AT THE CRITICAL MOMENT.
“Start her up, Crock! Start her up, old boy! Start her up!” cried
Roberts, as the first Fairport batter walked out.
“Show us ’ow you do it,” invited Billy Bradley.
“Dern my picter! I am afraid of that dozen runs they are going to git!”
piped Obediah Tubbs.
“Put it over, captain, old boy, and see what they will do with it,”
urged Bob Singleton.
“Let her sis-sis-sis-sizz!” chattered Jolliby, as he reached centre
field. “We’re all watching yer!”
“Put her into the old pocket, pard!” rumbled Buckhart, holding up his
big mitt behind the bat.
Dick began with a speedy one, close to Crockett’s knees.
“One ball!” called the umpire.
“What are you trying to do?” muttered Crockett. “Trying to take my props
off?”
“Wee! wee!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs, prancing around like a baby
elephant. “Near skinned him of his kneecaps that time!”
A high ball followed. To Crockett it seemed as if the ball would pass
over the plate level with his shoulders. As he swung to meet it the ball
seemed to take a singular outward and upward sweep, and he missed.
“What sort of a curve was that?” growled Anson, who had been watching
closely. “Looked like a high out-rise to me.”
“Out-rise!” sneered Warren. “Who ever heard of an out-rise?”
“Well, that’s what it looked like,” nodded Anson. “You know this fellow
has some mighty odd curves.”
“Well, we’re ready for his old jump ball to-day,” retorted Warren.
“We’ve practiced to hit a sharp rise, and he will find his jump ball n.
g.”
“But you know he has a queer combination rise and drop,” said Milliken.
“Don’t know anything of the kind,” asserted Warren. “It’s an
impossibility. The way he delivers a ball makes it seem to rise and
drop, that’s all.”
“Well, anyhow, he has the reputation of throwing it,” said Milliken.
Crockett was anxious to start the thing with a hit, and Dick found
himself compelled to work cautiously with the fellow, for, even though
desiring a hit, the batter was one who refused to be deceived by
ordinary methods.
With three balls and two strikes called, the batter and pitcher paused
an instant to look hard at each other.
There was a hush.
With his toe on the very outer edge of the slab at one side of his box,
Merriwell suddenly rose to his full height in the air, stretched his arm
far upward as he brought it over, and the ball left his hand at the
moment when he seemed reaching highest in the air. Downward from that
height the sphere shot toward the outside corner of the plate, over
which it passed about a foot from the ground.
It was a most deceptive ball to strike at, for it passed over the plate
at least a foot lower than expected by the batter, who swung hard for it
and missed.
Buckhart was close under the stick, and the ball plunked into his big
mitt.
“You’re out!” declared the umpire.
Crockett retired to the bench, flinging aside his bat.
“Say,” he muttered, “this fellow has some new wrinkles this year. He
threw one or two queer ones that time. Did you see that last ball? I
don’t know how I missed it.”
“It was a drop, wasn’t it?” asked Anson.
“Drop—nothing! It was a straight ball, but he threw it with his hand
stretched high, and it came down at an angle and on a line. Next time I
will be watching for it.”
“Well, there’s your first batter gone, Bessie,” said Zona Desmond. “He
didn’t hit the ball, did he!”
“They can’t all hit,” retorted Zona’s cousin. “But you watch Dustan! He
never strikes out!”
“Oh, doesn’t he?”
“No, indeed!”
“Perhaps he will this time.”
“It will be the first time this year, if he does.”
Dustan was watching for Merriwell’s jump ball, against which all
Fairport players had been warned, and for which they had practiced
batting against a professional pitcher who could throw a quick rise.
Something led Dustan to fancy Merriwell had thrown the jump at the very
start, for the first ball came speeding in almost shoulder high.
The batter made an instantaneous calculation and struck above the course
of the ball.
To his surprise, he swung over it by at least eight inches.
“Hang it!” he whispered to himself. “That was a straight one! If I had
known, I might have knocked the cover off!”
Zona Desmond pinched her cousin.
“He didn’t hit it that time,” she said.
“That’s all right,” confidently returned Bessie. “I have seen him get a
hit lots of times after two strikes were called on him. It seems to put
him on his mettle to have two strikes on him.”
