SHOOTING THEM OVER
Bert and Dick and some of the other fellows were having a discussion.
They had been talking on various topics, and, as was usually the case,
the talk had drifted around to baseball. They had discussed the game pro
and con, when Dick said:
"I wonder how fast a pitcher really can throw a ball, anyway. Of course,
there's no possibility of such a thing, but it certainly would be
interesting, if we could measure the speed of a pitched ball, and settle
the question once and for all."
"That's easy," laughed Bert. "You just stand up there, Dick, and give me
a baseball and let me hit you with it. If it kills you, we will know it
was going pretty fast, but if it just cripples you, we will be forced to
the conclusion that the ball wasn't traveling so very fast, after all."
"Yes, that certainly is a brilliant idea," snorted Dick, "and there is
only one thing that keeps me from doing it. If, as you say, it should
kill me, you fellows would have settled the question, all right, but
then it would be too late for me to share in the knowledge. Therefore,
I guess we'll leave the question open for the present."
"Aw, gee, Dick," laughed one of the others, "you certainly have a mean
disposition. Here you are in college, and yet you evidently haven't
enough of the college spirit to make a sacrifice of yourself for the
general good. Besides, it doesn't show the scientific desire for
knowledge that we would like to see in you, does it, fellows?" appealing
to the laughing group.
Everybody seemed to think the same thing, judging from the unanimous
chorus of assent to this speech, but, strange to say, Dick proved very
obstinate, and refused to offer his services in the capacity of official
tester.
"But seriously, fellows," said one of the boys, John Bennett by name, "I
don't see why we couldn't do something of the kind. I shouldn't think it
would be so hopeless, after all."
At first they thought he was joking, but when they realized that he was
in earnest, a chorus of ridicule arose. Bennett refused to be hooted
down, however, and finally managed to get a hearing.
"You see, it's this way," he explained: "My father, as you all know,
manufactures guns and rifles of all descriptions. Now, some people with
a little more sense in their noodles than you poor boobs," with a
sarcastic inflection, "have asked what the speed of a rifle bullet was,
and what's more, have managed to find out. Going on the same principle,
I don't see why we couldn't find out the speed of a baseball."
"How do they find that out?" asked one, unbelievingly, "a rifle bullet
has been known to go pretty fast at times, you know."
"You don't mean it, do you?" asked Bennett, sarcastically. "I always
thought bullets crept along the ground something after the manner of
snails, or something equally fast, didn't you fellows?"
"Go on, go on," they laughed, "if you've got an idea in what you call
your brain, for heaven's sake get it out before you forget it. Go on and
tell us how it is that they measure the speed of a bullet."
"Well, it's this way," said Bennett, "they arrange an electric wire in
front of the muzzle of the gun, so that as the bullet comes out it is
bound to break it. Then, the object at which the gun is aimed is also
connected up by electricity. Observe, gentlemen, what happens when the
gun is discharged. The bullet, as it saunters from the gun, cuts the
electric wire, and by so doing registers the exact fraction of a second
that this happens. When it hits the target, a similar process takes
place, and then of course it is a simple matter to subtract the time
the bullet left the gun from the time it hit the target, and thus,
gentlemen, we arrive at the result, namely, the time it took the bullet
to go across the intervening distance. I trust, gentlemen (and others),
that I have made myself perfectly clear."
"Aw," spoke up one of the fellows, popularly known as "Curley," "who
couldn't think of a simple thing like that. The only reason that I
didn't think of it right off was that it was too easy for me even to
consider."
"Oh, sure, we all understand that perfectly," replied Bennett, "but,
seriously, fellows, if you would care to try the experiment, I am sure
that my father would help us all he could. It wouldn't be any trick at
all for him to rig up something on the same principle that would give us
an accurate idea of how fast Bert, for instance, could propel a baseball
through the surrounding atmosphere. Say the word, and I'll write to him
about it to-night. We ought to hear from him by the day after to-morrow,
at the latest."
Bert saw that Bennett was in earnest, and so said:
"It certainly would be very interesting, old man. I've often wondered
just what speed I was capable of, and I don't see why your plan
shouldn't be feasible. What do you think, Dick?"
"I think it would be well worth the try, at all events," replied Dick,
"and say, fellows, while we were about it, Bennett's father might be
willing to show us over the factory and give us an idea of how the guns
are made. Do you think he would, old top?" addressing Bennett.
"Surest thing you know," responded the latter, heartily. "I know he
would be glad to have you come, even if you are a bunch of bums,"
smilingly.
