DARRELL REDEEMS HIMSELF.
Never had any visiting team been more confident of success on Fardale
field than was Fairport when she faced the cadets on Wednesday. The
assurance of her supporters was demonstrated by the large number of
rooters who came with the team.
Both sides lined up for the contest just as they had on Saturday. For
Fardale, Darrell was again at short, in spite of suspicions and doubts.
Fairport went first to bat.
“No shower to-day!” laughed Roberts, as Crockett walked out to the
plate, his bat on his shoulder. “There will be no such good luck for
poor old Fardale!”
“Dern your picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “Mebbe you will be wishing
for a shower before this game is over.”
Dick was in the pitcher’s box.
“Right off—start right off, captain!” cried Black, from left field.
“Put hit hover!” urged Billy. “’E can’t ’it hanything!”
“Try his eye, old boy—try his eye!” urged Darrell.
“He is a mark,” averred Singleton.
“Right there, pard—right there!” said Buckhart, holding up his mitt.
Chester Arlington and Mel Fraser were sitting side by side. Chester
smiled derisively, and observed:
“For a dead cold fact, Merriwell beats anything I ever saw. I reckoned
he would be furious with Darrell, but he is letting the fellow into this
game. Wouldn’t that give you chilblains?”
“Do you suppose he knows what Darrell tried to do?” asked Mel Fraser.
“Oh, he has sense enough to know that!”
“Then why has he given him another show?”
“Ask me! I will never tell. There they go!”
Dick delivered the first ball and Crockett fouled it.
“That’s touching him!” chuckled Roberts. “You’ll hit it on the
trade-mark next time, Crock!”
The batter did hit the next ball, but it was one of those exasperating
pop flies which fell into Bradley’s hands, and Crockett retired to the
bench.
“Start us off, Dustan!” urged Roberts. “Give us a hit here! Let’s clinch
the game in the first inning.”
Up popped Ted Smart on the bleachers.
“Please don’t make too many runs in the first inning!” he entreated.
“Please don’t make more than ten or fifteen runs in this inning! Just
give us a little show! Don’t bury us at the very start! It isn’t fair.”
Dustan proved to be a good waiter and finally compelled Dick to put the
ball over. He then sent a swift one skimming along the ground, and Tubbs
failed to stop it. It was a safe hit.
“Here we go!” yelled Milliken, as he capered down to the coaching line.
“We’re off! We’re off!”
“Don’t mind that, captain,” said Darrell. “It doesn’t amount to
anything!”
Roberts was ready to strike.
“I wish he’d drive a hot one down to Darrell!” muttered Arlington.
“You’d see Darrell let it go. I will bet my life on that.”
Even as he spoke he had his wish. Roberts hit a savage grounder in
Darrell’s direction. It was not straight at Hal, but some distance to
one side. Apparently it could not be touched, although Darrell made a
spring for it.
“Clean hit!” burst from Arlington.
A second later he gasped in astonishment, for Darrell had flung himself
at full length on the ground, with one hand outstretched, and stopped
the ball. Not only did he stop it, but it stuck fast in his fingers, and
he sat up instantly with it in his possession.
Without making an attempt to rise, Darrell snapped the ball to Tubbs,
who had covered second.
Dustan was off first and away toward second even before bat and ball
met. Nevertheless, Darrell’s astonishing stop and snap throw to Tubbs
was so rapidly performed that Dustan was out “on a force.” He saw this
and remained on his feet in an endeavor to bother Tubbs so he could not
throw to first; but Tubbs sent the ball whistling past the fellow’s ear
so close that Dustan felt the wind from it.
Straight into Singleton’s big mitt sped the ball, and then the umpire
was heard crying:
“Out at second! Out at first!”
Darrell’s astounding stop of that hot grounder had enabled him to take
part in a most brilliant double play. Those who had expected to see
Darrell do something quite different were electrified. Instantly the
cadets burst forth into a cheer over this sensational piece of work.
“Well, what do you think of that?” gasped Mel Fraser, nudging Arlington.
Chester sat still a moment without replying, but finally said:
“He’s got a long head on him. He did it to fool them. Just wait and see
if he doesn’t do something to lose this game before it is over. He will
if he has a chance.”
Zona, Doris, and June were together in the grand stand, and apparently
Hal’s play had filled them all with the greatest enthusiasm and
admiration.
“Wasn’t it splendid!” breathed Doris, her eyes shining.
“I didn’t think he could stop it,” confessed Zona.
