RECALLS THE FACT THAT WHAT’S FAIR FOR ONE IS FAIR FOR ANOTHER, AND
RECORDS A DEFEAT AND A VICTORY
A week later Wickasaw came over to the mainland and met Chicora on the
diamond. The final score, when the game came to an end at the last
of the seventh inning, was 18 to 4, and I had rather not say which
side scored the 18. However, defeat is not dishonorable; Chicora had
that thought to comfort her. Wells, he of the snub-nose, pitched a
magnificent game for five innings, and then went so high into the air
that he wasn’t able to get down again while the game lasted. And while
he was up there Wickasaw unkindly batted in eight runs and scored
seven more on errors, four of them being due to Wells’s wildness.
Wickasaw played every last one of her councilors--four in all--and
would probably have won by a small margin even if Wells hadn’t gone to
pieces. But the result was a disappointment to Bob, and he worried over
it a good deal during the ensuing three days. Wickasaw went home in
her launch and rowboats audibly pleased with herself, and the next day,
beneath her camp-flag on the pole at the landing, floated a square of
white sheeting inscribed:
+-------------+
| W. 18; C. 4 |
+-------------+
And every time Bob saw that flag floating in the breeze he ground his
teeth. And Dan smiled his widest smile, and drew a sketch of the flag
_they_ were going to put up after the next game. And in the meanwhile
everybody went to work harder than ever at the batting-net and in the
field; for the lesson of defeat is renewed endeavor.
On the following Saturday Chicora played again, this time with the
nine from the Chicora Inn, a nine made up of guests and employees of
the hotel. It was the finest kind of an August afternoon, warm enough
to limber the players’ muscles, and yet not so hot that the spectators
were uncomfortable under the shade of the trees. Wells went into the
box again for the Camp, while the Inn had her head clerk, a Dartmouth
College man, do the pitching for her. For the first three innings the
Camp had everything its own way. Nelson started things going with a
three-bagger in the second, and after the bases had filled up Bob
went to bat and cleared them, himself reaching second. Again, in the
third a base on balls to the second man up proved costly, the runner
on first reaching second on a passed ball and taking third on a single
by Carter. Then Wells got in the way of an in-shoot and limped to base
amid the laughing applause of the Camp rooters, and the bags were
all occupied. It was Nelson’s chance again, and he made the most of
it. With two strikes and three balls called on him he found what he
wanted, and hit safely for two bases over short-stop’s head. The Inn
had meanwhile scored but one run, and so at the beginning of the fourth
inning the score stood 6 to 1, and the spectators who were gallantly
flaunting the crimson flags of Chicora Inn were becoming anxious.
When the Inn next went to the bat it was seen that she had substituted
a new player for the one who had thus far been holding down second
base. The new man was about six feet tall, and fully thirty-five years
old, and his face seemed dimly familiar to Bob. And when, having gone
to bat, he lined the first ball pitched between first and second for
three bases, Bob recognized him as “Monty” Williams, an old Princeton
player who had made a reputation for himself while in college as a star
ball-player. In that inning the Inn netted three runs, and the score
was no longer so one-sided. But Bob was worried, and as the teams
changed sides he made his way to the captain of the opposing team.
“Look here,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a fair deal for you fellows
to play Williams. He’s an old college player, and we know that he isn’t
staying at the Inn. He’s visiting over at Bass Island.”
“Oh, what’s the use in being fussy?” asked the other good-naturedly.
“This isn’t a championship game; we’re only here for the fun of
playing. Besides, Williams hasn’t played baseball for at least ten
years.”
“Well, it isn’t according to the understanding,” answered Bob; “but if
you insist on playing him, all right; it’s a bit raw, though. We’re
playing fellows on our side some of whom aren’t sixteen years old; and
we’re not playing a single one of our councilors.”
“Well, why don’t you? Go ahead and play any one you like. We don’t care
who you play; we’re here for the fun of playing, that’s all.”
“All right,” answered Bob; “I don’t intend to be nasty about it. We’ll
beat you, anyhow.”
“That’s the stuff,” laughed the other captain. “Go ahead and do it.”