Dustan had a “good eye,” and he refused to wiggle his bat at the next
two balls, both of which were wide. Then he saw Merriwell make the same
movements as he did on delivering the first ball, and instantly Dustan
calculated on another straight one. Apparently he had made no
miscalculation, but the ball took a sharp drop just in time to prevent
him from hitting it.
“Two strikes!” sang the umpire.
“There he goes! There he goes!” laughed Zona, giving Bessie a little
shake. “What do you think about it now?”
“I think just the same,” was the confident answer. “Even if he doesn’t
get a safe hit, he will hit the ball.”
“Do you believe he will hit it, Doris?” asked Zona.
Doris did not reply. In fact, she did not hear the question. Her eyes
were fastened on Dick Merriwell, and she was deaf to the words of her
nearby friends.
“Ye-ee-ee!” squealed Tubbs, once more prancing about awkwardly. “What
you trying to do, captain? Why don’t you give us fellers a show? We’re
all going to sleep out here!”
“Don’t worry, Fatty,” advised a Fairport spectator; “you will have all
you want of it before this game is over.”
“Do tell!” grinned Obed. “Won’t that be just splendid! Anybody got a pie
in his pocket? I’m hungry.”
“There is a pie in the box doing the pitching,” laughed the same
spectator. “Our boys will feed off him before the game is over.”
“Dustan will get a hit now,” averred another watching youth.
Dustan was on his nerve. He set his feet firmly and gripped his bat,
while he watched every move made by the Fardale pitcher. He saw Dick go
through the motions of delivering a swift ball, and apparently such a
ball followed. It came straight enough and seemingly just where the
batter wanted it, whereupon he slashed at it. To his unspeakable
surprise the ball seemed to halt and hang in the air in such a manner
that he struck too soon. Too late he realized this, and his rage caused
him to hurl the bat to the ground as he heard the ball strike with the
usual plunk in the catcher’s big mitt.
Dustan had struck out for the first time that season.
Zona Desmond actually pounded her cousin on the shoulder.
“There, there!” she palpitated. “What do you think about it now?”
Bessie could not conceal her surprise and dismay.
“Why, I don’t see how it happened!” she said.
“You will see lots more things just like that happen to-day,” asserted
Zona, whose courage had now risen to the highest point.
“Oh, the game is young yet! Here comes Captain Roberts.”
“And Captain Roberts is third on the list,” asserted the exuberant
Fardale girl. “They retire in order this inning.”
Roberts was a first-class hitter, and he connected with the first ball
pitched, driving it swiftly along the ground.
Darrell got in front of the ball, but, somehow, he let it go through his
hands, and it sped on over the short grass outside the diamond.
A groan came from the little bunch of Fardale boys on the bleachers.
“Wasn’t that a shame!” exclaimed Zona Desmond. “Why didn’t he stop that
ball, Doris?”
Doris shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “You know such things will happen.”
But in her heart the feeling of doubt and anxiety was rapidly
increasing.
Roberts, by swift running, reached second, as Darrell had not been
backed up by a fielder, and there was some delay in returning the ball
to the diamond.
Pausing on second, the captain of the home team shouted with laughter.
“Why didn’t you strike me out?” he derisively inquired.
“Dern your picter!” said Tubbs. “You ought to be out! You didn’t get a
hit! You made them two bases on an error!”
“But your shortstop never touched the ball.”
“If he didn’t,” said Tubbs, “he ought ter have touched it. There wasn’t
anything to prevent.”
Dick caught the fat boy’s eye and shook his head warningly. To Darrell
he made no complaint.
Hal was a trifle pale, and he had turned toward Dick as if expecting a
reprimand, holding himself ready to retort.
“Right after him, Conway!” cried Roberts, dancing about close to second
base. “A clean hit ties the score.”
For the first time, after throwing two called balls to the next batter,
Dick tried the jump ball. Of course, he was not aware that the Fairport
batters had been putting in special practice at hitting a sharp rise.
This was exactly what Conway had been wishing for, and he hit the ball
hard and fair. Out over the infield on a line it sped, somewhat to the
right of centre field. Had it been a high fly Jolliby might have secured
it. Being a liner, Chip could not get to it, and it went bounding past
him. He raced after it, while Roberts came home and Conway went to
second.