“I don’t see how he did stop it,” asserted June. “I thought it was past
him before he flung himself on the ground.”
“And then the way he threw it without getting up!” laughed Doris. “Oh,
Hal! I am proud of you!”
“I wish we had Bessie here,” said Zona. “We’d show her to-day!”
Fardale came in to the bench, and Dick walked at Hal’s side.
“That was one of the finest stops I ever saw, Darrell,” he said.
“Thank you,” answered Hal. “I was afraid I couldn’t get it.”
“And I never had an idea you could touch it; but you did, and that
double play was a fancy one.”
At first Don Roberts had seemed too astounded to say anything; but now,
as he took his position on the field, he cried:
“That’s all right, fellows! They can’t have that rabbit’s-foot luck all
through the game. Just get right after them now!”
Jack Ware threw a few swift ones to Anson to limber up his arm. As Black
reached the plate and took his position, Ware whirled and delivered the
ball.
It was a swift, high one, and Barron did his best to meet it, but
failed.
“One strike!”
Behind Ware the visitors chattered away like a flock of magpies.
“Keep him fanning, old boy!”
“Put ’em right over!”
“He can’t touch you!”
“He’s fruit! He’s fruit!”
“Got your speed to-day, Jack!”
“Oh, what fancy work!”
Ware worked carefully with Black until three balls and two strikes were
called. Suddenly he delivered that big out-rise, and, believing it was a
straight ball, Barron made the mistake of swinging for it.
“You’re out!” declared the umpire, as the ball plunked into Warren’s
mitt.
“That’s the first one, Jack!”
“Got him easy.”
“The others are just as easy!”
“Keep ’em going.”
“They will never touch you to-day.”
“Let’s see ’ow ’e does hit!” muttered Bradley, as he got into position.
“Let’s see hif ’e can do the same trick with me!”
It began to seem that Ware would repeat the performance with Bradley,
for Billy slashed at the first ball and missed it, then let the second
one pass, only to hear a strike declared.
“Got him in a hole!” shouted Roberts. “Got him foul, Jack, old boy!”
As two strikes and no balls were called, the Fairport pitcher
immediately began to try to “work” Billy. Bradley was wise, and,
although he pretended to be eager to get a hit, he let the bad ones
pass. In this manner three balls were called in succession.
“Make him put it over this time, Bradley!” cried Dick.
Ware faced the alternative of putting the ball over the plate or letting
Billy “walk.” Knowing this, he endeavored to get one over; but, as often
happens with the best of pitchers, he failed. Bradley declined to swing
and was given a “pass.”
Flint strode out to the plate.
“Dern their picters!” squealed Obediah Tubbs, prancing up and down on
the coach line back of first. “We’ve got ’em guessing now! Get a lead,
Bradley. Let him throw it over. He can’t catch you in a year.”
In order to hold the runner close to first, Ware snapped the ball over
to Anson twice before delivering it to the batter. When he did deliver
it he tried a drop.
Now Flint was a bad man to deceive with a drop. When he got under one
and hit it, he always lifted it a wonderfully long distance.
Knowing the batter’s ability for heavy hitting, the fielders had fallen
back as soon as he came to the plate. Flint smashed the first ball a
fearful crack, and away it slid toward the outfield.
“A fence ball!” shrieked Tubbs, in delight. “Git up and git, Bradley!”
Fearing the ball might be caught, Billy lingered near first; but now he
fancied there was no chance that the fielder would capture it, and away
he scooted.
Running in the same direction as the ball, Conway turned at the critical
moment, looked over his shoulder, and saw it coming. He leaped high in
the air and caught it. By this time Bradley had crossed second, and he
was astonished when he heard Jolliby yelling at him from the coaching
line near third.
“Gug-gug-gug-go back! Tut-tut-tut-turn round! He’s gug-gug-gug-got it!”
Stopping as quickly as possible, Bradley turned and saw Conway preparing
to throw the ball into the diamond. Although Billy literally tore up the
chalk along the base line in his endeavor to get back to first, he did
not succeed, for the ball reached Anson’s hands ahead of him, and three
men were out.
Neither side had scored in the first inning.
The five innings following were quite as exciting, and still neither
side was able to get a man around the bases and across the rubber. It
was not entirely a pitchers’ battle. At times both teams hit the ball,
but the fast playing kept either Fardale or Fairport from scoring a
tally. In critical moments Dick rose to the occasion, and his masterly
pitching prevented the enemy from obtaining their object.