"All right, we'll consider that settled, then," said Bert. "You write to
him right away, and we'll try our little experiment as soon as possible.
Believe me, I'm anxious to try it. I sure would like to know."
Thus the matter was settled, and after a little more talk and speculation
on the same subject, the boys dispersed to their rooms to prepare
recitations for the morrow.
A day or so later, when some of them had forgotten about the proposed
test, Bennett came up to the group assembled in Bert's and Dick's room,
and said:
"See here, fellows! What did I tell you? I just received this letter
from dad, and he says to go as far as we like. He says that he spoke of
the matter to the foreman of the testing department, and he thinks our
plan is feasible."
"Gee, that's fine," exclaimed Tom, who was of the group. "How long did
he think it would be before he would be ready?"
"Oh, pretty near any time that we could get to the factory. Of course,
it will take him a few days to rig up the apparatus, but he says he will
have it ready by next Saturday, and as that is a holiday for most of us,
I think it would be a good time to go. How would that suit you, Bert?"
"First rate," replied Bert, "I'll take it as easy as I can this week in
the line of pitching, so that I will have full strength for the test.
I'll have to establish a record," laughingly.
"I'll tell you what we can do," said Walter Harper, one of the "subs" on
the team, "let's get up a race between Bert's baseball and a bullet. I
think that Bert ought to beat a bullet easily."
"Well," laughed Bert, "maybe I can't exactly beat a bullet, but I'll bet
my ball will have more curve on it than any bullet ever invented."
"That reminds me of a story I heard the other day," spoke up one. "The
father of a friend of mine went out to hunt deer last fall. He had fair
luck, but everybody was talking about a deer that had been fooling all
the hunters for several seasons. It seems that this deer was such an
expert dodger, that when anyone started to shoot at him he would run
around in circles and thus avoid the bullet. Well, my friend's father
thought over the matter for a long time, and finally hit on a plan to
outwit the deer. Can you guess how he did it?"
Many were the schemes offered by the ingenious listeners, but none of
them seemed satisfactory. Finally all gave up the problem, and begged
the story teller to give them the explanation.
"Well," he said, "it's very simple, and I'm surprised and grieved that
none of you fatheads have thought of it. Why, he simply bent the barrel
of the gun around, so that when the bullet came out it chased the deer
around in circles, and killed him without any trouble. Now----" but here
he was interrupted by a storm of indignant hoots and hisses, and rushed
from the room amid a perfect shower of books of all descriptions.
"Gee," said Tom, "I've heard some queer hunting stories, but that one
was the limit. Many a man has died for less."
"Oh, well, he's more to be pitied than scorned," laughed Dick, and they
proceeded to discuss the details of Saturday's trip.
"It will be no end of fun, I can promise you," said Bennett. "It's
really an education in itself to go through that factory and see the way
things are done. You can bet there's no time or effort wasted there.
Everything is figured down to the very last word for efficiency, and if
all the world were run on the same basis it would be a pretty fine place
to live in."
"List to the philosopher, fellows," said Bert. "I'm afraid Bennett's
studies are going to his head, and he's actually beginning to believe
what the profs tell him."
"That is indeed a sign of failing mental powers," laughed Tom. "I'm
afraid that if we don't do something for our poor friend, he will
degenerate until finally he becomes nothing but a 'greasy grind.' After
that, of course, he can sink no lower."
"Aw, you fellows think you're funny, don't you," grunted Bennett,
disgustedly, "you're such boneheads that when somebody with real brains,
like myself, for instance, gets off a little gem of thought you are
absolutely incapable of appreciating it."
"Fellows," said Bert, gravely, "we have made an important discovery.
Bennett has brains. We know this is so, because he himself admits it.
Well, well, who would have suspected it?"
This sally was greeted with laughter, but, seeing that Bennett was
becoming a little angry, Bert changed the subject, and they were soon
deep in details of the forthcoming trip. Dick was delegated to buy the
tickets, and when all had paid in their money it was seen that
twenty-four were going.
"That will just be a good crowd," said Bert. "We'll leave here on the
9:21 train, and that will take us to W---- at a little after ten. We can
look over the factory in the morning, and tell Mr. Bennett how to run
it,"--with a mischievous glance at Bennett, "and in the afternoon,
gentlemen, I will make my world renowned attempt to pitch a baseball
against time. Do you think that will suit your father, John?"
"Sure, that will be all right," answered Bennett, and so the matter was
settled.
