack had been too far away to make sure, but he had a suspicion that one
of the pair of betting men looked very much like the party with whom he
had seen Fred Badger in close conversation, and who had offered him a
paper to sign, after which something passed between them that might have
been money, though Jack had not been absolutely certain about that part
of it.
Deep down in his heart, Jack hoped most earnestly that the chance for
Fred to soil his hands with any crooked work might not arise. It would
be all right, for instance, if only Donohue could strike the great
O'Leary out for the third time. Then again perhaps even though the
batter managed to connect with the ball, he might be unable to send it
straight toward Fred. It was liable to go in any other direction, and if
a tally should result from the blow, at least it could not be placed to
a supposed error on the part of Badger.
Donohue delivered his first one wide of the plate. O'Leary laughed, and
nodded his head, as though to tell the pitcher he was too old a bird to
be caught with such chaff.
"Make him put it over, Dan!"
"Knock the stuffing out of the ball, O'Leary!"
"One of your old-time homers is what we need, remember!"
"You've got his number, Dan; don't bite at a wide one!"
"You'll walk, all right; he's afraid of you, old scout!"
All these and many other cries could be heard, but the players were
paying no attention to the crowd now. Every fielder was "on his toes,"
so to speak, anticipating that it might be up to him to save the day. In
the main, the crowd was so anxious over the outcome of the next ball
from the pitcher that they almost forgot to breathe, only watching the
pitcher wind up preparatory to making his throw.
Jack saw Fred give one of his quick looks toward the spot where pretty
Molly Skinner sat. He hoped it meant that he had resolved to be staunch
and true to his team-mates, and loyal to his native town, despite any
terrible temptation that may have come to him in the shape of a big
bribe.
O'Leary had a peculiar crouch at the plate. His odd attitude made Jack
think of a squatty spider about to launch itself at a blue-bottled fly
that had ventured too near his corner. No doubt it accounted in some
measure for his swatting ability, as he would necessarily put the whole
force of his body in his blow. Often when he missed connections he would
whirl all the way around; and then recovering make a humorous gesture
toward his admirers in the crowd, for O'Leary, being Irish, was almost
always in good humor, no matter what happened.
He let the first ball speed past for a strike, and higher rose the
excitement. The umpire called the second one a ball, which evened
matters a little. Next came "strike two," and yet the great O'Leary
waited, while his admirers began to feel fainthearted, fearing that he
would stand there and be counted down when everything depended on his
making a hit.
Then there came an awful crack! O'Leary had picked out just the kind of
a ball he wanted. It must have left his bat like a bullet, and Jack felt
himself turn cold when he realized that the ball was headed straight as
a die for Fred Badger!