Jack Ware was also doing clever work. The home players came up time
after time with determination in their eyes, resolved to bat out a
victory. And time after time Ware, by his clever headwork, prevented
them from accomplishing their purpose.
Hal Darrell had a remarkable number of “chances,” and he accepted them
all. Indeed, his playing was one of the features of the game.
This remarkable work by Hal disturbed Arlington’s nerves and aroused his
resentment.
“Well, look at the lobster! I believe he is actually trying to redeem
himself for his rotten playing at Fairport.”
“He is not only trying,” said Fraser, “but he is doing it. The boys were
all against him at the beginning of the game, and now they are all with
him.”
Doris Templeton’s heart was beating with keenest satisfaction and joy.
To her ears the cheers for Darrell were sweetest music.
“Just see, Zona!” she finally exclaimed. “Isn’t he doing splendid
to-day?”
“Who? Brad?” asked Zona, who had been watching the clever work of the
sturdy backstop from Texas.
“No! I mean Hal.”
“Oh, yes,” answered Zona. “He is playing a great game to-day. Don’t you
think so, June?”
“I don’t believe I ever saw him pitch better,” said June.
“Pitch?” cried both girls. “Why, he isn’t pitching! He is playing
shortstop.”
“Oh!” exclaimed June, getting quite red. “I—I mean—I mean I never saw
him play better.”
But she did not deceive her companions. Both knew who had chained her
attention.
In the seventh inning, after striking out Conway, the first batter, Dick
saw Macon drive a hot grounder through Bradley and make two bags on the
cockney youth’s error.
Immediately the Fairport rooters rose to their feet.
“This is the fatal seventh!” shouted one. “Here’s where we do the
trick!”
This was followed by the Fairport cheer, and Milliken, the tall
left-fielder, managed to connect with one of Dick’s drops, lifting it
over the infield.
It was a safe hit, but should have carried Macon no farther than third
base. Tubbs secured the ball and made a quick throw in an endeavor to
nip Macon at third. Bradley was not expecting the throw, and did not see
the ball until it was close upon him. He put up his hands, but misjudged
it, and it struck his fingers without being stopped.
Billy was after the ball in a twinkling, but Macon saw his opening and
scudded for the home plate. When Bradley caught the ball he made a
desperate effort to shut the run off, but threw low, and on a bad bounce
the sphere got past Buckhart.
Already Milliken had raced down to second, and now he pranced on to
third, amid the wild cheering of the visitors.
“Blocked ball! Blocked ball!” was the shout. “Come home, Macon!”
The runner had paused at third, and now Buckhart whistled the ball to
Dick, who remained in the box. At the same time Brad rushed back to the
plate. Milliken fancied he saw his chance to score before Merriwell
could return the ball to Buckhart, and he did his best to add another
run to the one already obtained.
The Texan flew over the ground with giant strides. He got into position
behind the bat and received the swift one that Merriwell sent humming
into his mitt.
Macon threw himself forward in a desperate and beautiful slide for the
rubber. At the same moment the stalwart catcher made a headlong dive at
the runner and tagged him a moment before his hand reached the plate.
Merriwell had made no mistake in permitting Fairport to bring her umpire
to Fardale. This fellow knew his business, and he was within eight feet
of the plate when Brad tagged the sliding runner.
“You’re out!” he shouted.
Although the decision was rather close, there was no question about its
justness, and the surprising success of this quick work brought a sharp
cheer from the relieved cadets.
“Splendid work, Brad, old man!” laughed Dick, who had also dashed
forward.
“Splendid work!” growled the Texan. “What were those crazy galoots
shooting at? The way they threw the ball round was a howling shame! They
simply presented Fairport with a run!”
“That can’t be helped, Brad.”
“Mebbe not, pard; but this is the kind of a game that one run may win.”
“We haven’t had our turn yet.”
“You will never get it to-day,” chuckled Anson, who was at bat.
“That’s what you think,” smiled Dick. “Fardale always has a show
sometime during the game.”
Obediah Tubbs was walking round and round second base, a look of
unspeakable disgust on his fat face.
“Be careful about careless throwing, boys,” was all Dick said in the way
of a reprimand.
“Well,” said Mel Fraser, nudging Arlington, “they have scored at last.”
“Yes,” retorted Chester sourly; “but it wasn’t Merriwell’s fault, and it
wasn’t Darrell’s fault.”