The following Saturday turned out to be ideal, and everybody was in high
spirits when they gathered at the station. They had to wait ten or
fifteen minutes for the train, which had been delayed, but they found
plenty to do in the meantime. They sang, played leap frog, and in a
dozen other ways gave vent to their high spirits. Some of the passengers
envied their light hearts, and remembered the days when they, too, had
been full of life and fun, and the world had just been a place to be
merry in.
The waiting passed like a flash, and before they knew it the train came
into sight around a curve. When it drew up they all made a rush to get
on, and before the train was finally started again had almost driven the
conductor frantic.
"Byes will be byes, though," he grinned to himself, later on, "and be
the same token, Oi don't begrudge the youngsters any of their fun, even
if it did hold the thrain back a full three minutes. Have a good time
while yer living, says Oi, for yez'll be a long time dead."
The train fairly flew along, as the engineer was making up for lost
time, and it was not long before the conductor sang out, "W----!" and
they had arrived. They all tumbled off, and Tom, to save time, went
through the car window.
"Be gorry, yez are a wild bunch of youngsters," said the old conductor
to Bert. "But Oi remember when Oi was a lad Oi was the same way, so Oi
fergives yez the delays and worriments yez have caused me this day. Have
a good toime, and luck be wid yez."
"Thanks," laughed Bert; "won't you come along?"
"Thank ye kindly, but Oi guess Oi'll have to deny meself the pleasure,
me bye," grinned the conductor, and the train drew out of the station.
"Gee," said Tom, as he gazed around, "I don't think we'll have much
trouble locating the factory, Bennett. It seems to be a rather
conspicuous part of the landscape."
It was, indeed. The whole town was founded on the factory industry,
and practically every able-bodied man in the place worked there. The
factory was an immense six-story affair, with acres and acres of floor
space. All around it were streets lined with comfortable-looking
cottages, in which the workmen lived. Everything had a prosperous and
neat appearance, and the boys were agreeably surprised. Most of them had
expected to see a grimy manufacturing town, and were quite unprepared
for the clean community they saw spread out before them.
Bennett headed them straight toward the factory, but as they went along
pointed out features of the town.
"You see," he explained, "the whole town is practically part of the
factory. When that was established a few houses were built around it,
and as the factory grew, the town grew along with it, until now it is
what you see it. We have one of the biggest gun manufacturing plants in
the world here," he added, proudly.
"It certainly is some class, John," admitted Bert; "it's bigger and
cleaner than I ever expected it would be."
Soon they had reached the factory itself, and Bennett ushered them into
the office. There they were presented to a gray-haired man whom John
proudly introduced as his father, and they were made perfectly at home.
After a little talk, Mr. Bennett pressed a button, and a capable looking
man appeared.
"Sawkins," said Mr. Bennett, "here are the young men for whom we've been
turning the factory upside down the last few days. Just show them
around, will you, and explain things to them a little."
"Certainly," acquiesced Sawkins, who was the foreman. "Step right this
way, gentlemen."
The following two hours were probably among the most interesting any of
the boys had ever known. The foreman started at the beginning, showing
them the glowing molten metal in immense cauldrons. He was a man of
considerable education, and great mechanical ability. He explained every
process in words as free as possible of technicalities, and the young
fellows felt that they understood everything that he undertook to
explain. He showed them how the metal was cast, how the guns were bored
out, the delicate rifling cut in, and a thousand other details. His
listeners paid close attention to everything he said, and seeing this,
he took extra pains to make everything clear to them. As he said to Mr.
Bennett afterward, "It was a pleasure to talk to a bunch of men that
understood what was told them."
Finally they came to the testing room, and this proved, if possible,
even more interesting than what had gone before. The foreman showed them
the various ranges, and some of the penetrating feats of which the
rifles were capable. It was almost unbelievable.
"See this little toy?" he said, picking out a beautifully made gun from
a rack on the wall. "The projectile discharged from this arm will
penetrate over forty-five planks, each one seven-eighths of an inch
thick. And then, look at this,"--holding up an ax-head with three clean
holes bored through it--"here's what it can do to tempered steel. I
don't think it would be very healthy to stand in its way."
"No, I guess it wouldn't," said Dick. "I'd prefer to be somewhere else
when one of those bullets was wandering around loose."
