DARRELL CALLED INTO THE GAME.
Fairport’s new grand stand was filled long before the time arrived for
the game with Fardale to begin.
As Hal Darrell entered he was both surprised and pleased to see, seated
together, three girls, two of whom he knew, for they were Doris
Templeton and Zona Desmond.
Zona smiled on Hal and bowed to him, but Doris seemed anxiously watching
the Fardale players, who were grouped about their captain, near the
bench.
“Oh, Doris!” cried Zona; “here is Hal! I say, here is Hal, Doris! Are
you asleep?”
The girl addressed gave a slight start and greeted Hal with a fleeting
smile and a welcoming word.
“This is my cousin, Miss Dale, Mr. Darrell,” said Zona. “She lives here,
you know, and that’s how Doris and I happened to be here to-day.”
Hal bowed, cap in hand.
Bessie Dale, a freckled, vivacious, lively little girl, gave him a smile
and a nod.
“I suppose you came to see your team beaten to-day, didn’t you?” she
said, laughing.
“I expect so,” was his surprising answer.
“You don’t mean it, Hal!” cried Doris quickly.
“Why not?” he said. “Fairport has been winning right along this season,
and Fardale might be in better shape.”
“What’s the matter?” Doris questioned. “I knew something was wrong. I
could tell it by their actions.”
“Oh, I don’t know that there is anything particular the matter, but the
whole team is in bad shape. It has struck one of those streaks when a
team goes down hill. They have fallen off in their batting and in their
fielding.”
“I told you Fairport would win to-day,” said Bessie Dale. “Of course, I
am sorry for you girls, and I know you think your great Captain
Merriwell can’t be defeated.”
Doris made a place at her side, and Hal sat down.
“Can’t you find out what the trouble is?” she asked.
“I am not particularly anxious about it,” he indifferently retorted,
speaking in a low tone. “In fact, I don’t care a rap if Mr. Merriwell
does get his bumps to-day.”
“How can you say so, Hal! I don’t understand you!”
“I have good reasons,” he grimly retorted. “I have heard a few things
lately. He needn’t take me for a chump.”
“I am sure he doesn’t, Hal.”
“And I fail to see why you should be so greatly interested in him. If
you knew everything——”
Darrell checked himself, as if fearing he would say too much.
“If I knew everything!” palpitated Doris. “Why, I know that it is
Fardale against Fairport, and you are a Fardale boy! Isn’t Dick in
condition to pitch to-day?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You know he has not been in the best condition lately. Oh, Hal, why
didn’t you stick to baseball? You might be in the game, and you were a
good pitcher.”
“If I had stuck to it I’d not pitch this game,” he declared.
Believing Hal constantly loyal to Fardale, these words from him
continued to puzzle Doris.
“Why, I am sure you would do anything to win for your own team.”
“Under certain conditions I would. But I, like others, have grown weary
of doing things for which another person gets all the credit.”
“I wish you would explain!” she exclaimed, her annoyance increasing.
“You’re not a bit like yourself to-day, Hal! I am surprised at you!”
“Some time I will explain—perhaps. When I do you will understand. I have
heard things that have opened my eyes.”
“You can’t believe all you hear, Hal.”
“Well, I have seen things, too.”
At this moment Merriwell was seen approaching the grand stand.
“Wonder what he wants!” muttered Darrell.
Dick entered and came up to them, bowing and lifting his cap.
“What’s the matter?” asked Zona. “Is it anything serious?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “I am glad to see you and Doris here at
the game. It’s a surprise.”
Zona then introduced him to her cousin, and in her tantalizing way
Bessie Dale said:
“This gives me an opportunity to offer you my sympathy in advance, Mr.
Merriwell. Of course, you know our boys are going to win to-day. They
haven’t lost a game since getting their new suits.”
“Well, it’s about time their streak was broken,” retorted Dick. “I thank
you for your sympathy, but hope we will not need it.”