But it didn’t look very easy during the next two innings. To be sure,
the Camp managed to tally two more runs, but the Inn wasn’t idle. The
next time Williams came to bat the bases were full, and as a result
of the long drive he made into left field three tallies were set down
to the Inn’s credit, and a minute or two later Williams made it four
by heady base stealing. That tied the score, 8 to 8. Bob didn’t mind
a defeat at the hands of Chicora Inn very much, but to be beaten two
games running was more than he could relish; and while he was doing a
lot of hard thinking Tom came to the rescue:
“Say, Bob,” he whispered, “we’re going to be licked if you keep Wells
in there. That fellow Williams can hit him easy.”
“I know it, but they insist on playing Williams. They say I can put in
any one I want to, but we haven’t played our councilors, and I don’t
want to start it now. And as for Wells, there isn’t any one on our team
can do any better.”
“Get Billy Carter to pitch.”
“Billy Carter? Who’s Billy--? You mean Joe’s brother? Can he pitch?
Thought he was a crew man.”
“He is, but he pitched for the Yale freshman nine last spring, and I’ll
bet he’s a peach!”
“Good stuff! Will he play, do you think?”
“I don’t know, but he seems a decent chap. Get Joe to ask him.”
“I will. Oh, Joe! Joe Carter!”
The result of this conference was that two or three minutes later
when the teams again changed sides Wells retired to the shade of the
apple-trees and his place in the pitcher’s box was taken by a stocky,
fair-haired, and sun-burned chap of eighteen who, having discarded his
coat and cap, picked up the ball and began pitching to Bob in a way
that suggested a good deal of experience. He was a fine-looking fellow
with a chest that brought murmurs of admiration from the spectators.
He had rowed on the winning Yale freshman eight and pitched on the
Yale freshman nine, and so his chest development and the muscles that
played so prettily along his arms were there of good reason. He had
reached camp only that forenoon on a visit of two or three days to his
brother, and there hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation on his part when
Joe, earnestly seconded by Bob, had asked him to play. He had kept in
training since the boat races and had not forgotten his cunning in the
box.
And the opponents had occasion to note the fact. For in the next two
innings not a man on their team reached first base. Carter’s delivery
puzzled them effectually, and when the mighty Williams had three
strikes called on him and tossed down his bat with a grim shake of his
head the supporters of the blue and gray shouted their delight. But
shutting out the Inn wasn’t winning the game, and when at last the
ninth inning opened with the score still 8 to 8 Bob had visions of
a tie game. But he had reckoned without the new pitcher. That youth
didn’t have a chance at bat until with one out in the ninth things
were looking their darkest for the Camp. Then he selected a bat and
faced the Inn’s pitcher calmly. He allowed two balls to go by him,
but the third one he liked. And the way in which he lit on to it was
beautiful to behold; at least that’s the way it seemed to Bob and Dan
and Nelson and all the other Chicorians. For that ball started off as
though it had got tired of being knocked around so much and was going
straight home to sit down and rest. That it didn’t get all the way
home, but only as far as the woods behind center-fielder, didn’t affect
the result of the contest. It went quite far enough. And Billy Carter
romped home like a playful giant and subsided under the trees and
fanned his face, while about him danced the delighted cohorts from the
Camp. After that it was only necessary to keep the Inn from scoring,
and with Carter still in the points that was an absurdly easy task.
It wasn’t a very decided win, 9 to 8, but it sufficed, and Bob was
comforted.
After the game was over the captain of the Inn’s forces sought out Bob.
“Who was the chap that pitched for you?” he asked curiously.
“Oh,” Bob answered, “that’s Carter, pitcher on last year’s Yale
freshman team. You told me to play any one I liked, you know;
otherwise, of course----”
“Oh!” said the other.
On the way back to camp Dan alone seemed not entirely happy.
“Oh, yes,” he said in response to inquiries, “the game was all right
enough. But did you notice that Wickasaw was over there cheering for
the Inn?”
“I didn’t notice who they cheered for,” answered Bob. “What of it?”
“What of it? Lots! Call that sportsmanlike? Huh! You wait, that’s all,
my friends. We’ll get even with Wickasaw!”