Mr. Sawkins then showed them some photographs of bullets taken while in
flight. At first sight this seems an impossibility, but nevertheless it
is an accomplished fact. The method used is much the same as John
Bennett has described in the early part of this chapter. As the bullet
leaves the gun it cuts a wire, which in turn snaps the shutter of a
very high-speed camera. The lenses on a camera of this kind are very
expensive, a single lens sometimes costing five hundred dollars.
Then the foreman showed them the apparatus that they had rigged up to
test the speed of Bert's pitching. After examining the ingenious
arrangement the boys were lavish in their praise. Mr. Sawkins made
light of this, but it was easy to see that he was pleased.
"Oh, it's nothing much," he said. "I just fooled around a little bit,
and soon had this planned out. It was easy for me, because when I was a
little younger I used to do a little myself in the pitching line on our
local team, so I knew about what would be required."
While they were discussing this, Mr. Bennett strolled in, and asked the
enthusiastic group what they thought of what they had seen so far.
"Gee," said Tom, impulsively, "it certainly is the greatest ever, Mr.
Bennett. I never had any idea there was such an awful lot to know about
gun-making. On thinking it over," he added, laughing, "I don't think of
a single way that we could improve matters; do you, fellows?"
"You are more modest than my son, then," said Mr. Bennett, and there was
a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. "Every time John comes here he has a
lot of ideas that he is sure will better anything we have here at
present. However, I have just been in this line for the last thirty
years or so, and so, of course, have lots to learn."
"Aw, cut it out, Dad," grumbled the younger Bennett. "As far as I can
find out, you've never tried any of the things I've proposed, and so how
do you know how good or bad they are?"
"Well, the only objection to your plans was that they would generally
have meant building a new factory to carry them out. Otherwise I have no
fault to find with them," returned Mr. Bennett.
After a little further talk, Mr. Bennett insisted that the boys come
home to his house for luncheon. Needless to say, they had no very strong
objections to this, and were easily persuaded.
The proprietor's home was a large, comfortable mansion, and the good
cheer offered within carried out the impression received without. There
was an abundance of good fare, and the young fellows rose from the table
at last with a satisfied air.
Mr. Bennett had quite a long talk with Bert during the progress of the
meal, and seemed very much interested in him. It turned out that Mr.
Bennett was quite a baseball enthusiast himself, so he entered heartily
into Bert's enthusiasm over the game.
"I used to be quite some player myself when I was your age," he told
Bert, "only I used to play a different position. I usually played
catcher, and was on my team at H----. In those days we never bothered
with catcher's mitts, however, and we catchers worked with bare hands.
Once I was catching in this manner, and a ball caught my thumb and half
tore it off. I was so excited at the time, though, that I never noticed
it, until one of my teammates noticed blood on the ball and called my
attention to it. After that, when my thumb healed, you may be sure I
caught with a glove. You can see the scar still," and he showed the boys
the scar of what had evidently been a nasty wound.
"Well, boys," he said, at the conclusion of this narrative, "what do you
say if we go on back to the factory and make that test of young Wilson's
speed. I am very much interested, I assure you."
Of course there were no objections raised to this, and after a pleasant
walk they arrived again at the factory. They proceeded directly to the
testing room, and Bert shed his coat and vest.
"Come ahead, Dick; you catch for me until I warm up, will you?" he said,
and Dick ran to the requisite distance and donned a catcher's mitt that
he had brought along for the purpose. Bert pitched him a few easy balls,
and then began to work up a little speed. As he shot them to Dick with
ever-increasing pace, Mr. Bennett's face lighted up with interest, and
finally he said, "Say, just let me try catching a few, will you, Trent?
It's a long time since I've had a catcher's mitt on, but I'd like to
take a try at it just for the fun of the thing."
"Certainly," responded Dick, promptly, and handed his glove to Mr.
Bennett. The latter donned it quickly, and punched it a few resounding
blows to "put a hole in it." "All right, my boy," he said, when the
glove was prepared to his satisfaction. "Shoot 'em over, and don't be
afraid to put some speed into 'em. You can't send them too fast to suit
me."
Bert sent over a few easy ones at first, just to see how Mr. Bennett
would handle them. The latter caught the offerings in a practised
manner, and said, "Come on, young man, put some whiskers on the ball.
That wasn't the best you could do, was it?"
Bert made no answer to this, but on his next pitch his arm swung around
like a flail, and the ball left his hand as though propelled by a
catapult. The factory owner managed to catch the ball, but he wrung his
hand. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, "that ball stung my hand pretty hard right
through the glove."
