_A Miracle Called McCarthy_
Thirty thousand persons, banked in the great grandstands and massed
upon the field seats, roared with increasing excitement as from every
direction solid streams of humanity poured toward the park to witness
the second game of the series between the Bears and the Panthers.
The batting practice of the teams had ended and the Bears trotted out
upon the field.
"Who is that red-head practicing at third?" inquired "Chucky" Rice, the
veteran reporter of the Panthers.
"Name is McCarthy, a busher Clancy picked up somewhere. He is to have
a trial this fall--after the pennant fight is over," said Koerner, of
the _Globe_, who traveled with the Bears.
"Looks sweet on ground balls," commented Rice, watching the slender,
graceful athlete, who was occupying Pardridge's place at third base.
"Where did Clancy find him, Tech?"
The question was addressed to "Technicalities" Feehan, the odd little
reporter who had traveled with the Bears for twenty years.
"I have not been informed," responded Feehan, adjusting his glasses and
watching McCarthy closely. "He came to the hotel last night and asked
for a try-out. Did you see him hit?"
"Yes," replied Rice. "Hits right-handed and he cracked two on the
nose. Will he play?"
"Clancy hardly will take a chance with him at this stage," replied
Koerner.
McCarthy tossed his glove to the veteran third baseman and ran toward
the plate to bat grounders to the infielders. He was not aware of the
fact, but Clancy had been watching him keenly during the entire
practice and had asked Kennedy, the star catcher, to keep an eye on the
recruit and report how he liked his actions.
"Handles himself like a ball player," commented the catcher. "He hit a
curve ball {22} with a snap swing that had a lot of drive in it and he
gets the ball away like a flash when it hits his hands."
"He takes things easily," said the manager. "I haven't seen him fight
a ball yet. Blocks it down and recovers in plenty of time. If this
game didn't mean so much"----
The game went against the Bears from the start, the break of the luck
seeming always to favor the Panthers. Twice, with runners perched on
second and third, Holleran had hit feeble grounders to the infield, one
resulting in a runner being caught at the home plate and one in an easy
out at first that finished an inning in which the Bears had threatened
to amass a half dozen runs.
The seventh inning started with the Panthers leading 3 to 1, and the
Bears seemingly beaten beyond hope of recovery. An error, followed
quickly by a base on balls and a successful sacrifice bunt put Bear
runners on second and third bases with but one out and Holleran coming
to the bat. Clancy signaled him, and an instant later Umpire Maxwell
announced:
"McCarthy batting for Holleran. McCarthy will play third base,
Pardridge in left field."
McCarthy came to the batter's box quickly, swinging a long, light bat.
He let a fast ball cut across the plate just at his shoulders and only
glanced inquiringly at the umpire when it was called a strike. The
next one was a quick-breaking curve, seemingly coming straight at him.
He stepped slightly forward, snapped the long bat against the ball and
drove it down the left field foul line; two runners sprinted across the
plate, and the score was tied.
"That auburn baby can hit them curves," commented Rice. "He certainly
called the turn and waded into that one."
The game went into the ninth, then the tenth, the pitchers working
harder and harder and the teams batting behind them without a break to
bring the victory that meant so much to them.
Jimmy McCarthy was the first batter for the Bears. From an unknown
recruit he had become the sensation of the game, and thousands were
asking who he was. Twice he had hit Cooke's fast "hook curve," and hit
it hard, and Cooke, remembering, shook his head as his catcher signaled
for another curve. The recruit watched him, and, with a sudden jerk of
his belt, he stepped into position. The first ball was fast and across
his shoulders, as Cooke had placed it twice before. This time instead
of taking the first strike McCarthy met the ball squarely and drove it
on the line over the first baseman's head. He turned first base, going
at top speed, although already McKeever, the Panther's right fielder,
known as one of the greatest throwers in the league, was in position to
field the ball.
The roar that arose from the crowd was chopped short as McCarthy
sprinted for second base. An instant of tense uncertainty was followed
by a swelling murmur of protest, disappointment and rage.
From the dust cloud just commencing to settle around second base two
forms were emerging, and, as the dust drifted away, the crowd had a
glimpse of a tableau. Tommy Meegher, second baseman of the Panthers,
was disentangling his stocky form from the knot of arms and legs, and
arising from the prostrate body of McCarthy, whose desperate slide had
turned a base hit into a two-bagger. Stooping over them, his hands
outspread, signifying that the runner had reached the base in safety,
was Randy Ransom, crouching, in order better to see under the dust
cloud raised by the hurtling bodies of the players.
