DUD COMES BACK
Dud started out with one idea, which was to redeem himself. He was
pretty sure that Mr. Sargent would not expect him to go more than five
innings, six at the very most, and he determined to use every bit of
strength and science he possessed during those six frames, to pitch
himself out if necessary, but at all hazards to show form. He was
nervous at first and showed wildness with his practice balls, and after
that made a bad start by passing the first man up for Corliss. But
subsequently he settled down nicely, and although he had no strike-outs
to his credit in that first inning, he allowed no hits, and the runner
on first never left that bag.
Grafton got two hits in the second, one rather scratchy, but failed
to score. Corliss once more got a man to first on a hit that took a
bad bound in front of Nick Blake and once more watched him die there.
In the third, after Grafton had retired in one, two three order, Dud
began to find his control, and he and Ed Brooks disposed of the Corliss
pitcher and the first two batsmen on the Blue’s list with no trouble,
Walters fanning, the next man popping a fly to Neil Ayer and the next
being thrown out at first by Bert Winslow.
Grafton got her first run in the fourth inning. Hugh Ordway was passed,
Murtha sacrificed him to second and, after Neil Ayer had struck out,
Boynton slipped a fast grounder down the alley between shortstop and
second, and Hugh romped home and beat the throw by a yard. Star Meyer
flied out to center field.
Dud added speed to science in the last of the fourth and two of the
Blue’s best batsmen fanned wildly, and the little group of Graftonians
in the corner of the stand cheered themselves patriotically and
appropriately scarlet of face. The succeeding batter drove a liner into
Captain Murtha’s glove and the fifth inning began.
Ed Brooks allowed Walters to put him in a hole with the first two
deliveries, and then, after disdaining a couple of wide ones, swung
despairingly at a third and somehow managed to get it on the tip end of
his bat and land it safely behind shortstop. Then began a fusillade of
the Corliss pitcher that ultimately spelled retirement for that youth.
Dud, who had rolled a weak one down the first-base path and been an
easy out the first time at bat, now tried twice to bunt and failed.
After that there was nothing to do but take a good healthy swing and
try to get the ball out of the infield. With the score two-and-two, Dud
cut loose and poked a hit past third-baseman that put Brooks on the
third sack and himself on first. Blake bunted and the pitcher fielded,
the latter making the mistake of holding the ball too long to protect
the plate. When he finally tossed to first he was too late and the
bases were full.
At this interesting juncture Bert Winslow ought to have stepped into
the limelight with a smashing home-run or a three-bagger at least, but
the best Bert could do was to bounce one away to shortstop and Brooks
was an easy out at the plate. But the bases were still filled, with
only one man down, and there were cries of “Lift it, Hobo!” “Knock it
in the nose, Hobo!” as Hugh went to the plate. Walters, showing the
strain now, pitched two wild heaves which his catcher barely stopped
and then slipped one across in the groove. Hugh swung at it but was too
late. A third ball followed and Grafton yelled exultantly. But again
Walters made good, Hugh not offering. Everything depended on the next
delivery, and as the ball left the pitcher’s hand the three runners on
the paths started away. They need not have hurried, though, for the
ball went low and wide and Hugh walked, Dud crossing the platter with
the second tally for the Scarlet-and-Gray.
By this time Corliss had two pitchers warming up and it was easy to
see that Walters’ minutes were numbered. Captain Murtha brought affairs
to the crisis by landing on the pitcher’s second delivery and lifting
it high and far to right field. It was well over the fielder’s head,
and that youth failed to get under it. Two more runs tallied and Guy
took second. After that Walters passed Ayer and was promptly derricked.
The new twirler, Hoyt, had difficulty in getting under way, and before
he succeeded two more hits and as many runs had been scored. Of the
hits Boynton contributed one and Brooks one. Star Meyer made the second
out and Dud the third, Dud being robbed of a hit by a pretty running
catch of a short fly to center.
The score was 6 to 0 when the last half of the fifth started and there
seemed to be no doubt as to who owned the game. Dud was beginning to
feel tired, but believed himself fit for another inning, or two if
necessary. But things broke bad at the start. The first of the enemy to
face him showed no eagerness to hit and before he knew it Dud was two
balls to the bad. Then, although he managed to get a strike across, he
followed with a third ball, and the final result was that the Corliss
youth smashed a hot liner straight over third base and took two bases
on the hit. The succeeding batsman fouled out quickly to Winslow. Then
Brooks tried to catch the runner off second and the ball got away from
Murtha, who took the throw, and the runner reached third.
