HAL IS DISCOVERED
The season was coming along rapidly. The first big game of the
year with Armour was only a week off and the Varsity was hardly
prepared for it. Baseball in the big colleges had come to be almost
as scientific as in the professional leagues, which by the way were
full of college men--they having been rapidly replacing the old-time
every-man-for-himself sluggers who learned their baseball on the back
lots, and who while “Kings of the game” in their days were no match
for the scientific brainy players of inside baseball which had been
developed in the colleges. Also the fact that college-trained men were
taking positions in the professional leagues, took a good deal of the
rowdyism out of the game and increased its popularity with the “fans”
all over the country.
Lowell University had been the first to develop the clever “inside
ball” as it had come to be called and the other colleges had taken it
up. A big part of “inside ball” is made possible by the “signals” which
each of the players had to know and remember.
They had signals for every combination that could be imagined, some of
the players, as, for instance, the shortstop, the key to the infield,
had fifteen signals, all of which he had to keep in mind, and any one
of which he might have to use at any moment. The other players had
their own signals, too, and every player on the team must be familiar
with every other player’s signals, while at bat. Otherwise if two men
used the same signals the opposing players would soon catch on to what
was going to be tried.
And so before this first big game with Armour, Hughie spent most of the
practice hours training the men in the use and understanding of the
signals, so that each man on the bases could tell by watching just what
the batter would try to do, and if the opposing team was at bat, the
Lowell boys in the field signaled to each other how to play if the ball
went here or there.
Then there was practice in base running, sliding, etc., particularly
the fall-away slide. Ty Robb and Honus enjoyed the sliding. These two
stole more bases in practice and regular games than all the other men
on the team put together.
The rules of the game give the runner absolute right to the base paths,
otherwise a baseman could always block a runner. The average player,
even though courageous, starts his slide when about fifteen feet from
the bag, so that by the time the bag is reached the slider is not
coming at very fast speed--he is almost stopped in fact, and it is easy
for the baseman to tag him without much danger from spikes. But Ty and
Honus were daredevils. Neither knew what fear was. They got onto the
fact that by starting to slide when about eight feet from the base
they would sail into it full speed, and that nine times out of ten the
baseman was afraid to try to touch them even if he had the ball. So Ty
and Honus were detailed to teach the others how to slide, and everyone
was working hard to perfect the team work.
At the end of the week the team took its first trip out of town, when
they went to Hudson City for the annual game with Armour, which always
had one of the best teams in the East. The boys arrived after an
all-night ride in the sleeper, but by the time breakfast was over and
they reached the ground for a little warming-up practice, everyone was
feeling fine with the exception of Huyler, the substitute infielder
who sprained his ankle, and had been sent to a hospital to have it
attended to, and Hal, who had been brought along, but who saw no chance
whatever to get into the game, since Miner was in fine form and Babe
had developed into a pretty steady winner. Nothing but an avalanche of
singles, two-baggers, and homers would give him a chance that day.
It looked like rain almost up until the game had been called.
Hudson City was one of the largest college towns in the country.
Fifteen thousand people could be seated in the stands, and they were
filled, while five thousand others stood or sat on the ground. A
thousand Lowell boys and two thousand Lowell graduates were seated in
the stands back of third base where the visiting players’ bench was
also located.
Down in the field in front of the section where the Lowell boys sat
were four Lowell boys with megaphones and without coats or hats who
led the yelling and the singing, and the wearers of the green did
their best to make as much noise and sing as loud as the more numerous
adherents of the orange (Armour’s color), who sat in the stands back
of first base and spread out on the field, and who would have won the
game purely on their enthusiasm if they could. Last year Armour had
played at Lowell and had lost, but they had a good time anyhow with
their cheering and their singing, and especially after the game when
the Lowell crowd entertained them.
That afternoon the team came nearer to defeat than at any time so far
that year. The advantage of being champions had been partly offset
by the big hostile crowd in the stand. The feeling of nervousness
was shared by Hughie and the coaches over the one weak spot, first
base, in what would otherwise have seemed to him a championship team.
Dill had been tried and found wanting, and Ross was given the job. He
was at times fit, but at other times he made the rankest errors and
occasionally made such a boneheaded play that it upset the confidence
of the whole team.
“If this is one of Ross’s good days,” said Hughie, “we’re all right;
but if he is as bad as he was two weeks ago in the game with Colfax,
then look out. We have no one else to put in, and we can’t win from
this crowd if it’s a bad day for Ross.”
Then the gong sounded, the umpire said “Play ball,” the Armour boys
took their places in the field and the game was on.
Everson led off for Lowell and drew a base on balls. Captain sacrificed
him to second; Honus drove a hot one to the shortstop, who fumbled but
recovered in time to catch the runner at first, Everson taking third.
Ty placed a neat single over the second bag and Everson came in, Ty
taking second on the throw in. Tris came up next and drove a hot one
past third base and Ty came all the way home on the hit. Tris being
held on first, Delvin hit a screamer down the first-base line, which
rolled to the fence, and Arthur made the round trip with Tris ahead of
him. Ross, the next man up, struck out.
