THE WINNING HIT
The Belden boys came in for their half, fuming at the lead that
Rockledge had gained but not a bit discouraged. Ormsby gathered them
about him and urged them on, and their rooters broke out into vociferous
cheers.
Weston, one of their heaviest batters and the head of their batting
order, came to the plate swinging his bat in a menacing way. He glared
at Bobby, who only laughed and sent over a fadeaway for the first
strike.
The second ball was a hop and Weston caught it on the under side and
sent it high in the air out toward center. It should have been an easy
catch, for Devlin had plenty of time to get under it before it came
down. But it was the very ease of the catch that was his undoing, for he
let it go through his fingers.
Weston, like the good ballplayer that he was, had kept on running at
full speed, even though he expected the ball to be caught, so that by
the time the muff was actually made he had rounded first and was well on
his way to second.
Devlin was rattled by his error and threw wild to the second bag. The
ball went over Mouser’s head, and by the time it was retrieved Weston
was roosting safely on third amid the jubilant yells of the Belden
partisans.
Romney, the next one up, laid down what was intended to be a sacrifice
bunt between short and third. Fred and Sparrow both went for it with
such eagerness that they collided and were knocked head over heels. By
the time Bobby had run over and recovered the ball Weston had easily
made the plate and Romney had got to second.
These two “flivvers” in succession were likely to rattle any team, and
in order to give his mates time to recover their self-possession, Bobby
bent down and fumbled with his shoe laces until the umpire ordered him
to play ball.
Then Bobby put on steam and fanned the next batter in three straight
strikes.
He made the next one knock an easy bounder toward short. Fred was all
set to grab it when the ball struck a stone and took a high bound over
his head, rolling out to left field, while Romney made the dust fly as
he legged his way to third and the batter reached first.
Howell Purdy, the substitute pitcher, who was playing left field, ran in
for the ball. He saw that he could not get Romney at third, and threw to
Mouser at second to catch the batter, who was making for that bag. But
the ball was ten feet wide of the base and went into the field, while
both Romney and his mate scored, making the score 3 to 2 in Belden’s
favor.
The Belden boys fairly went crazy. There was a din of horn-blowing and
catcalls exceeding anything so far in the game. Their coachers got out
on the coaching lines and began a line of chatter designed to rattle
their opponents still further.
But no matter how the rest of the team were shaken, Bobby absolutely
declined to lose his nerve. He knew that until this inning was over at
any rate the only thing left for him was to strike his opponents out.
Any ball hit, no matter how easily it ought to be fielded, was liable to
be fumbled or booted. So he summoned up all his courage and skill and
made the next two fan in succession.
Many a pitcher would have been grumpy and sore at such support. He had
not yielded a single hit or passed a man to first, and yet his opponents
had made three runs and taken the lead. Yet Bobby’s face was as serene
as a summer sky when he drew off his glove and went in to the bench.
Devlin and Howell were bitterly angry at themselves because of their
errors, and Fred and Sparrow were limping from the effects of their
collision, while the rest of the team were more or less upset by the
sudden change in affairs.
“Never mind, fellows,” cried Bobby encouragingly. “Those fellows have
certainly had the breaks of the game so far. That collision was an
accident and we didn’t know that that stone in the infield would give
that bad bound to the ball. But those things generally even up, and they
may have their turn of bad luck next. Anyway, they’re only one run ahead
and we have time to overcome that. Just let’s brace and we’ll beat them
yet.”
But if they were to beat them it was not to be done in the sixth or
seventh inning, for those chances passed without Rockledge scoring. Once
they got a man as far as third, but there he stayed for want of the
necessary hit to bring him in.
Belden was equally unable to score. Bobby was pitching like a demon and
his opponents were swinging at the air. Four out of the six who faced
him in those two innings went out on strikes, while a foul and a pop fly
disposed of the others.
In the eighth inning the skies began to brighten for Rockledge. Erlich,
who had pitched good ball up to that time, began to weaken. His fast
ones no longer had their usual zip to them, nor were his curves so
deceptive. Two hits in succession, followed by a base on balls, filled
the bases, and then a wild pitch by Erlich permitted the man on third to
score, thus making the game a tie. Belden braced then, and aided by a
snappy double play prevented further scoring.
Try as they would, however, they could make no impression on Bobby’s
pitching in their half, and the ninth inning opened with the score still
a tie.
