THE BLUES VISIT LYNTON
The Lynton team still fought under the high school banner, although,
like the Amesville team, it had been weakened by the absence of several
of its good players. Few if any of the ten youths who journeyed to the
neighbouring town that Saturday afternoon expected to win the game, for
earlier in the year the Lynton team had defeated them quite decisively;
and at that time they had possessed all the strength of the regular
high school line-up, whereas to-day the nine was rather a makeshift
affair.
But, after all, the main thing was to play baseball and have a good
time, and, consequently, it was a happily irresponsible group that took
possession of the two last seats of the big yellow electric car at
Main and Ash streets at twenty minutes to two and went whizzing across
country at a good thirty miles an hour, swaying and bouncing along an
air-line track that dipped into vales and climbed hills with a fine
disregard of grades.
There was Thorny Brooks, who pitched, and Walter White, who caught
him, and Tommy Hughes, who played centre field, and “Buster” Healey,
who held down first, and six other lads of varying ability, size, and
age, including Tom himself and a grammar-school youngster named Peddie,
who was a distant cousin of White’s and who, volunteering for the
position, had been accorded the office of bat-boy and general outfield
substitute. He was a nice-looking, fresh-faced kiddie of fourteen,
whose pleasure at accompanying the team was very evident. Going
over, White and Thorny Brooks arranged the batting-list, after much
discussion, and Tom was given the honour of third place.
“You’re a pretty good hand with the stick,” explained the captain, “and
if Buster or I get on bases you may be able to work us along or bring
us in. Did anyone bring a score-book?”
George Peddie blushingly produced one from a hip-pocket and the
batting-list was copied into it, no easy task with the big car
apparently trying its best to jump the rails! They reached Lynton, an
overgrown sort of village surrounded by truck farms, at a few minutes
past two. A walk of a few blocks brought them to the field, where, as
the game was not to begin until three, they put in a good half-hour of
practice. It was a warm day, but not excessively hot. Already there was
a hint of autumn in the intense blue of the sky and the fresher feeling
of the little breeze that crept across the neatly tilled fields. After
they had had all the work Walter White thought good for them they were
called in and ranged themselves along the scarred benches that stood
in the shade of a grandstand. By ones or twos or in little groups
the spectators began to arrive, and at a quarter to three the Lynton
team came on. Several of them walked over and shook hands with Walter
and Thorny and others of the visitors and conversed a few moments.
The matter of choosing an umpire was soon arranged, Lynton offering
a choice of either of two high school teachers. Then Lynton took the
field to warm up and Thorny, pulling on his glove and picking up a
ball, called for someone to catch him.
“You’ll do, Tom. Come on out here.”
So Tom borrowed Walter’s big glove and stood up in front of the stand.
At first Thorny’s pitches were easy to handle, but as he began to warm
up Tom found the ball more difficult to judge. Several times he was
badly fooled by the pitcher’s elusive drops, while his out-shoot was
so extreme that Tom more than once moved to the right only to have the
ball bring him sidling back again. Thorny was amused.
“Fool you, do they, Tom?” he asked.
Tom smiled and nodded. “I’m glad I don’t have to bat them,” he said.
The Blues went to bat first and both Buster Healey and Walter White
reached first, Buster on balls and the captain on a clean hit between
first and second that advanced Buster to second. Then Tom faced the
Lynton pitcher, who had something of a local reputation in his line,
with misgivings. Down at second Buster danced and ran back and forth.
At first, Walter took a good ten-foot lead. “Hit it out, Pollock!” he
called encouragingly. “He hasn’t a thing on the ball!”
But the Lynton pitcher had enough on it to puzzle Tom, and Tom, after
knocking two fouls back of third, hit straight into the pitcher’s glove
and the pitcher, whirling quickly, caught Walter a yard off the base.
The next batsman made the third out and the teams changed places.
Lynton didn’t even get a man to first in that inning, nor did the
Blues do any better in their half of the next. In fact, nothing much
happened until the fourth inning, when Lynton managed to get a man to
second on a clean hit and then, with two out, brought him home with a
teasing Texas Leaguer that fell midway between shortstop and centre
fielder. So far Tom, in left field, had had no work to do, while at bat
he had twice failed to make a hit.