Conway, like Darrell, fancied he saw an opportunity to stretch the hit
into a three-bagger. In fact, he fancied there was a bare possibility he
might reach home on it. With this thought in his mind, he passed over
second and kept on toward third.
Jolliby caught up the ball and whirled swiftly toward the diamond. He
saw that the runner was making for third. To the spectators it did not
seem that Conway could be prevented from reaching that bag.
Then Chip made one of those famous throws of his. Without losing a
moment of time, he sent the ball on a line from his position far out
into the field straight to third base. An ordinary thrower would have
thrown it in to Tubbs, who was the nearest infielder. Had this been
done, Conway must have reached third in safety, but the ball came
straight into the hands of Bradley, who caught it about a foot from the
ground and quickly put it onto Conway, who had made a slide, under
orders from the coacher.
“Out at third!” declared the umpire.
A shout of joy arose from the little knot of Fardale boys.
The score was tied at the end of the first inning, each side having
obtained a tally.
“You see, some one else can make the same kind of a mistake, Merriwell,”
said Darrell, as he walked in to the bench. “I haven’t heard Roberts
kicking at Conway.”
“No one is kicking at you, Darrell,” replied Dick quietly. “It’s all
right. You were doing your best, and that’s all any fellow can do.”
Still Hal did not seem satisfied. In truth, strange though it is, he
might have been better satisfied had Dick condemned his carelessness in
getting put out in the first inning.
Jolliby picked out his pet bat and was ready to take his place at the
plate.
“Don’t try any slugging, Chip,” advised Dick in a low tone. “Just go
after a clean single, or be contented to take a base if you can get it.”
The lanky boy walked into the batter’s box and was ready as Warren
crouched behind the stick and gave the signal.
Ware threw three balls in succession without tempting Jolliby to swing
at one of them.
“Got him in a hole, Chip!” exclaimed Barron Black. “Make him put it
over!”
Chip stood and watched two straight ones cut the plate.
“I wonder if you will dud-dud-dud-do that again!” he stuttered, as he
gripped his bat.
“I can try it,” retorted Ware.
Apparently the pitcher threw another straight one, but it was a sharp
drop, and Chip missed.
“That’s what a fuf-fuf-fuf-feller gits fer waiting!” he chattered, as he
retired in deep disgust to the bench.
“That’s playing the game,” asserted Dick. “Any batter who will swing at
the ball after having three balls called by the umpire without any
strikes doesn’t know his business.”
“Well, if you’re sus-sus-satisfied,” said Chip, “I don’t
sus-sus-sus-suppose I got any kuk-kuk-kuk-kick coming.”
Bessie Dale was laughing.
“You see how easy that was for Jack Ware,” she said. “He is just
beginning to pitch now.”
“Oh, he won’t keep that up,” said Zona. “He was careless. See those
clouds in the west? I am afraid we’re going to have a shower before this
game is over.”
“Better pray for it to come before five innings are finished,” said
Bessie. “If it doesn’t you will lose the game.”
“You’re not ahead of us now.”
“We will be pretty soon.”
Ware did his best to deceive big Bob Singleton, but Bob got in one of
his lucky cracks and lined out a beautiful three-bagger. He would have
tried to make it a homer, but Dick was on hand at the coach line back of
third base and stopped him there.
There was a shout of derisive laughter from the Fairport boys as Obediah
Tubbs waddled out to strike.
“Laff! Dern your picters!” shrilled the fat boy indignantly. “Mebbe you
will laff out t’other corner of your mouth pritty soon!”
Then, in a desperate endeavor to hit the first ball pitched, Obed swung
with such violence that he was thrown off his feet, for he missed
entirely. The bat flew out of his hands and sailed into the middle of
the diamond, while he fell flat on his back, with a great grunt, as if
the breath had been jarred from his body.
At this there was another shout of laughter.
“Pick up the poor little thing!” cried one.
“Hit it where you missed it, Fatty,” advised another.
“Look out for his bat!” shrieked a third. “He’ll kill somebody with it!”
