A TEST FOR THE EAGLES.
But Jared was to score still further. He came to bat confidently at the
end of the third inning. With two of his side out and none on bases, he
knocked a beautiful homer into left field. It was a really fine drive.
The Hampton contingent went wild. The faces of the Eagle supporters, too,
were cheerful, but anxious. As for Jared, he beamed, and then as his eyes
met Rob's, he gave the latter a malevolent glance.
At the end of the third inning each side had scored one run. The Eagles
made no runs in the following three innings, while Hampton scored two, so
that, when the seventh inning began, things looked rather gloomy for the
Scouts. The score then stood three to one in favor of Hampton and the
town players fairly swelled with confidence.
It was already painfully evident that, exercise his will power as he
would, Merritt's arm was getting sore. He had put redoubled efforts into
his work but the score showed with how little success. At the beginning
of the seventh, he told Captain Hiram that he thought the Hamptons had
"found" his pitching, but he consented to stay in the box for one more
inning.
The inning commenced with Merritt at the bat. He was given first base on
balls. Paul Perkins made a base hit to left field. He got safely to first
with Merritt hugging second. Tubby Hopkins once more struck out with the
same cheerful grin on his round countenance. Hiram sent a slow grounder
to Jared and was promptly thrown out at first, but Merritt reached third,
and Paul second, very nicely.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. Jared determined to strike him out if it
were humanly possible. After a lot of posing which he thought gave him
quite a professional air, Jared delivered the best ball in his
répertoire, a swift and vicious in-curve. It fairly hissed through the
air.
Crack!
Rob's willow collided with the sphere and away it sped far into right
field. Merritt and Paul scored amidst tremendous enthusiasm; hats were
thrown in the air. Things once more looked rosy for the Eagles. Rob was
easily the favorite of the moment.
As for Jared, his feelings were not enviable. He felt that he would
gladly have allowed the others to score if he had only been able to shut
Rob out. He struck out the next batter, and then Hampton went to bat.
Merritt's arm felt better and he went to the box without the misgivings
that had assailed him earlier. But with the first ball he pitched he knew
that he had deluded himself. The batter hit a fly to right field and was
caught out. Merritt, summoning every ounce of resolution he could muster,
struggled on right manfully. But it was a hopeless cause. Base hits were
made with absurd ease. Jared was caught out on a fly. Finally there were
two out and two on bases.
Higgins came to bat and made a second home run amidst yells of delight
from the Scouts' opponents.
It began to look like grim defeat for the Scouts. The Hampton contingent
was jubilant. Jared danced mockingly about whenever he could catch the
eye of a Boy Scout.
The next Hampton batter struck an easy fly to left field which was caught
by Paul Perkins. The Scouts now came to the bat, beginning the eighth
inning. The score was six to three in Hampton's favor. Things looked
black, but with the true Scout spirit the lads of the Eagle put the best
face possible on matters. They noted Jared's leering face without a sign
that they saw his malignant triumph.
Jared struck out the first three Scout batters with ridiculous ease. When
the Hamptons came to the bat, the Eagles made a change in pitchers. It
was Rob, cool, self-confident and determined, who occupied the box. This
followed a consultation at which it was agreed that, splendidly as
Merritt had done, his arm had gone back on him.
As Hiram adjusted his catcher's mask and Rob took his new position,
things grew very quiet. It was palpable to all that the change of
pitchers denoted a crisis in the game for the Scouts. Rob faced the first
batter without indulging in any of Jared Applegate's antics. Hiram
signaled for a swift one. He braced himself as he saw it coming. He knew
that Rob was a swift pitcher with a mighty right.
"Strike one!" yelled the umpire a fraction of a second later.
Jared, at the bat, looked angry and puzzled. He wondered why they hadn't
put Rob in the box at first. He did not know that Rob, while a splendid
pitcher, was not to be relied on through a long game as was Merritt.