The Blues came back in the first of the fifth and, by a lucky infield
hit that bounded meanly, placed a runner on the first bag. Tommy
Hughes sacrificed with a long fly to right and put the runner on
third. A moment later the score was tied when one of the tail-enders
made a slashing wallop over second baseman’s head. At one to one the
teams battled along until the seventh. Then ill-fortune took a hand
in affairs. The Lynton third baseman caught a slow ball on his bat
and smashed it straight at Thorny. The latter might readily have been
excused for jumping away from it and leaving it for second baseman to
handle, but instead of that he tried to knock it down--catching it was
almost out of the question--and succeeded. But the ball caught him
squarely on his throwing wrist and in the agony of the pain Thorny was
unable to get it to first in time to head off the runner. Time was
called while Walter White went down and rubbed the injured hand, and
presently Thorny went on again. But after he had pitched a few more
balls the wrist began to swell and stiffen and his offerings became
very easy for the enemy. For the rest of that inning smart fielding
delayed the inevitable, and, although Lynton got a runner on third and
another on first, they died there.
Thorny walked rather dejectedly to the bench and his team-mates
clustered anxiously about him and viewed the swollen wrist.
“Cold water is what you want there,” said Tommy Hughes. “Who’s got a
handkerchief?”
When one was forthcoming Tommy wet it at the water pail and bound it
around the wrist.
“It feels good,” said Thorny, “but I don’t believe I’ll be able to
pitch any more, fellows. I’m awfully sorry. I ought to have let that
pesky ball go by. It was coming about a mile a minute. Can’t you finish
the game out, Buster?”
“Me?” Buster looked startled. “Gee, I couldn’t pitch anything those
fellows wouldn’t make mince-meat of!”
“I’ll try it,” said Walter doubtfully, “if you’ll go behind the bat,
Buster.”
“Then who’ll take first?”
“Move Sanborn over from third and let Tommy take Sanborn’s place,”
suggested Thorny. “Then put young Peddie in centre.”
“All right. Can you bat this inning? You’re up after Tommy.”
“Yes, I’ll take another whack at it,” said Thorny. “What we’ve got to
do, fellows, is make a few runs. They won’t do a thing to us now. No
offence to you, Walt.”
“Oh, I know it,” said Walter sadly. “They’ll everlastingly knock me
all around the lot. I’m not going to try to work any curves on them,
Thorny. My curves are fine, only they don’t go over. I’ll give ’em
straight balls and trust to luck. That umpire’s pretty easy on the
pitcher. You’re up, Tommy. Go on. There’s one down. Try to lay down a
bunt along the third-base line, Tommy, and run like thunder.”
Tommy followed directions so well, even to running “like thunder,” that
he got safely to the first sack, the third baseman coming in hurriedly
for the ball and heaving it over the first baseman’s head.
“If he’d been watching he could have gone on to second,” grumbled
Walter. “You’re up, Thorny. Send him along, old man.”
Thorny had not made a hit so far. Realising that he would have no
other chance to-day, he went very determinedly to the plate and
swung his bat. For a pitcher Thorny was a very fair batter, although
to-day he certainly had not proved it. But a hit was due him and he
got it. Letting three offerings go by, two of them balls and one a
called strike, he picked out the fourth and “took it on the nose.”