Dud felt himself slipping then and shot an inquiring look toward the
bench. But Mr. Sargent was evidently still unworried, for Leddy and
Weston were both there and no one was warming up. Dud gritted his teeth
and went on. The batsman had a strike and two balls on him when Dud,
trying to break a high one over the inner corner, lost control of the
ball and it went straight for the batter’s head. But Dud’s shout of
“_Look out!_” was not necessary. The man at the plate dropped just in
time and the ball sailed past Brooks and brought up at the net, the
runner on third sprinting home.
Murtha and the others did their best to steady Dud again, and Ed
Brooks, walking down to place the ball in Dud’s hand, said: “That was
my fault, Dud. I ought to have got it. Sorry, old man. Don’t mind it,
though. Let’s have this fellow, eh?”
Dud nodded. It was nice of Brooks to call it his fault, but of course
it hadn’t been anything of the sort. Dud glanced again toward the
bench as he went back to his place on the mound. He wished that Mr.
Sargent would get his relief ready. He wondered why he didn’t. He was
giving way to a sort of fright now, although he didn’t show it unless
by the longer time he took to grip the ball and study Brooks’ signal.
About him the infield players were speaking words of encouragement.
The batsman had him in the hole. He must make him hit. But something
told him that he was worked out, that there was no use trying, that
today was to be just a repetition of that other day when he had gone to
pieces there on Lothrop Field with the whole school looking on!
Brooks had signaled for a straight ball and Dud tried to pitch it.
Instead of being straight, though, it was a hook, but it crossed the
corner of the plate and the umpire was charitable to Dud. Brooks,
looking anxious, threw it back slowly and again spread his hands. The
little group of Grafton rooters cheered. Dud, however, took no joy of
the doubtful decision. Luck had aided him that time, but this time, he
told himself, he would surely fail. And fail he did. The ball passed
well inside the plate and the batsman, staggering away from it, dropped
his bat and trotted down the path. Corliss was cheering madly now,
sensing the fact that the Grafton pitcher was at last weakening. Guy
Murtha hurried to the box and told Dud to take his time, to let them
hit. Dud muttered agreement, conscious chiefly of disappointment. He
had expected Guy to take the ball away from him! What, he wondered
almost angrily, was the matter with them? Couldn’t they see that he was
through? Why did they want to keep him there when he was only making
things worse every minute?
None out now and a runner on first. The next batsman didn’t wait for
a pass but lighted on Dud’s first offering and sent it rolling toward
third. Dud and Brooks and Winslow all started for it, but it was Bert
who scooped it up and pegged it to Ayer, and Bert wasn’t set for the
throw and the ball went a yard away from the first-baseman. The first
runner dashed to third and the next slid into second base. Dud went
despairingly back to the mound to face the next ambitious blue-legged
youth. A hit meant two more runs for Corliss, he told himself. Surely
then they’d let him go out! But the hit didn’t come just then. Instead,
it was a short fly that left the bat and Nick Blake ran back and got
it safely and slammed it home. But the man on third didn’t try to
score. Then the hit did come, after Dud by some miracle had induced the
batsman to swing at two wide balls, and it sped into short center field
and two joyful Corliss runners tallied.
Dud looked inquiringly at Murtha and got only a “Never mind that,
Baker! Go to it!” Then his eyes sought the bench, and there sat Leddy,
hands in pockets, and Gus Weston chatting unconcernedly with Barnes
over the score-book, and Mr. Sargent, leaning forward with hands
clasped loosely between his knees and his straw hat pulled over his
eyes! Dud couldn’t understand it at all. Did they want to get beaten?
Couldn’t they see that he was throwing the game away, that he wasn’t
any good after all, that he never had been?
“Settle down, Dud!” called Nick Blake. “At a boy! Let’s have ’em, old
top!”
“One gone!” chanted Captain Murtha. “Let’s have the double, fellows!”
Dud turned desperately to his task again. He tried to remember what the
fellow facing him now had done before. Struck out, hadn’t he? Or was he
the chap who had smashed out that double? Well, it was up to Brooks,
and Brooks wanted a drop. Dud tried to catch the runner at first and
failed twice and then pitched to the plate. The drop was good and the
batsman swung at it.
“That’s the stuff!” called Brooks cheerfully. “He can’t hit ’em, Dud!
Right across now. Show him a good one.”
A wide and low one followed and then another. Two-and-one now, and
Brooks showing three fingers for another drop. Dud tried it and failed
and the umpire announced “Ball three!” Corliss shouted and stamped and
clapped. Dud had none to waste and he took all the time he wanted for
the next. But it slanted away erratically and the batsman tossed his
bat behind him and sprang gleefully toward first, while the runner at
that station went on to second. Murtha came to the box.
“Look here, Baker, what’s the matter with you? Are you trying to
present them with the game? For the love of Mike, put some of them
over! Let them hit ’em, I tell you. We’ll take care of them!”