“That’s a bad sign,” said Hughie to himself as Ross walked down to
first and picked up his glove.
Carter, the first man up for Armour, fouled out; Wilson, the next batter,
hit a long fly to Ty; Blair, the next man up, hit a grass-scorcher over
second. Honus rushed over, made a beautiful pick up with one hand and a
perfect throw to Ross ten feet ahead of the runner, and Ross muffed the
ball. Gibbie signaled to Miner to throw to first to catch the runner who
had taken a big lead. His throw was good, but Ross again muffed. The
next man up made a clean hit over third, and Blair, the man on first,
got clear around to third. Hughie signaled the infield to play in close,
because a hit would bring in a run anyhow. The batter tapped an easy
one toward Ross, who picked it up neatly, but while he was making up
his mind where to throw it, the man on third came in and the batter
reached first. The next man sent a high fly to left, which Cap.
gathered in. Score, 4 to 1.
In Lowell’s half of the second we went out in one-two-three order. In
Armour’s half, Miner was unsteady and passed Clymer, the first man.
Then he struck out the second batter. The next man up laid a neat bunt
down toward third; Delvin came rushing in, scooped it up neatly and
hurled it straight for the bag. Again Ross muffed the ball, and before
he had recovered it the batter was safe and Clymer who had received
the base on balls originally was perched on third. By this time the
nervousness had spread to the rest of the team. A hit would mean
another run.
[Illustration: “Again Ross muffed the ball.”]
The next man up, who was the pitcher, dropped an unexpected hit in
short right, but Ty who had crept in pretty close made a quick pick
up and threw to first ahead of the runner who had expected the throw
to go to the plate and had come down slow. But Ty had seen at once he
could not catch the man going home, so he did the unexpected and caught
the man at first, and as good luck would have it Ross caught the throw
while everybody felt that he would have muffed it again if it hadn’t
been so unexpected. Brain, the next batter, hit an easy grounder to
Ross who touched first and the side was retired. Score, Lowell, 4;
Armour, 2.
It was easy for Armour to see that the weak spot in the Lowell team
was first base and they directed all their play toward that point, the
batters trying to drive the ball down that way continually. Then for
three innings and in Lowell’s half of the sixth, the sides went out in
one-two-three order. Miner knew he must make them either strike out
or put them up in the air, and the flies were all caught by Lowell’s
fielders, so the other boys made no runs. Practically the same things
happened to Lowell. We got one or two more hits but they were scattered
and nothing happened.
But in the last half of the sixth inning came more trouble. The first
man up batted a pretty swift grounder toward first base and it passed
through Ross’ legs though Ty came racing in and held the runner on
first. It was a sure thing there would be more runs if they continued
to direct the attack on Ross. Everson and Miner stalled to give Ross
a chance to cool off and Jenkins was tearing his hair on the bench
because he had no one to send to take Ross’ place. Dill, the only other
man who had ever played the bag, was not with the team, and Huyler was
unexpectedly hurt. Once Hughie turned to Hal and said, “Do you think
you could cover that bag?”
“I have never tried it,” said Hal, “but if you order me in there, I’ll
do my best for you and Lowell.” By that time, however, play had been
resumed. The whole team was nervous. They felt that any ball batted to
Ross would be missed, and that if they did stop anything, Ross would
miss the throw. Miner temporarily lost control again, giving another
base on balls, making a man on first and one on second, with nobody
out. This helped to increase the nervousness of the whole team, and
even Hughie began to lose his nerve apparently. Webb, the batter, hit
the next ball pitched for a line drive over Honus’ head, who did the
best he could and knocked it down, but too late to get his man at
first. Three men on bases and nobody out, and any kind of a hit meant a
run, and possibly two. The next man up again directed his attention to
Ross, and hit another easy grounder toward him. Ross made a beautiful
stop and setting himself deliberately for the throw, for he had plenty
of time, threw straight for the plate, but ten feet over Gibbie’s head,
and two runs came in, tying the score. Hughie was wild, the team was
wild, the Lowell “rooters” were wild, the score was tied, no one out,
and Marsh of Armour was on second. Hughie walked over to Hal and said:
“Go in; you can’t do any worse than that.”
Hal said: “I’ll do my best.”
Hal’s entry into the game didn’t help the rest of the team back to
confidence any. The whole team was up in the air, and now they had an
entirely unknown quantity to deal with at the initial sack. Hal was
most nervous of all of them, of course, although as soon as Honus saw
what was up he walked over to meet him and said:
“Don’t worry, I told you several times you would make a good first
baseman, and you paid no attention to me. Now you got to do it.”
Of course, the Armour team knew Hal must be untried, or Hughie would
not have hesitated so long about putting him in, and they decided if
they could, they would continue their attack upon the custodian of
first base. The situation now was a tied score, no one out and a man on
second.