Another thing he didn't know was that Rob had determined with a grim
resolution to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, if possible. That's
a feeling that will carry any boy, or man either for that matter, a long
way.
Hiram signaled for another cannon-ball. It was plain that those were just
the kind of missiles that were not at all to Jared's liking.
The ball shot from Rob's hand apparently without effort. But it shot over
the plate like a bullet.
"Strike two!" bellowed the umpire.
"Oh, you Rob!" yelled his friends.
"K-r-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee!" shrilled the Scouts.
But Rob took no notice; nor did he regard Jared's look of hatred, oddly
mixed with worry. Rob's pitching bothered him. He wanted no more off that
plate.
But whi-z-z-z-z-z-z! came another "cannon ball" like a high powered
projectile burning up the atmosphere. Jared swung wildly an inch too
high.
"Striker's out!" came the call of Jared's doom from the umpire.
It was a furiously angry youth that strode to the bench.
"Thought you were going to make ducks and drakes out of him, Jared?"
grinned one of his fellow players.
"So I was. I was just trying him out," grunted Jared disgustedly.
The next two batters couldn't handle Rob's pitching at all. The game
began to look as if it might be retrieved after all.
"Blake! Blake! Blake!" chanted the crowd as Rob walked toward the
batters' bench.
Merritt was first at bat for the Scouts in the ninth inning. Jared began
to pitch with as good an imitation of Rob's speed as he could muster.
Merritt let the first ball sing past him.
"Ball one."
The second, also, went by in similar manner.
"Ball two!" sang out Sim in his high, nasal voice.
Jared pulled himself together. He sent the ball humming right over the
home plate. Merritt swung at it and made a safe base hit to right field.
Then came Hiram. He struck out. Jared and the Hamptonites began to feel
better. Jared was still holding the Scouts down and they had a safe
margin of runs.
Paul Perkins struck out this time. Then came Ernest Thompson, who
dreamily submitted to the same process.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. His exhibition of pitching just previously
earned him a round of applause. Jared looked positively bilious. He had
actually been holding himself in reserve for Rob. It was his intention to
shut him right out. Rob ignored Jared's first ball.
"Ball one!" was the cry.
"Ball two!" followed in rapid succession. Rob smiled easily. Jared's
dislike of the boy at the bat was making him irritable and uneasy.
But he rallied his skill and threw what looked like an easy pitch. Rob
struck at it but fanned the empty air.
Jared grinned, the Hamptonites yelled and the umpire called:--
"Strike one!"
"All right for you, Mister Casey at the bat," snarled Jared, "watch out
for this one."
It came like a flash, a tricky, wavy curve. Rob swung with all his
strength and--missed!
"Strike two!"
A groan went up from the Scout supporters. Their chances of victory
looked slim indeed now.
"Wake up! You're in a trance!" scoffed Jared, grinning at Rob. "Get out
of the straw."
"The straw in the red barn!" suddenly flashed Rob, in a low, but
far-reaching voice. It was pregnant with meaning and Jared turned white
as death. He fumbled the ball with trembling fingers.
"W-w-what do you mean?" he managed to gasp.
"Play ball!" yelled the crowd impatiently.
Jared, his fright still on him, pitched. He made a wild fling. Rob
trotted to first base. Merritt boomeranged to second.
Simon Jeffords got his base on balls, advancing Rob to second and Merritt
to third. Everybody began to sit up and take renewed notice. A home run
now would add four to the Scout score. Could they get it? Jared had shown
that he could hold them down. Could he still keep up his gait?
And now out strolled Tubby Hopkins. He paused first to insert a huge
chunk of chewing gum in his capacious cheek and then, not noticing in the
least the laughter and joking that greeted his appearance, he lounged to
his place, his jaws moving rhythmically.
"It's up to you, Tubby. Bring home the bacon!" some one yelled.
"He's got the bacon with him," shouted some other humorist.
Jared fixed his eyes quizzically on Tubby.