“Oh, but you will! You haven’t seen Jack Ware pitch this year! All the
fellows say he is a perfect wizard, and I hear your team is not batting
very well now.”
“You may hear almost anything, Miss Dale. I say, Hal, can’t you give us
a lift to-day? We need you.”
“Need me!” muttered Darrell in surprise. “Why do you need me?”
“Gardner was taken ill on his way here, and is too sick to play. He is
out there, but he says he can’t go into the game.”
“Well, you have a substitute.”
“Yes, but not a man who can fill his place, without shifting the team
around, which is a bad thing. I want to keep the boys in their regular
positions.”
“Well, you know I am not in practice.”
“You have practiced some. You have been out a few times with the team.”
“All the same, I am not in shape to play, and I don’t care to go into a
game and make an exhibition of myself.”
“You will not make an exhibition of yourself. You can play at short if
you will, and it will fill the gap left by Gardner. I know you want to
see us win this game. You will do this—for old Fardale?”
“I can’t,” persisted Darrell.
In a moment Doris’ hand fell on his arm.
“Please do, Hal,” she urged anxiously.
He saw a look exchanged between her and Dick, and somehow it made his
blood hot.
“What if I go out there and lose the game?” he exclaimed.
“If you do no one can blame you,” said Doris.
“Certainly not,” agreed Dick. “All we can expect of you is that you will
do your best for the old school. You can get into Gardner’s suit in time
for the game. Come on, Darrell!”
A moment more Hal hesitated, but at last he rose.
“All right!” he half growled. “I will play, but I don’t stand for any
kicks after the game.”
He followed Dick from the grand stand, and they were joined by Gardner,
who looked pale and ill, indeed. Beneath the grand stand there was a
dressing room, and to this they repaired in order that Hal and Earl
might exchange garments.
“I am sorry one of your players is ill,” said Bessie Dale. “You will
have that as an excuse for your defeat.”
“Not at all!” quickly retorted Doris. “Hal can play as well as Gardner.
He might have been a better player if he had kept at it. The team will
not be weakened by taking him on.”
“That’s right,” said Zona. “Still, I am beginning to feel as if Fairport
might win.”
At this Bessie laughed outright.
“You will feel more so after you see them play a while,” she averred.
After a short time Dick and Hal emerged from the dressing room and
hurried to join the Fardale players. As they walked out Merriwell said:
“I am going to change the batting order to-day, Darrell. Gardner has
been batting at the head of the list. He was a good man to lead off. I
am going to put you in fourth place, which is a more important
position.”
To this Darrell made no reply.
Following is the batting order of both teams as given to the scorers:
FARDALE. FAIRPORT.
Black, lf. Crockett, 2d b.
Bradley, 3d b. Dustan, rf.
Flint, rf. Roberts, ss.
Darrell, ss. Conway, cf.
Jolliby, cf. Macon, 3d b.
Singleton, 1st b. Milliken, lf.
Tubbs, 2d b. Anson, 1st b.
Buckhart, c. Warren, c.
Merriwell, p. Ware, p.
Roberts, Macon, and Anson were three new men on the home team; otherwise
the team was about the same as it had been the year before.
Preliminary practice on both sides was sharp and snappy, and it keyed
the spectators up to a point of intense interest and eagerness.
Five minutes after the time set for the game to begin the umpire walked
out to his position and Fairport trotted onto the field.
“Now they start!” exclaimed Zona. “Oh, girls, isn’t it awfully exciting!
I am just as nervous as I can be!”
“I can’t blame you,” smiled Bessie Dale in that tantalizing manner of
hers. “It’s natural you should be. But I am not. See how calm and
confident I am.”
“How do you feel, Doris?” asked Zona.
Doris could not have described her feelings had she tried. Somehow there
was in her heart a sense of doubt and dread. An inward voice seemed
warning her that all was not as it should be.
“Play ball!” cried the umpire.