“Maybe,” muttered Dud, “you’d better let me out, Murtha.”
“Let you out? Is that what you’re up to? Well, listen, Baker; you’re
going to stay in here until you get the third man if it takes all the
afternoon! So you might as well get busy. You can throw the game away
if you want to, but you’re going to stay right here, son! Understand
that?”
Dud viewed him, astonished. Then he nodded. “All right,” he said
finally. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s the talk,” responded the captain kindly. “Get a grip on
yourself, Baker. You’re just as good as you were an hour ago, man! All
you’ve got to do is to think so! Now settle down and make ’em eat out
of your hand!”
Dud gave up trying to understand things after that. They meant to
keep him at it until he had retired the side. That was the principal
thing to think of. He wasn’t to look for relief but must earn his own
salvation. Well, in that case he knew where he stood, and that was
something of a comfort. At least, he wouldn’t have to look over toward
the bench every few minutes. Either they thought he could hold what he
had or they were just keeping him in to punish him. Either way, it
didn’t much matter, he decided. All he had to do now was to retire two
more batsmen in some way or other. That realization seemed to simplify
matters remarkably!
Dud turned and studied the bases. A runner on second and a runner on
first. And one out. Why, that wasn’t so bad! A double play would end
the trouble, or a hit anywhere in the infield would probably account
for one. He mustn’t let the batsman bunt toward third, though, for that
would draw Winslow off his bag. Better give him low ones and try the
inner corner. If only he could get his slow ball working again he might
squeeze out of the hole he was in.
“Two fingers,” said Dud to himself. “But that won’t do, Ed. He wants to
dump one down toward third.” Dud shook his head and Brooks laid three
fingers across his mitt. Dud nodded. Yes, a drop was the best. If he
could make it go, he added doubtfully to himself. But he did make it
go. And the batsman professed intense astonishment when a strike was
called. Brooks signaled for the same thing again, and again Dud essayed
it, and again he earned the decision, for this time the batter swung
viciously at it without, however, any result. Dud breathed easier.
With two strikes across he could waste a couple and perhaps fool the
batsman with a hook. Brooks showed two fingers and Dud served a curve
waist-high but wide of the plate. Then another, a little closer, but
still not tempting. Dud refused two signals and at last got Brooks to
show four fingers. Then Dud nodded, glanced behind him to where Murtha
and Blake were running the blue-legged youth back to base whenever he
tried to steal a start, and wound up. Forward shot his arm and away
sped the ball, straight for the plate and fairly high, and around swung
the bat and swept through empty air! For the ball had been a slow one
and the batter had hit inches ahead of it!
Dud stopped slipping then, brought up with a round turn, in fact! If he
could still make that slow ball of his go right he could fool any of
them! He wondered what had got into him! Why, he was just as good as
ever! What a silly fool he had been to think anything else! They were
shouting shrilly and triumphantly over in the corner of the stand and
Brooks was grinning all over his round, freckled face. Dud spread his
hand in the dust and fondled the ball and waited calmly for the next
batsman. He was no longer afraid, no longer doubtful. He had, he told
himself exultantly, come back!
Brooks asked for a curve and Dud refused it. A fast, straight ball
instead was what the batter saw speed past him. Perhaps, though, he
didn’t really see it, for it fairly sizzled with the “steam” that Dud
put on it. After that a low curve broke badly and then a second one
barely trimmed the outer corner of the rubber, but the batsman swung at
the latter and missed it. A foul back of the plate just escaped Brooks
and spoiled what Dud had intended for a third strike. Two-and-two now,
and the Corliss coachers shouting imploringly for a hit and the runners
dancing on their toes, eager to be off. Dud might still waste one if
he liked, but his fingers, when the ball came back to him, curved
themselves around the ball cunningly in response to the catcher’s
signal and Dud stepped forward and pitched, and every ounce of speed
he had went into that delivery. Straight as an arrow it flashed to the
plate, cut it squarely in halves and thumped into Ed Brooks’ mitt. The
batter never even offered at it and his bat was still at his shoulder
when the umpire waved him aside!
Dud, walking across to the bench, heard the cheers of the tiny band of
Grafton rooters and smiled a little. Those cheers sounded awfully good
to him just then! He had come through and the only desire in his heart
now was to be allowed to finish!
And finish he did, and went straight through to the end of the ninth
without further punishment. In those four succeeding innings the enemy
made just three hits, one of them a two-bagger that netted nothing
beyond a journey to second base. Six strike-outs were added to his
credit and he made two assists. And in the meanwhile Grafton sweetened
her total with three more runs, so that when Dud ended the game by
causing a Corliss pinch hitter to fly out to Boynton in left the score
stood 9 to 3.