"Like a bottle of anti-fat, kid?" he sneered; and then, "Oh, what I won't
do to you! How do you like 'em?"
Tubby stopped chewing an instant. His large eyes opened wide as if he had
just heard Jared's voice.
"Oh, I like 'em Panama fashion, if you've got any of those about you
to-day," he said with a cherubic smile.
Zang! came the ball. It was as swift as any that Jared had yet thrown. He
would have liked to see it knock the disconcerting fat youth on the head.
But it did no such thing. With an agility unsuspected except by those who
knew him, Tubby swung viciously at the spheroid.
"Bin-go!" yelled the rooters.
Off into left field a hot liner whizzed its way.
"Go on!" shrieked the Eagles and their supporters, dancing up and down in
excitement.
Off darted Merritt from third. He shot across the home plate an instant
later and scored amidst loud cheering. Hot after him flashed Rob, with
Simon close behind. Excitement rose to a point where it was almost
unbearable.
Tubby had shot like a stone from a sling the instant he made his hit. And
now more like a steam roller the fat youth cavorted over the bases while
the crowd went crazy. Pandemonium reigned.
"Home! Home! Home!" shrieked the raucous crowd in a frenzy.
Boys hugged each other and the Scouts danced up and down.
Tubby, with amazing speed, his short fat legs working like piston rods,
flashed by first, second and third bases. The next instant a yell went up
that split the air. A rotund form sky-hooted across the home plate and
then, tripping up, went rolling like a tub of butter into the arms of Rob
and his team-mates. Tubby had made one of the most sensational plays ever
seen on the Hampton field, and foes as well as friends generously
applauded the fat boy. But he paid no attention to the plaudits.
"Great Scotland! I've lost my gum," were his first words on being helped
to his feet. "Anybody got a chew?"
"A barrel full, if you want them!" yelled the delighted Scouts, dancing
about the boy who had hit out a home run with bases full.
The next batter, Walter Lonsdale, struck out. Then the town team went to
bat for its last chance. The score now stood thus:
Eagles: seven. Hamptons: six
Rob resumed his place in the pitcher's box. Higgins struck out. But Jared
got his base on balls. Maybe Rob was overconfident. Conners came next.
Two strikes had been called on him, when Rob, like a flash, hurled the
ball to first. With neatness and expedition Jared was put out.
Incidentally, Conners had been so rattled by Rob's pitching that, when
the latter threw to first, Conners frantically struck at an imaginary
ball, causing a roar of laughter. This disconcerted him so badly that he
missed the next ball and struck out.
The Scouts had indeed snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. The game
was theirs but by so narrow a margin that they hardly liked to think
about it.
In an instant the crowd broke all boundaries and surged about the
victorious Eagles.
"Three cheers for Home-run Tubby!" yelled somebody.
In a flash the fat youth was hoisted on half a dozen shoulders. Then
began a triumphal march around the field to the music of Andy Bowles'
bugle, which he had suddenly produced from some mysterious hiding place.
"You see, I knew that I'd need it," he explained afterward.
Rob, arm in arm with Merritt, brought up the rear of the tumultuous riot
of enthusiasts. Suddenly Rob's eye caught sight of a figure in the
uniform of the Hampton's players sneaking up behind a corner of the
grand-stand which it was evident the crowd must pass in their march of
victory. It was Jared Applegate. With him was the same young man the boys
had seen in the barn the week before, as well as two other youths of bad
character in the village, Hodge Berry and Maxwell Ramsay.
"What mischief is Jared up to?" breathed Rob, clutching Merritt's arm.
"I don't know, but he looks as sneaky as a pole cat. Let's watch him."
The two scouts followed, at a slight distance, the group of which Jared
was the center. They saw the boys that they were watching sneak in behind
the grand-stand, while Jared stooped and picked up a heavy stone. As the
crowd, with Tubby's rubicund countenance shining above their heads, came
swinging around the corner on their way off the ball field, Rob gave a
sharp exclamation and sprang forward.
