DISCONTENT
"Leg it, Joe! Leg it!"
"Keep on! Keep on!"
"He can't get you in time!"
"A home run! A homer, old man!"
"Keep a-going! Keep a-going!"
These and other frantic appeals and bits of advice were hurled at Joe as
he dashed madly on. He had a glimpse of the centre fielder racing madly
after the ball, and then he felt for the first time that he really had a
chance to make a home run. Still he knew that the ball travels fast when
once thrown, and it might be relayed in, for he saw the second baseman
running back to assist the centre fielder.
"But I'm going to beat it!" panted Joe to himself.
The grandstand and bleachers were now a mass of yelling excited
spectators. There was a good attendance at the game, many women and
girls being present, and Joe could hear their shrill voices mingling
with the hoarser shouts of the men and boys.
"Keep on! Keep on!" he heard yelled encouragingly at him.
"That's the stuff, old man!" shouted Darrell, who was coaching at the
third base line.
"Shall I go in?" cried Joe as he turned the last bag.
Darrell took a swift glance toward the field. He saw what Joe could not.
The centre fielder instead of relaying in the ball by the second baseman
(for the throw was too far for him), had attempted to get it to third
alone. Darrell knew it would fall short.
"Yes! Yes!" he howled. "Go on in, Joe! Go on in!"
And Joe went.
Just as the manager had anticipated, the ball fell short, and the
pitcher who had run down to cover second had to run out of the diamond
to get it. It was an error in judgment, and helped Joe to make his
sensational run.
He was well on his way home now, but the pitcher had the ball and was
throwing it to the catcher.
"Slide, Joe! Slide!" yelled Darrell above the wild tumult of the other
players and the spectators.
Joe kept on until he knew a slide would be effective and then, dropping
like a shot, he fairly tore through the dust, feet first, toward home
plate. His shoes covered it as the ball came with a thud into the
outstretched hands of the catcher.
"Safe!" yelled the umpire, and there was no questioning his decision.
"Good play!" yelled the crowd.
"That's the stuff, old man!" exclaimed Darrell, rushing up and clapping
Joe on the back.
"A few more like that and the game will either go ten innings or we'll
have it in the ice-box for ourselves," commented Captain Rankin
gleefully.
But the hopes of the Silver Stars were doomed to disappointment. Try as
the succeeding men did to connect with the ball, the best that could be
knocked out was a single, and that was not effective, for the man who
did it was caught attempting to steal second and two others were struck
out.
That ended the game, Joe's solitary run being the only one tallied up,
and the final score was three to six in favor of the Red Stockings.
"Three cheers for the Silver Stars!" called the captain of the
successful nine and they were given with right good feeling.
"Three cheers for the Red Stockings," responded Darrell. "They were too
much for us," and the cheers of the losers were none less hearty than
those of their rivals.
"And three cheers for the fellow who made the home run!" added a Red
Stocking player, and our hero could not help blushing as he was thus
honored.
"It was all to the pepper-castor, old man," complimented Darrell. "We
didn't put up a very good game, but you sort of stand out among the
other Stars."
"And I suppose the rest of us did rotten!" snarled Sam Morton as he
walked past.
"Well, to be frank, I think we _all_ did," spoke Darrell. "I'm not
saying that Joe didn't make any errors, for he did. But he made the only
home run of the game, and that's a lot."
"Oh, yes, I suppose so," sneered the disgruntled pitcher. "You'll be
blaming me next for the loss of the game."
"Nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Darrell quickly. "I think we've all got
to bear our share of the defeat. We ought to have played better, and
we've got to, if we don't want to be at the tail end of the county
league."
"And that means that I've got to do better pitching, I suppose?" sneered
Sam.
"It means we've _all_ got to do better work," put in Captain Rankin.
"You along with the rest of us, Sam. You know you were pretty well
batted to-day."
"Any fellow is likely to be swatted once in a while. Look at some of the
professionals."
"I'm not saying they're not," admitted the captain. "What I do say is
that we've all got to perk up. We've got to take a brace, and I'm not
sparing myself. We're not doing well."
"No, that's right," admitted several other players. In fact there was a
general feeling of discontent manifested, and it was very noticeable.
Darrell Blackney was aware of it, and he hoped it would not spread, for
nothing is so sure to make a team slump as discontent or
dissatisfaction.
"Oh, Joe!" exclaimed a girl's voice, and he turned to see his sister
walking toward him over the field. "That was a fine run you made." She
had two other girls with her and Joe, who was a bit bashful, turned to
execute a retreat.
"I believe you never met my brother," went on Clara, and there was a
trace of pride in her tone. "Miss Mabel Davis," said Clara, presenting
her to Joe, "and Miss Helen Rutherford."
"I've heard my sister speak of you," murmured the young centre fielder.
"And I've heard my brother speak of _you_," said Mabel, and Joe was
conscious that he was blushing.
"I've got to wash up now," he said, not knowing what to talk about when
two pretty girls, to say nothing of his own sister, were staring at him.
"Does your hand hurt you much?" asked Mabel.
"No--it's only a scratch," said Joe, not with a strict regard for the
truth.
"Oh, I thought I'd faint when I saw you lying there so still," spoke
Clara with a little shudder.
"So did I," added Helen, and then Joe made his escape before they could
"fuss" over him any more.
There was considerable talk going on in the dressing room when Joe
entered. He could hear the voice of Sam Morton raised in high and
seemingly angry tones.
"Well, I'm not going to stand for it!" the pitcher said.
"Stand for what?" asked Darrell in surprise.
"Being accused of the cause for the loss of this game!"
"No one accuses you," put in the captain.
"You might as well say it as look it," retorted Sam. "I tell you I won't
stand for it. Just because that new fellow made a home run you're all up
in the air about him, and for all the hard work I do, what do I get for
it? Eh? Nothing, that's what!"
"Now, look here," said Darrell soothingly, "you know you're talking
foolishly, Sam."
"I am not!" cried the pitcher petulantly. "Either Joe Matson leaves the
team or I do, and you can have my resignation any time you want it!"