THE HERO OF THE HOUR
On that very same afternoon, the youth and beauty, also the age and
wisdom, of both Hollis Creek and Meadow Brook, gathered around the ball
field of the former resort, to watch the Titanic struggle for victory
between the two picked nines. As Sam took his place behind the bat for
the first man up, who was Hollis, he felt his first touch of
self-confidence anent the strictly amusement features of summer
resorting. In all the other athletic pursuits he had been backward,
but here, as he smacked his fist in his glove, he felt at home.
The only thing he did not like about it, as Princeman wound himself up
to deliver the first ball, was that Princeman had the position of
glory. On that gentleman the spotlight burned brightly all the time,
and if they won, he would be the hero of the hour; the modest, reliable
catcher would scarcely be thought of except by the men who knew the
finer points of the game, and it was not the men whom he had in mind.
Honestly and sincerely, he desired to shine before Miss Josephine
Stevens. She was over there at the edge of the field under an oak tree.
Before her, cavorting for her amusement, were not only Princeman and
himself, but Billy Westlake and Hollis, each of them alert for action
at this moment; for now Princeman, with a mighty twirl upon his great
toe, released the ball. It never reached Sam Turner's hands; instead
it bounced off the bat with a "crack!" and sailed right down through
Billy Westlake, who, at second, made a frantic grab for it, and then it
spun out between center and right field, losing itself in the bushes,
while Hollis, amid the frantic cheers of the audience, which consisted
of Miss Josephine Stevens and several unconsidered other spectators,
tore around the circuit. His colleagues strove wildly to hold Hollis
at third, for the ball was found and was sailing over to that base. It
arrived there just as he did, but far over the head of the third
baseman, and fat, curly-haired Hollis, who looked like an ice wagon but
ran like a motorcycle, secured the first run for Hollis Creek.
The next batter was up. Princeman, his confidence loftily unshaken,
gave a correct imitation of a pretzel and delivered the ball. The
batsman swung viciously at it.
Spat! It landed in Sam's glove.
"Strike one!" called the strident voice of Blackrock, who, jerking
himself back several years into youth again, was umpiring the game with
great joy. Nonchalantly Sam snapped the ball back over-hand.
Princeman smiled with calm superiority. He wound himself up.
Spat! The ball had cut the plate and was in Sam's hands, while the
batsman stood looking earnestly at the path over which it had come.
"Strike two!" called Blackstone.
Sam jerked the ball back with an underwrist toss of great perfection.
Princeman drew himself up with smiling ease and posed a moment for the
edification of the on-lookers. Sam Turner was the very first to detect
the unbearable arrogance of that pose. Princeman eyed the batsman
critically, mercilessly even, and delivered the third fatal
plate-splitter.
Z-z-z-ing! The sphere slammed right out through Billy Westlake, who
made a frantic grab for it. It bounded down between center and right
field, and the players bumped shoulders in trying to stop it. It
nestled among the bushes. The batsman tore around the bases. His
colleagues tried to hold him at third, for the ball was streaking in
that direction, but the batsman pawed straight on. The ball crossed
the base before he did, but it bounded between the third sacker's feet,
and score two was marked up for Hollis Creek, with nobody out!
With undiminished confidence, though somewhat annoyed, Princeman made a
cute little knot of himself for the next batsman.
Spat! The ball landed in Sam's glove, two feet wide of the plate.
"Ball one!" called Blackstone.
Spat! In Sam's glove again, with the batsman jumping back to save his
ribs.
"Ball two!" cried Blackstone.
Spat!
"Ball three."
"Put 'em over, Princeman!" yelled Billy Westlake from second.
"Don't be afraid of him! He couldn't hit it with a pillow!" jeered the
third baseman.
In a calm, superior sort of way, Mr. Princeman smiled and shot over the
ball.
"Four balls. Take your base!" said Mr. Blackstone, quite gently.
Reassuringly Mr. Princeman smiled upon his supporters, consisting of
Miss Josephine Stevens and some other summer resorters, and proceeded
to take out his revenge upon the next batter. The first two lofts were
declared to be balls, and then Sam, catching his man playing too far
off, snapped the pill down to the nearest suburb and nailed the first
out. Encouraged by this, Princeman put over three successive strikes,
and there were two gone. The next batter up, however, laced out, for
two easy way-points, the first ball presented him. The next athlete
brought him in with a single, and the next one put down a three-bagger
which bored straight through Princeman and short stop and center field.
That inglorious inning ended with a brilliant throw of Sam's to Billy
Westlake at second, nipping a would-be thief who had hoped to purloin
the seventh tally for Hollis Creek.