The first man up sent a hot grounder to Honus. He got it, held it
long enough to hold the man on second close to the bag, but too long
to make the throw to first easy. Therefore he threw it with all his
might at Hal, and in doing so he threw it very wide of the bag. Hal saw
it coming with the speed of a bullet; he also saw the runner rushing
toward him along the base line. His throwing or really his pitching
hand was his left hand, and that was bare. To run up the base line far
enough to get that ball in his gloved hand meant a collision with the
runner, to take it with his bare left probably meant a crippled hand
and the loss of his pitching ambition.
All this he seemed to think of as that ball was rushing at him across
a space of possibly one hundred feet from where Honus stood and in
probably one-half a second of time. By that time the ball was upon him.
Should he take it with his left or should he run up the base line and
get it with his right? He did neither; he stuck his left foot in the
bag, whirled quickly around with his back to the ball, stretched out
his right mitt, stuck it out in the air and caught the ball with one
hand.
[Illustration: “He stuck his left foot in the bag, whirled quickly
around with his back to the ball, stretched out his right mitt, stuck
it out in the air and caught the ball with one hand.”]
“Runner out!” was all he heard, and the crowd and his team mates, the
Armour boys and even the man on second were so thunderstruck with the
quickness of it all and the apparent ease with which it was done that
they cheered for five minutes, and the man on second forgot to run home
while he had a chance. Nothing like it had ever been seen before on any
ball ground. Surely he did not think that out while the ball was coming
toward him. He couldn’t have thought it out. He didn’t have time. It
was instinct--a sort of baseball eighth sense. Hughie was dancing up
and down before the bench with joy, plucking blades of grass now with
one hand, now with another, whistling through his fingers, sticking one
leg out before him straight, yelling “Eyah.”
The whole team was wild, but with a different kind of wildness. A
fellow that could do that was a natural ball player. If he could make
one stop like that he could make another. This game didn’t make so
much difference now--they had discovered a first baseman. Hughie knew
it, the whole team knew it--and the opposing team knew it--they all
sensed it. The fans in the stands may not have realized it, and Hal was
sure he didn’t know what it was all about, in fact, he hardly knew yet
what he had done.
The umpire had called time to let the excitement subside, and after a
few minutes play was resumed. From nervousness the team had gone to the
other extreme. They were exhilarated. The next man up hit a low liner
over third. Delvin rushed over, stuck out his right hand and the ball
stuck; two out. The next man hit a hot grounder to Everson, who relayed
it to Hal. Out of pure joy, he fired it about five feet over Hal’s
head. Again the latter figured over quickly in his mind how to get that
ball. While he was thinking about it his instinct made him leap up in
the air and stick up his gloved hand into space, and again the ball
stuck and came down with him as he landed on the bag, two feet ahead of
the runner. Three out.
Again the crowd went wild. “What’s his name? He’s a wonder. Where did
he learn to play first base?” and such expressions were heard on all
sides as he walked to the bench. After that it was easy. The team
simply had the confidence, more of it than they ever had before. Armour
on the other hand was now nervous. Miner didn’t let them have another
hit and the Lowell boys pounded out five more runs, so that the final
score stood 9 to 4 in favor of the champions.
[Illustration: “Again the crowd went wild.”]
After the game Hal’s team mates crowded around him. They were wild with
joy. In the dressing room they kept on cheering him.
“Had a first baseman all the time,” said Hughie, “and didn’t notice it.”
“Told him the first day I saw him he would make a first baseman,” said
Honus, “made a pretty good guess, didn’t I, Hal?”
“I guess it was an accident,” said Hal, at the same time knowing that
he had found his place.
“Accident nothing,” chimed in Robb and Everson in chorus.
Just then in walked good old Fred Penny. They were busy for a few
seconds shaking hands with the old boy. Penny had come over to the
game with a lot of other old Lowell graduates. “I want to see Case,”
said Penny. “I want to ask him where he learned to play first base.”
Then when they introduced him to Hal, he said: “I’d just like to have
been the office boy for about six months around the place where they
teach that kind of baseball.”
“Well,” said Hal, “I suppose after this, I’ll have to give up the
pitching business. I’m willing to tackle this first-base job on one
condition, Penny, and that is that you come down to Lowell for a week
and teach me a little of what you know about playing that position.”
“That’s a go,” said Penny. “I feel like getting into practice myself to
get a little of the stiffness out of my arms and legs.”
That evening they all went to the theater as the guests of the Armour
boys, and after the show took the sleeper at midnight for home. Hal and
Hans therefore didn’t get a chance to see much of the city, not as much
as they would have liked to.
When they got home next morning before breakfast the whole student body
was down to meet them. Tim Murnin hadn’t let any grass grow under his
feet in getting the news back to college. His story had appeared in an
extra issue of the _Lowell Reporter_, the college paper, and they all
knew about Hal’s performance. They had plenty of cheers for the team in
general, but for the moment at least Hal was the only Great One, and he
took his honors as modestly as he could.