Like a flash he gripped Jared's arm just as it was about to launch the
stone at Tubby's head.
"You--you rascal!" he managed to exclaim, forcing Jared's arm down with a
firm wrist hold.
The next instant Hodge Berry and Max Ramsay, both of whom had played in
the Hampton team, sprang at Rob furiously.
"You're going to get a licking you won't forget in a hurry," they cried.
The crowd had swung on, not noticing the dramatic scene that was
occurring so close to them. Rob dropped Jared's wrist and turned to face
his opponents.
Something in his face made them halt an instant, and in that brief space
of time Merritt was at his side. The strange youth who had said nothing
so far now started to speak, but Rob checked him.
Utterly ignoring the others, he addressed himself to Jared.
"Well, what do you want?" he demanded.
"I want to get square with you," replied Jared in a furious tone. He
appeared almost beside himself with rage.
"Humph! and so you've brought a bunch of your amiable friends along to
help you in case it proved too big a job to tackle alone."
"See here," exclaimed the stranger, stepping forward a pace, "I don't
know who you are except by name, but I'm not going to have you insult me.
Jared here is a chum of mine. I knew him in New York----"
"Sorry for you," flashed out Rob curtly.
"None of your lip," growled Max Ramsay sullenly; and yet, so electrical
had the atmosphere become, and so capable of handling himself did the
clean-living young scout look, that, uneven as the odds were, no further
hostile move was made.
"Jared said he had a bone to pick with you," went on the strange youth.
"He told us he wanted to have it out with you Scouts. He invited us
along. I'm not going to take any part in it, you can be assured of that.
There'll be fair play."
"Like stone throwing, for instance," retorted Rob contemptuously.
"I guess you're scared," sneered Jared.
"Who says so?"
"I do. You act so. You're afraid of me."
Jared was quite quick enough to see that Rob was unwilling to get into a
fight. The leader of the Eagle Patrol abhorred, above all things, to be
mixed up in a disgraceful set-to. But even Rob, who had unusual
self-control, was fast beginning to lose patience.
"I don't know what harm I've ever done you, Jared," he said quietly, "but
if you feel so, why I can't help it."
"I hate you, Rob Blake," exclaimed Jared through his clenched teeth, "and
I'm going to polish you off once and for all,--do you hear me?"
"I'm not deaf. Let us pass, please," said Rob, still with that same calm,
unruffled manner.
"Not till you've given me satisfaction."
Jared interpreted Rob's manner amiss. He was sure now that Rob would
avoid a fistic discussion at all hazards. He determined to show his
friends what a terrible person he was.
"Well, you heard what I said," repeated Jared, thrusting out his jaw and
stepping closer to the unmoved Rob, "you've got to give me
satisfaction--understand?"
"Do you want me to fight you?" asked Rob, without the flicker of an eye.
"Yes, I do," whipped out Jared boldly.
At the same instant, thinking to catch Rob off his guard, he aimed a
vicious blow at the lad in front of him. Rob merely stepped to one side.
Jared almost lost his balance as his fist encountered thin air, and just
saved himself from taking an ignominious tumble.
"So; you're a coward, eh?" cried Jared furiously.
"Possibly that's your opinion," spoke Rob calmly. "I don't like fighting,
Jared, it's not gentlemanly and it's not a Scout principle; but if you
_want fight, you're going to get it!_"
"Good for you!" cried Merritt, who had stood silent, well knowing Rob's
ability to handle himself, for the Scouts had many friendly sparring
bouts with the gloves. The noble art of self-defense was cultivated by
all of them, but as a means of self-defense and for the joy of the sport
only.
Rob whipped off his coat in a jiffy. Jared, with a slight quiver of his
lower lip, did the same. Both boys stood ready to defend themselves, and,
while the shouts of the crowd bearing Tubby aloft died away in the
distance, the fight, into which Rob had been unwillingly dragged, began.