Away it went into short left. Tommy scuttled to second like a hunted
rabbit and Thorny made first. There he called to Walter and there was
a conference. Then Buster was called to run for the injured one and
Sanborn walked to the plate. The Lynton pitcher made three attempts to
catch Buster off the bag, possibly in the hope that Tommy would attempt
to steal third and get thrown out there. But Buster was too quick
for a right-handed pitcher. Sanborn began to pop up fouls and put
every Amesville player’s heart in his mouth half a dozen times. But
both catcher and third baseman just managed to miss the ball at every
attempt and Sanborn, with two strikes and one ball on him, was still
safe. Then came the signal for a hit-and-run and Sanborn swung madly
at an out-shoot that cut the corner of the plate waist-high. By some
trick of good luck he connected and the ball went flying toward first
baseman. But between him and the oncoming ball dashed Buster Healey
on his way to second and that was just enough to confuse the baseman
momentarily. He got the ball on a high bound, dropped it, picked it up
again, and raced for his base. Over at third, Tommy, never stopping,
spurned the bag under foot and raced for the plate. Cries from the
Lynton catcher and half the Lynton team filled the air. Too late to
make his out at first, the baseman turned, recovered himself, and
hurled the ball home. It went wide of the plate by five feet, Tommy was
safe, Buster was on third, and Sanborn was sliding, feet-foremost, into
second, where an agonised shortstop implored the catcher to send the
ball to him!
Amesville cheered and jumped in front of the bench and Tommy, patting
the dust from his clothes and grinning, was thumped ecstatically on the
back. When his team-mates had got through with him you couldn’t have
found a speck of dust anywhere on him! There was still only one gone
and runners on second and third. But the tail-end of the Blue’s batting
list was up and the outlook wasn’t very bright. Still, sometimes the
unexpected happens, and it happened to-day. Little Smith, the weakest
batter on the nine, although a remarkably clever shortstop, connected
with the first ball pitched and drove it far into centre field. He was
so surprised that he just stood there and held his bat until Walter
yelled to him to run. However, running did him no good, for centre
fielder was easily under the fly and Smith was out. But Buster Healey
was ambling home and Sanborn was streaking it for the plate. The ball
began its homeward flight just as Sanborn rounded third and it was a
narrow squeak for him. But he made it, or so the umpire declared, and
that was enough. The score stood four to one now and Amesville dared
to hope that, even without the further services of Thorny, she might
hold her own and take a victory home with her. The inning ended a
few minutes later without further scoring and the Blues put their new
line-up in the field. Lynton howled gleefully when she saw Walter walk
over to the pitcher’s box and pick up the ball. Young Peddie, almost
trembling with excitement, scooted out to centre field and the other
changes were made as Thorny had suggested.
Perhaps Lynton expected Walter to offer her something puzzling and
so for awhile was at a loss to fathom his sort of pitching. At any
rate, he managed to dispose of the first batsman easily, causing
him to pop up a weak infield fly that settled cosily into Sanborn’s
glove. But after that, the head of the Lynton batting-list coming up,
the trouble began. Walter’s straight balls were fine for fattening
batting averages! The only variation he attempted was in height, and
he not always succeeded there. At all events, high, low, or medium,
his offerings met ready acceptance and soon the fielders were very
busy. Tom got his first chance in left field and made a brilliant
catch after running half-way across the field. The infield scurried
about like a lot of mice and the crack of bat against ball became
terribly monotonous to the wearers of the blue stockings. Poor Walter
stood up to it bravely, a rather sickly smile on his face, and fed
his offerings to the delighted enemy. Before anyone realised it the
bases were filled. To be sure, there were two out by that time, but
that didn’t deter Lynton any. A hit past shortstop, and a runner came
in. An error by Sanborn at first, and another run trickled over the
plate. A smashing drive that was too hot for third baseman to handle
left men on second and first. But Lynton’s best batsmen had passed now
and the trouble was over, as it proved. A nice low ball was selected
by the batter and it went far and high into centre field. The Blues,
watching, groaned. For in centre stood young Peddie, his eyes fixed on
the arching sphere and eagerness and excitement in every line of his
tense poise. Tom dug across in the hope of making the catch, but there
was no time for him to get under it. Down it came, while the bases
were emptied, and up went Peddie’s hands. Then the miracle happened!
The ball descended squarely into the fielder’s glove and, to the
astonishment and joy of the Blues, actually stuck there! The side was
out!
Peddie was a hero and every fellow said nice things to him and thumped
him on the back, just as they had thumped Tommy Hughes, and caused him
to blush like a girl in pleasure and embarrassment.
And Amesville, accepting that piece of good fortune as an augury, went
to bat in the first of the ninth quite hopefully.