A salvo of grudging applause greeted McCarthy as he arose and brushed
the dust from his gray striped traveling uniform, an outburst that was
followed by a frenzied spasm of enthusiasm from the Bear followers.
On the Bears' bench Manager Clancy grinned for the first time in three
days.
"I believe that kid will do," he said to Kennedy. "He called the turn
on that fast ball, just met it, and turned first on his stride. He
slid under Meegher clean. Lay one down now," he added, addressing the
order to Norton.
The skill of Noisy Norton as a sacrifice hitter was well known to the
spectators in the stands, but better known to the tense, anxious
infielders of the Panthers, who crouched, watching his every motion as
he came to the batter's position. Norton stepped into position,
shortened his hold upon the bat and glanced quickly around the infield
as if noting the position of each man. Suddenly he started, as if in
surprise, and glanced toward the Bears' bench. Manager Clancy nodded
his head affirmatively and again Norton crouched, shortening his grip
upon the bat still more, and slowly churned the inoffensive air with
it. The Panther infielders, alert to detect the plan of attack to be
tried by the Bears, had caught the rapid exchange of glances, and they
crept a step or two closer to the batter, poising ready to leap forward
to field any ball pushed toward them from Norton's bat.
The plan of assault to be tried seemed clear to the thousands of
spectators. It appeared certain that a sacrifice bunt was to be
attempted; that the third baseman of the Panthers was to pretend to
field the ball, but that, instead, he would return to third base the
moment Norton bunted, permitting Cooke, the pitcher, to try to reach
the ball in time to throw to third to catch McCarthy there instead of
throwing to first to retire Norton.
Cooke pitched fast and straight over the plate, intending to make
Norton push the ball back to him, or into the air for a fly out.
Norton, however, struck viciously, but without making an effort to hit
the ball, swinging his bat in order to handicap the catcher in his
effort to catch the ball and make a throw. McCarthy had started at
full speed the instant Cooke had commenced to wind up to pitch the
ball, and was in full flight toward third base. Before Nixon's throw,
delayed and hampered by Norton's tactics in striking, reached third,
McCarthy slid behind the base, his feet outstretched to hook the bag as
he threw his body outward to prevent Randall, the third baseman, from
exercising his deadly skill in blocking runners away from the base.
A moment later Norton drove a long fly to the outfield, and McCarthy,
waiting until it was caught, sprinted across the plate with what proved
to be the winning run.
"Crossed--and by a busher," lamented Kincaid, of the Panthers, as the
teams started off the field after the finish of the game, walking
slowly because of the press of humanity overflowing from the stands.
"What do you think of that kid, Slats?" inquired Manager Clancy, as
they walked together toward the club house.
"He's a ball player, if he don't swell," responded Hartman,
laconically. "He pulled that steal of third wise. He figured we
wouldn't expect a busher to try to steal at that stage--and we didn't.
He's a wise head for a kid."
"Looks good to me," replied Clancy. "He slipped Norton a signal not to
hit, but to let him steal--and I almost fell off the bench when I saw
it. I expected him to toss the game away."
"Where'd you get him?" demanded Hartman.
"He wished himself onto me," grinned Clancy. "He told me he could play
ball and I believed him."
A swarm of reporters descended upon the headquarters of the visiting
team, striving to discover something of the history of the slender,
red-haired youngster whose coming had revived the waning pennant hopes
of the Bears. McCarthy was not to be found. He had slipped away after
dinner without telling anyone his plans. The reporters descended upon
Manager Clancy, demanding information concerning his find.
"It's a secret, boys," responded Clancy to their insistent questions.
"He is nom de plume and habeas corpus. The only place I ever heard of
him playing ball was in Cognito."
"Suppress the comedy and ease us the legit," pleaded Riley, who wrote
theatricals when he was not inventing English in the interest of
baseball. "I can't find any record that will fit him."
"Boys," said the veteran manager, growing serious, "I don't know a
thing more about him than you do. I don't know where he ever played;
it never was in organized ball, or I would know where he comes from and
who he is. He strolled in here last night, told me he could play ball
and wanted a chance to show me that he could."
"That was considerable demonstration to-day," commented Rice. "How do
you know he's square?"
"By looking at him," replied Clancy steadily. "If I needed any more
evidence, he was offered $500 to sign a Panther contract after to-day's
game and told them he'd stick to me--and we haven't even talked about
salary."
"What'll we call him?" asked one reporter.
"Say," replied Clancy, enthusiastically, "I dreamed last night that I
had found a pot of gold wrapped up in a million-dollar bill, with a
diamond as big as my hand on top of it. Call him Kohinoor."
So Kohinoor McCarthy sprang into fame in a day as the mystery of the
league.