Young Bennett laughed in unholy glee, and danced about first on one foot
and then on the other. "That's one on you, dad," he crowed; "but you
ought to feel lucky that you even caught the ball. If Bert wanted to, he
could pitch a ball that you couldn't even touch. Give him a fadeaway,
Bert."
"Fadeaway, you say," grunted his father. "There never was a pitcher yet
that could pitch a ball that I couldn't even touch. Give me a sample of
this wonderful ball, Wilson."
"All right, sir," said Bert, and grinned. He wound up in the old
familiar way that the boys knew so well, and shot over a ball that Mr.
Bennett figured was a "cinch." He held his glove in what he thought was
the proper place, but at the last moment the ball dropped abruptly and
swung under the glove, missing it by several inches.
"Well, I'll be hanged," muttered Mr. Bennett, gazing stupidly at his
glove. He soon recovered himself, however, and handed the glove back to
Dick. "You've certainly got a wonderful ball there, Wilson," he said.
"You fooled me very neatly, and I have no excuse to offer." Which showed
the fellows that Mr. Bennett was a "good sport."
Pretty soon Bert announced himself as ready for the speed test, and Mr.
Bennett led the way over to what looked like an empty hoop, but which,
upon closer inspection, was seen to be crossed and recrossed by a web of
fine, hairlike wires.
"These wires are so connected," explained Mr. Bennett, "that no matter
where the ball goes, provided, of course, that it goes somewhere inside
the hoop, it will break a wire, and the exact second will be recorded.
Then, there is another hoop fifty feet away," pointing to a similar
contrivance nearer the other end of the testing room, "and all you have
to do, Wilson, is to pitch the ball through both hoops. That back hoop
is a good deal bigger than any catcher's glove, so you oughtn't to have
any difficulty doing it. Do you think you can manage that all right?"
"Why, I guess I can do that," replied Bert, and took up his position
about eight or ten feet this side of the front hoop. Dick tossed him the
ball, and Bert fitted it carefully in his hand. Then he drew his arm
back as far as possible, and a second later the ball shot from his
fingers at a terrific pace. It struck almost the exact center of the
first hoop, parting the fragile wires as though they had been so many
cobwebs, and shot through the second hoop about a foot from its edge.
"Good shot!" exclaimed Mr. Bennett, and he and the foreman hurried to
the recording instruments, and started figuring up the time.
"Gee, Bert," said Tom, "I don't think I ever saw you pitch a faster
ball, even when the team has been in a tight place in the ninth inning.
I'd almost swear I saw it smoke as it went through the air."
"Well, fast or slow, it was the best I could do, anyway," said Bert, "so
there's no use worrying about it."
In a short time, Mr. Bennett and the foreman had arrived at a result,
and hurried over to where the boys were discussing the probable outcome
of the test.
"You sent that ball at the rate of 114 feet a second, which is
equivalent to about eighty-three or eighty-four miles an hour!" he
exclaimed. "In other words, you could throw a ball after the Twentieth
Century express traveling at its average speed and overtake it. As you
probably know, any object traveling at a speed of a mile a minute
traverses eighty-eight feet in one second, and it is on this that we
have based our calculations."
"Say, Bert, that certainly was going some," said Dick, proudly, and the
others were not far behind in congratulating our hero on his truly
astonishing performance. It is safe to say that few professional
pitchers could better Bert's record.
After the excitement had died down somewhat, John Bennett proposed that
they have a shooting contest, and his idea met with instant approval.
John had had unlimited facilities for perfecting himself in this art
since a boy, however, and outclassed any of the others both at long and
short-distance shooting.
When they had grown tired of this, it was growing late, and Bert
proposed that they return. Needless to say, nobody wanted to go, but
they had no choice, and so proceeded to take their leave. They all
thanked their host heartily, also the good-natured and obliging foreman.
Mr. Bennett shook Bert's hand last of all, and as he ushered them to the
door, said, "I'm going to take a holiday and see the next big game in
which you pitch, Wilson. I'm quite anxious to see you in action."
"We'll all be glad to see you, I'm sure," returned Bert, "and nothing
would give me greater pleasure than to show you over the college after
the game."
"Much obliged," replied Mr. Bennett, and watched the laughing, singing
group until it was hidden by a turn in the road.
The return journey seemed much longer than it had that morning, but they
arrived at last, and voted it one of the best days they had ever known.
The news of Bert's feat soon spread over the campus, and when it reached
Reddy's ears, he nodded his head sagely.
"Just make believe I don't know a crack pitcher when I see one," he
grinned to himself.