“Ding your old ground!” squeaked Obediah, as he rolled over and
awkwardly rose to his feet. “It ain’t solid nohow! It wiggles!”
Roberts gravely brought the bat to Tubbs, presenting it to him with a
profound bow.
“You may not need it,” he said. “It may not do you any good, but here it
is.”
“Oh, you think I won’t need it, do you?” piped the corpulent lad
indignantly. “Well, I’ll show you!”
When Roberts was again in position, Ware once more whistled a ball over,
and a second time Obediah struck, missed, and threw his bat. This time
it went spinning down toward third, and Macon made a comedy run to get
out of the way.
“It’s a plot!” shouted Roberts. “He is trying to kill our team or maim
us so we can’t play the game.”
“Drat that bat!” said Obediah. “This is the golldingedest, slipperyest
thing I ever got holt of!”
Once more it was returned to him.
Ware was laughing. He regarded the fat boy with derision, fancying
Obediah could not hit effectively unless by a blundering chance. This
led the pitcher to use a swift straight ball, over the centre of the
plate, and what followed caused him to come near collapsing, for this
time Tubbs’ bat fell on the ball with a sharp report, and the liner that
was driven out could not be caught by any one.
“Laff! Dern your picters—laff!” squealed Obed, as he wildly ran down to
first, his short arms held out at an angle from his shoulders and his
hands pawing at the air as if seeking to assist in propelling him along.
If any one fancied Obediah would be satisfied to stop at first he was
mistaken, for the fat boy streaked on over the bag, darted promptly to
the left, and made for second. Conway secured the ball and threw it
swiftly to Crockett.
Crockett fancied he would have plenty of time to tag Tubbs, for he did
not conceive that the fat boy would attempt to slide. Such an attempt,
however, Tubbs made, and Crockett tagged him a moment too late, for
Tubbs lay with his hand on the bag as he was touched with the ball.
Then the little Fardale crowd rose and cheered in earnest, shouting
Obediah’s name.
Singleton had scored on the hit.
When the ball was tossed to Ware he angrily threw it on the ground at
his feet and walked around it.
“Talk about your horseshoes!” he growled. “That was the worst accident
that ever happened!”
“He! he!” exclaimed Obediah, as he rose to his feet. “Fooled you that
time, Mr. Pitcher! You’re pretty slick yourself, but you can be fooled!”
Buckhart was the next batter.
Apparently Ware continued to be very angry, and he did not seem to give
much attention to Tubbs. This being the case, Obediah edged off from
second, elated over his success and feeling a strong desire to create
further enthusiasm by stealing to third.
Suddenly Warren put his hand up to his mask, as if to change it as he
crouched under the bat.
Instantly Ware whirled and snapped the ball into the hands of Roberts,
who had darted past Tubbs and was in position to receive the throw and
tag Obediah before the fat boy could get back to the bag.
The coacher had uttered a cry of warning, but it came too late.
“Out at second!” announced the umpire.
Then the Fairport crowd had a chance to cheer.
Tubbs looked ashamed and disgusted as he walked from the field.
“Dern my picter!” he kept muttering over and over to himself, paying no
attention whatever to the derisive laughter and words of the spectators.
“Carelessness, Tubbs,” said Dick. “You haven’t been trapped that way
before this year.”
“And I won’t be ag’in,” promised Obediah.
Buckhart was disgusted by what had happened, but, nevertheless, he hit
the ball hard and fair, lifting it far into left field.
After a sharp run, Milliken caught it, and Fardale’s last chance in the
second inning had vanished.
In her half of this inning Fairport made a strong bid for a run, getting
a man safe on third; but Dick’s pitching proved too much for them, and
Ware, the last hitter, went out on a weak pop fly.
“There!” said Zona Desmond, nudging her cousin. “You see we’re one score
ahead on even innings! Let the shower come! If it doesn’t hurry too
much, I fancy we will be ahead when the game stops. How many innings
make a game?”
“Why, five, of course,” said Bessie.
“Then they will have to play three more, or it will be no game. My, I
don’t believe they will have time! That shower is coming, and it is
coming fast.”
“Your side had a lot of luck that time,” declared Bessie, who was still
confident; “but you can’t always make runs by luck.”
“What do you call luck?” asked Zona.