“Now we’re off!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “Git right after her, fellers!”
A year before Ware had been rather slender and slight, but in the last
twelve months he had developed wonderfully, and was now a rather
well-built chap. With the ball in his hands, which were pressed together
in front of his breast, he settled himself on his feet with his toe upon
the slab.
Barron Black took his place at the plate, and barely was he in position
when the Fairport player delivered the ball, which whistled past the
batter’s shoulders, so near that the latter was driven back a little.
Warren snapped the ball back to Ware, who sent it in a second time with
astonishing quickness, catching Barron slightly off his balance and thus
securing a called strike.
Instantly Dick spoke to the players near him on the bench.
“Look out for that trick of his, boys. You saw how he worked it. Don’t
let him play that on you. Be ready for the next one when he drives you
back with an inshoot.”
With two strikes and two balls called, Black hit a hot one along the
ground between Macon and Roberts. Macon managed to touch it so that it
was deflected and bounded straight into Roberts’ hands.
The shortstop sent it humming across to first, and the leading Fardale
batter was out.
“There you are!” shouted the Fairport crowd. “That’s the way we do it!”
“’Ow hunfortunate!” muttered Billy Bradley, as he walked into the
batter’s box.
Billy got a wide one and let it pass for a ball. Then came a swift
inshoot that made him jump away, and once more Warren snapped the ball
to Ware, who instantly returned it.
Bradley had remembered Dick’s cautioning words, and he was not fooled by
this piece of business. The ball was a straight, swift one, and he met
it with a resounding crack. Out on a line it went, but Roberts thrust up
his bare right hand and gathered it in with a—spat!
It was swift and beautiful work, and the crowd had good cause to cheer
heartily.
“’Orseshoes!” shouted Bradley, who had dropped his bat and started for
first, only to stop suddenly when he witnessed the spectacular one-hand
catch.
“Didn’t I tell you, girls!” laughed Bessie Dale.
“You told us,” admitted Doris. “But both of our boys hit your wizard of
a pitcher.”
“They hit the ball, but they didn’t get safe hits. Safe hits count, you
know.”
“Had that last one been six inches higher Bradley would have made two
bases on it,” asserted Doris.
“Oh, yes, if, if!” said Bessie. “But if’s don’t count in this game.”
Dave Flint took his place to strike.
“Here’s your third victim, Jack, old boy!” bellowed Anson, from first
base. “He is just as easy as the others.”
Ware smiled in a confident manner. He threw the first ball straight at
Dave’s head, but Flint avoided it with ease. The next one was a drop,
and the boy with the scar gently lifted it over the infield for a safe
single.
“There! there!” breathed Doris Templeton. “Now you see!”
“Here comes Hal!” exclaimed Zona. “What will he do?”
“Oh, I hope he gets a hit!” exclaimed Doris, her hands pressed together
and her anxiety betrayed in her face.
“Jack Ware won’t let him,” retorted Bessie Dale. “Jack never lets any
one get a hit off him at a critical time.”
“This isn’t critical yet,” said Zona. “This is only the beginning of the
game.”
“That’s true,” nodded Bessie. “If he did get a hit it isn’t likely your
team could score off it.”
“Well! well! well! what’s this?” cried Roberts, dancing around in his
position back of the base line between second and third.
“Fruit!” roared Anson, stooping and pounding his mitt with his fist.
“Ripe fruit! Pluck it, Jack, old boy!”
“He’s a pitcher, Ware!” said Macon. “Pitchers can’t hit a house! You’ve
got him!”
“Put them right over the pan!” roared Conway from centre field. “We’re
all behind you.”
“He never got a hit in his life,” asserted Crockett. “We have seen him
before.”
Now, whatever had been Hal’s intention on walking out to the plate,
suddenly a flash of anger came into his eyes and his jaw squared. Ware
sent a high one humming past Hal’s head, whereupon the latter looked
skyward in a derisive manner.