Billy Westlake, then taking the bat, increased the Meadow Brook
depression by slapping the soft summer air three vicious spanks and
retiring to think it over, and young Tilloughby bounced a feeble little
bunt square at the feet of Hollis and was tossed out at first by
something like six furlongs. The third batsman popped up a slow, lazy
foul which gave the catcher almost plenty of time to roll a cigarette
before it came down, and the Meadow Brook side was ignominiously
retired. Score, six to nothing at the end of the first.
Princeman hit the first man up in the next inning and sent him down to
the initial bag, which was a flat stone, happily limping. He issued
free transportation to the next man and let the cripple hobble on to
second, chortling with glee. The third man went to the first station
on a measly little bunt with which Sam and Princeman and third base did
some neat and shifty foot work, and the next man up soaked out a Wright
Brothers beauty among the trees over beyond left field, and cleared the
bases amid the perfectly frantic rejoicing of the fickle Miss Josephine
Stevens and all the negligible balance of Hollis Creek. Oh, it was
disgraceful! Sam Turner ground his teeth in impotent rage. He walked
up to Princeman.
"Say, old man," he pleaded. "We've just _got_ to settle down! We
_must_ pull this game out of the fire! We _can't_ let Hollis Creek
walk away with it!"
Princeman was pale, but clutched at his fast-slipping-away nonchalance
with the grip of desperation.
"We'll hold them," he declared, and with careful deliberation he put
over a ball which the next batter sent sailing right down inside the
right foul line, pulling the first baseman away back almost to right
field. Princeman stood gaping at that bingle in paralyzed dismay; but
the batsman, who was a slow runner and slow thinker, stood a fatal
second to see whether the ball was fair or foul. Almost at the crack
of the bat Sam Turner started, raced down to first, caught the right
fielder's throw and stepped on the stone, one handsome stride ahead of
the runner! Then, as Blackrock, speechless with admiration, waved the
runner out, the first mighty howl went up from Meadow Brook, and one
partisan of the Hollis Creek nine, turning her back for the moment
squarely upon her own colors, led the cheering. Sam heard her voice.
It was a solo, while all the rest of the cheering was a faint
accompaniment, and with such elation as comes only to the heroes in
victorious battle, he trotted back to his place and caught three balls
and three strikes on the next batter. Also, the next one went out on a
pop fly which Sam was able to catch.
In their half Princeman redeemed himself in part by a three bagger
which brought in two scores, and the second inning ended at ten to
three in favor of Hollis Creek.
Confident and smiling, reinforced by the memory of his three bagger,
Princeman took the mount for the beginning of the third, and with his
compliments he suavely and politely presented a base to the first man
up. A groan arose from all Meadow Brook. The second batsman shot a
stinger to Princeman, who dropped it, and that batsman immediately
thereafter roosted on first, crowing triumphantly; but the hot liner
allowed Princeman a graceful opportunity. He complained of a badly
hurt finger on his pitching hand. He called time while he held that
injured member, and expressed in violent gestures the intolerable agony
of it. Bravely, however, he insisted upon "sticking it out," and
passed two wild ones up to the next willow wielder; then, having proved
his gameness, he nobly sacrificed himself for the good of Meadow Brook,
called time and asked for a substitute pitcher. He would go anywhere.
He would take the field or he would retire. What he wanted was Meadow
Brook to win. This was precisely what Sam Turner also wanted, and he
lost no time in calling, with ill-concealed satisfaction, upon his
brother Jack. Then Jack Turner, nothing loath, deserted his
comfortable seat by the side of Miss Josephine Stevens, and strode
forth to the mound, leaving the unfortunate Princeman to take his place
by the side of Miss Stevens and give her an opportunity to sympathize
with his poor maimed pitching hand, which, after a perfunctory moment
of interest, she was too busy to do; for Jack Turner and Sam Turner,
smiling across at each other in mutual confidence and esteem, proceeded
to strike out the next three batters in succession, leaving men
cemented to first and second bases, where they had been wildly
imploring for opportunities to tear themselves loose.
What need to tell of the balance of that game; of the calm, easy,
one-two-three work of the invincible Turner battery; of the brilliant
base throwing and fielding of Turner and Turner, and their mighty swats
when they came to bat? You know how the game turned out. Anybody
would know. It ended in a triumph for Meadow Brook at the end of the
seventh inning, which is all any summer resort game ever goes, and two
innings more than most, by a total and glorious score of twenty-one to
seventeen. And who were the heroes of the hour, as smilingly but
modestly they strode from the diamond? Who, indeed, but Jack Turner
and Sam Turner; and by token of their victory, after receiving the
frenzied plaudits of all Meadow Brook and the generous plaudits of all
Hollis Creek, they marched in triumph from the field, one on either
side of Miss Josephine Stevens! Where now were Hollis and Princeman
and Billy Westlake? Nowhere! They were forgotten of men, ignored of
women, and the laurels of sweet victory rested upon the brow of busy
Sam Turner!