“Why, wasn’t it luck when that big fat boy hit the ball?”
“I guess not! He’s a good batter!”
“He looks it!” tittered Bessie.
“He is, isn’t he, Doris?”
“What did you say?” asked Doris.
“My goodness! You haven’t opened your lips since the game began! And you
don’t even seem to know we’re here! What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” answered the girl questioned. But both her companions could
see that there was something the matter.
In the third inning Dick led off with a clean hit. Black sacrificed him
to second. Bradley tried hard to line the ball out, but finally fanned.
Ware was of the opinion that Dave Flint was dangerous, and in trying to
fool the boy with the scar he finally gave Flint a pass to first.
Again Darrell came up.
Doris Templeton caught her breath.
“Hit it, Hal!” she murmured.
“Oh, he won’t get a hit!” declared Bessie Dale. “He’s a nice fellow, but
he can’t hit Jack Ware.”
Hal slashed at the ball in a reckless manner without seeming to use
judgment. He missed the first three pitched and was out in such short
order that every one was surprised for a moment.
Flint and Merriwell had been left on the bases.
“That’s the time you handed ’em hot, Jack, old man!” cried Roberts.
The home team once more started with the head of the batting order.
Crockett refused to be fooled as he had been in the first inning, and
finally caught a good one on the end of his bat, lifting it over the
infield.
Tubbs ran back for it, but caught his heel and fell down just as the
ball would have struck his hands. Crockett crossed first and saw Obediah
wildly pawing around in the grass at his feet in search of the ball.
Immediately the runner turned and scudded toward second.
Obed had one eye rolled up toward first, and, as soon as Crockett was
well down toward second, which had been covered by Darrell, the fat boy
picked up the ball and gave it a snap toward the base without rising to
his feet.
Crockett was trapped and would have been in a bad place, but the ball
struck on the end of Hal’s fingers and bounded off.
The runner laughed with derisive relief as he reached the bag.
“Why didn’t you take your time, Tubbs?” demanded Darrell. “You had an
hour. You snapped that ball so quick I wasn’t ready for the throw.”
Not a word did Obediah retort, but the look on his face expressed a
great deal.
Dustan now came up and attempted to sacrifice Crockett to third. In
trying to do this the batter made a little slow bunt that rolled along
the first base line.
Singleton ran in for the ball, but fancied it would roll foul and
paused, letting Dustan go to first. The ball struck a slight rise and
rolled over the chalk mark into the diamond, where it finally stopped.
It was a fair hit.
“Well! well! well!” laughed Roberts. “We’re doing it this time!”
“Talk about ’orseshoes!” exclaimed Billy Bradley. “You must ’ave your
pockets full!”
“Pitch the ball! pitch the ball!” cried Roberts, who had observed the
rising cloud and feared the shower would break before five innings had
been played. “Make him pitch the ball, Mr. Umpire!”
When Dick did pitch the ball Dustan started for second, Crockett having
reached third.
Unhesitatingly Buckhart lined the sphere down to Tubbs.
Crockett jumped off third, as if determined to make a dash for the home
plate.
Tubbs did not wait for Dustan, who had paused, but returned the ball to
Buckhart.
Crockett had whirled and plunged back toward third.
Dustan reached second.
Seeing this, Buckhart snapped the ball to Bradley, who put it onto
Crockett, but the umpire declared the man safe.
“There you are!” laughed Roberts. “That was all right, boys!”
There was a muttering of thunder in the west.
Roberts managed to hit a sharp grounder that went out between second and
third. It was a clean hit, and on it both Crockett and Dustan scored.
Not one of the home team was out.
“That wasn’t my fault,” said Darrell. “He hit you that time, Captain
Merriwell.”
Dick used speed for Conway, who, pretending to make an effort to avoid a
close one, permitted himself to be hit. Although this seemed apparent,
the umpire allowed him to take first.
Macon tried hard for a hit, but Dick was too much for the fellow, and he
struck out.
“They’ve sus-sus-sus-stopped right here!” yelled Jolliby.