“Now for a grand rally, fellows,” urged Bobby. “We’ve got Erlich going.
Keep up the good work of the last inning and the pennant is ours.”
“We’ll do it,” declared Fred. “He’s got nothing on the ball now but a
prayer and a glove. Let’s go in and knock him out of the box.”
They started in as though they were going to do it. Sheets poled out a
stinging single to right. Shiner followed with a screamer over
shortstop’s head that carried Skeets to third while he himself pulled up
at second. A shout went up when Billy met the ball full on the seam, but
it died away in a groan when the second baseman made a splendid catch of
the liner and returned it in time to double up Skeets as he slid into
the plate.
Tumultuous cheers greeted Bobby, as he came to the bat.
“Win your own game, Bobby,” sang out Pee Wee, who had abandoned his
usual laziness and all through the game had been rooting like a madman.
“Give the ball a ride!”
“Kill it!”
“Hit it a mile!”
“Show them where you live!”
Erlich looked him over carefully and then tempted him with an out drop.
Bobby refused to bite.
The next came straight for his head and would have knocked him out had
not Bobby dropped to the ground like a flash.
“He’s trying to bean him,” came in angry shouts from the Rockledge part
of the stand.
Erlich, however, who, to do him justice, had no such intention, offered
an apology which Bobby accepted without question, as he dug his toes
into the ground and waited for the next offering.
It came in the form of a wide outcurve which failed to cut the plate and
went for a ball.
Bobby now was on “easy street,” for there were three balls and no
strikes, and his opponent had to put them over.
The next ball was to Bobby’s liking, half way between the knee and
waist. He swung at it, caught it full and fair, and the ball started off
toward right.
Down to first Bobby ran with the speed of a frightened jack-rabbit. He
had rounded the bag before he dared to look for the ball. There it was,
soaring along like a bird, while both the right and center fielders had
turned their backs and were racing after it. He knew it was a sure
three-bagger. Could he stretch it into a homer?
He rounded second and kept on toward third. How he ran! The wind
whistled in his ears. The stands were a blur of shouting figures who had
risen to their feet and were yelling like maniacs.
He touched third and saw out of the corner of his eye that the right
fielder had got the ball and was steadying himself for the throw. It was
to be a race between him and the ball. Then he straightened himself out
for home, and now indeed his feet had wings.
On and on he went like an arrow. But the ball was coming, too. He knew
it by the way the catcher threw aside his mask and settled himself for
the catch. He knew it by the frantic yells of his comrades urging him
on.
Twenty feet from the bag he launched himself into the air and slid into
the plate in a cloud of dust. At the same instant he heard the thud of
the ball in the catcher’s glove. But the ball was a fraction of a second
too late.
“Safe!” cried the umpire, and Bobby rose to his feet, panting but
smiling, to have what little breath was left knocked out of him by the
hugging and mauling of his exulting mates.
Shiner had preceded him to the plate. The next batter struck out, and
the score was now 5 to 3 in favor of Rockledge.
And there it remained, for Bobby simply refused to be cheated out of the
victory and fanned the Belden boys in a row as fast as they came to the
plate.
Then when the last batsman had thrown down the stick in disgust, the
rejoicing Rockledge crowds surged down over the field and despite
Bobby’s laughing protestations hoisted him on their shoulders and
carried him about the field, dancing and yelling until their throats
were hoarse.
“You were the whole cheese, Bobby,” declared Fred with his usual lack of
elegance of speech.
“You had the Indian sign on them,” chortled Pee Wee.
“You tamed them good and proper,” jubilated Mouser.
“Where, oh, where is Belden now?” chanted Billy.
“Don’t forget that they played a good game,” put in Bobby generously.
“Sure they did,” agreed Pee Wee. “But we played a better.”
Dr. Raymond, who was feeling almost as delighted as the boys themselves,
congratulated the team heartily, reserving especially warm praise for
Bobby.
Mr. Carrier, too, took both of Bobby’s hands in his.
“You played wonderful ball to-day, Blake,” he said. “It was the hardest
fight we’ve had yet, but you came through it nobly. You kept your nerve
in situations that would have tested a veteran, and we’re all proud of
you.”
“I’m afraid you make too much of it, Mr. Carrier,” replied Bobby. “The
main thing is that the pennant is safe for another year at Rockledge
School.”