“Hello! he is an astronomer!” chuckled Roberts. “He is looking for new
planets!”
“Fan the astronomer!” shouted Anson.
“Astronomer!” snickered Warren, as he crouched under the bat. “That fits
you, old man! You can hit a star easier than that ball!”
Again a high one sped through the air, and again Hal threw his head up
in the same contemptuous manner.
“Sus-sus-sus-say,” chattered Chip Jolliby, “don’t you want a
sus-sus-sus-stepladder, Darrell?”
“Get ’em down! Get ’em down!” growled Brad Buckhart.
“Keep those men still on the bench, Mr. Umpire!” cried Don Roberts,
captain of the home team. “They’re breaking the rules!”
Instantly Dick was on his feet. “You broke the rules first yourself!” he
declared. “You have no right to address the batter when he is in the
box! If you want to coach your pitcher, coach him; but confine your
remarks to proper coaching.”
Instantly there rose a cheer from the small crowd of Fardale spectators.
There were others who applauded and others who laughed and scoffed. This
made no difference to Dick, for he knew his position was right.
The umpire knew it, too, and he turned to Roberts, saying:
“If your team talks to the batter, you can’t object if the players talk
from the bench.”
“All right! all right!” snapped Roberts. “We’ll see who can do the most
talking to-day. I rather think they will get all they want of it.”
“That’s courtesy!” growled Brad Buckhart. “You hear me chirp! That’s
politeness! That’s being used handsomely when we’re away from home!”
“Never mind, old man,” said Dick, as he sat down. “We can stand it if we
run against nothing worse than that to-day. I don’t believe there is a
man on the team they can rattle by their talk.”
“Darrell is rattled now. Look at him! He is fighting mad!”
“I don’t believe he is rattled, just the same. I think he will hit the
ball, even if he doesn’t get a——”
Crack! Hal hit it. He hit it savagely, too, and it went out like a
bullet.
Flint was running when bat and ball met, and the speed of the stocky lad
as he dashed over second and tore down toward third was surprising to
all who did not know his ability.
It was a clean two-bagger, and as Hal dashed down to second he saw
Conway gathering up the ball. With the ball in Conway’s hands, good
judgment should have stopped Darrell at second base. Flint, however, had
crossed third and was trying to score. Darrell became ambitious to
stretch his two-base hit into a three-bagger, or his anger robbed him of
judgment, or perchance, he was reckless of consequences, for he kept on
toward third.
Conway lined the ball into Crockett’s hands. Crockett whirled, and a
single glance showed him it was too late to cut off the run.
“Third!” rang out Roberts’ clear voice. “Third it!”
On a dead line the ball sped from Crockett’s hands into those of Macon,
who put it onto Hal with ease.
This made the third man out.
“Well, of all the fool tricks!” muttered Buckhart, in disgust. “What
made him try that? Tubbs was squawking for him to hold second. He lost
his head completely.”
Dick said nothing, but somehow a strange feeling of uncertainty came
over him. As he walked out to the pitcher’s box he spoke to Hal, slowly
shaking his head.
“That was a mistake, Darrell,” he said. “You had a pretty two-bagger.
Should have anchored fast at second.”
“Are you beginning to kick so soon?” retorted Darrell in a low tone.
He did not wait for a reply from Dick, but turned his back and sought
his position.
“Oh, well! Oh, well!” cried Crockett. “One measly little run doesn’t
count in this game. Here’s where we go after a dozen.”
“Dern my picter! I hope you git um!” cried Obediah Tubbs derisively.
“We’ll stand round and watch yer while yer do it.”
“You see he did get a hit, Bessie!” triumphantly exclaimed Zona Desmond.
“Yes, and I saw him get out at third,” returned Zona’s cousin. “That was
fine playing, wasn’t it! What do you think of it, Doris?”
“I am afraid he tried for too much,” confessed Doris.
But in her heart there was another fear, of which she whispered no
suspicion.