Milliken slashed away twice without finding anything more than the empty
air, which led Roberts to growl at him. The fellow swung by guess at the
very next ball, without using the least judgment and really seeming to
shut his eyes. What followed was one of those rare accidental hits that
are made by incompetent batters. Had the fellow sought to met Dick’s
sharp curve, using his best judgment in doing so, it is likely he would
have missed cleanly. As it was, he hit the ball and drove it out on a
line for two bases, which was as much a surprise to himself as to any
one else. Two more scores came in, making four in the third inning for
Fairport.
The thunder rumbled nearer.
“Hustle this thing, fellows!” panted Roberts. “We’ve got this game
nailed! You can hold them down, can’t you, Ware?”
“Sure!” answered Ware.
“Fan, Anson—fan!” hissed the captain of the home team.
Immediately Anson struck out, and Warren followed his example.
Believing they had the game safely in hand, the home players were doing
their best to hurry through five innings.
The visitors saw their design, and Dick urged his men to go after the
ball earnestly at the beginning of the fourth. Jolliby did his best, but
was thrown out at first. Singleton lifted a fly that was captured. Tubbs
reached first on an error, and Buckhart lifted a foul back of third that
was secured by Macon. Fardale’s chance in the fourth was passed.
The clouds were hanging black overhead now, and a few sprinkles of rain
came pattering down.
“What shall I do, captain?” asked Ware of Roberts, as he picked up his
bat.
“Fan,” answered Roberts. “Get out just as quick as you can.”
Ware obeyed, and both Crockett and Dustan did the same thing, much to
Buckhart’s disgust.
“Waugh!” exploded the Texan. “What sort of an old baseball game is this
yere? Are you chaps playing a kids’ game? Why don’t you play ball?”
“That will be all right!” laughed Roberts. “Just you fellows play one
more inning. That’s all we want.”
Then, as his team took the field, he again urged them to hold Fardale
down.
Merriwell again led off with a handsome clean drive for one bag. Black
strained every nerve to get a hit, but popped up an infield fly, on
which Dick stuck to first and Barron was declared out.
The raindrops came thicker. There was a flash of lightning, and the
thunder rumbled more nearly overhead. Still the spectators lingered,
wishing to see that inning through.
Bradley finally got a safe hit, and Flint worked Ware for a pass to
first, which filled the bases.
At this critical point Darrell again came up.
A long hit might tie the score.
Would Darrell make it?
Dick was watching him closely and anxiously. Twice Hal struck, seeming
to try hard to hit the ball, but when he swung the third time Dick felt
certain he made an effort to miss. He was out.
It depended on Jolliby now. Chip was rather pale as he gripped his bat
and took his position. The second ball pitched he hit hard and fair.
At the same moment there was another flash of lightning, and the thunder
followed it quickly.
The men on bases ran without stopping to see the result, for with two
out there was no reason why they should hesitate.
Conway ran hard to get under the ball, and, as it was coming down,
leaped high into the air and caught it.
A great shout of joy arose from the Fairport crowd, for in Fardale’s
half of the fifth inning she had made no scores, and Fairport was three
ahead.
If the final half could be played out before the rain fell heavily
Fairport would win the game.
Roberts shouted for his men to hurry in, and Buckhart rushed to Dick,
urging him to delay as much as possible.
“We’re beaten if you don’t, for she’s going to rain in a minute. Hold
her up, if you can.”
Then the Texan himself fumbled and fooled with his body protector in
adjusting it until Roberts angrily called the umpire’s attention and
demanded that Fardale be made to play.
“Trot out your batter!” said Dick. “We will play.”
“He is waiting,” said Roberts. “Why don’t you go ahead and pitch?”
“Yes, go ahead and pitch!” palpitated Buckhart, suddenly getting under
the bat, as he saw Conway in position to strike.
Conway was not the right hitter. Roberts was the man, and Buckhart knew
it.
At this point the scorer for the home team discovered the mistake and
invited Roberts to hasten into the batters’ box.
Even as he did so, the heavens seemed to open and the rain came down in
torrents.
“Time!” called the umpire, and the players scudded for shelter, while
the crowd on the bleachers followed their example.
“Now,” said Buckhart, “let her rain thirty minutes! That’s all we ask!”
It did rain thirty minutes. In fact, it rained an hour before stopping,
and the umpire declared it no game.