Encouraged by what had happened, Anson tried hard for a hit; but now
Dick used both speed and curves, and Fairport’s lusty first baseman
vainly fanned the air. The visitors were compelled to be content with
one run in the seventh.
“Hold ’em down, Ware, my boy!” urged Roberts. “Let every man play for
his life! We have them where we want them.”
In truth it seemed that Ware meant to hold Fardale down, for in the last
half of the seventh he permitted only three hitters to face him, and
only one of them connected with the ball. This fellow drove a weak
grounder into the diamond and was thrown out before he could get much
more than halfway to first. In the eighth Fairport again made a strong
bid for a run; but, although one of the visitors reached second on a
scratch hit and an error, he got no farther.
Jolliby was the first batter in the last half, and he brought the home
crowd up in a twinkling with a beautiful line drive for two bags.
With his massive “slugger” in his hand, big Bob Singleton followed Chip
to the plate.
Singleton hit the second ball pitched, and it went straight up into the
air a most astounding distance. As it came down Warren found the task of
judging it a most perplexing one. The ball twisted off to one side, and
all fancied the Fairport catcher could not touch it. He made a sidelong
spring, however, and it plunked into his big mitt. Singleton was out.
“Dern my picter! It’s up to me!” squeaked Tubbs, as he waddled out.
Ware knew Obediah was one of those erratic hitters who did the most
surprising things at the most unexpected times, and now he tried hard to
strike the fat boy out. Obed saw what the pitcher was endeavoring to
accomplish, and wisely held back until Ware was forced to put the ball
over. Then Tubbs fell on one of the swift ones, and away it flew into
left field.
Milliken’s long legs carried him in front of the ball, and he held it.
Without delay he lined it to Macon, and Jolliby was compelled to remain
at second.
“That’s where you do it!” triumphantly shouted one of the Fairport
crowd. “That’s where you surprise us!”
“’Old hon!” said Billy. “We ain’t done yet, don’t y’ hunderstand!”
Never in his life had Buckhart been more anxious for a hit. The very
fact that he was so keenly anxious caused him to be deceived on the
third strike by Ware, and he swung at a bad one. When he realized what
had happened the Texan hurled down his bat in chagrin.
Fairport now had her last opportunity at bat, but her best hitters were
easy for Merriwell, who was in his finest form. They were quickly
retired, and the home team came to the bench.
Dick was the first hitter.
“Tap it out, captain,” urged Black, “and I will sacrifice you to
second.”
Merriwell made no reply, but walked to the plate and dropped a clean hit
over the infield.
On the instant the cadets were all up, cheering madly.
Black “made good” and cleverly sacrificed Dick to second.
“They are working hard for a run, Jack, my boy!” laughed Roberts, “but
they will never get it off you! This game ends one to nothing!”
“Dern my picter!” cried Obediah Tubbs. “I wisht I thought it!”
But when Bradley failed to touch the ball in three efforts, and was out,
all knew the situation was more than serious for Fardale.
The hopes of the cadets now centred on Flint.
Dave cracked a fierce one along the ground at Roberts. The captain of
the visiting team made a dive for it, got his hands on it, but did not
stop it cleanly. In fact, it got through him a distance of four or five
feet before he could pick it up. Flint was on first and Merriwell had
safely reached third.
“Darrell!” was the shout, as Hal walked out. He was almost deathly pale,
but his hands were firm as iron as they gripped the bat.
His pallor was no more intense than Chester Arlington’s, who stood
watching him near the grand stand.
Hal let the first ball pass, although it was straight over. He did it
that Flint might get down to second, and Dave improved the opportunity.
Warren made a bluff of throwing to Crockett, but simply returned the
ball to Ware.
“A clean hit wins this game, Arlington,” said Mel Fraser.
“And this is Darrell’s time to throw Merriwell down,” returned Chester.
“He will do it, too.”
When Hal swung and missed the next ball Chester was more confident than
ever that the result he predicted would follow.
With two balls and two strikes called Hal went after one of Ware’s high
straight ones. He met it full and fair and drove it on a line into the
outfield. No fielder could reach it, and pandemonium followed, for
Merriwell and Flint came home, and Darrell had won the game with a
handsome two-bagger.
When the shouting cadets poured onto the field and made a rush toward
the players they found Dick Merriwell at Darrell’s side. Dick was
patting Hal on the shoulder and softly saying in his ear:
“Well done, old man! You redeemed yourself nobly to-day!”