CHAPTER XIII
JOE'S GREAT WORK
"Let her go, Doctor!"
"Make him hit it, Professor!"
"Strike him out!"
"Give him an old Greek curve!"
These were some of the cries that reached Dr. Fillmore as he stood inJoe's place in the pitching box. The president of the faculty smiledpleasantly. He was used to this mild "joshing," which was alwaysindulged in by the lads of Excelsior on the occasion of the opening ofthe season. Not that it was at all offensive; in fact, it rather showedthe good feeling existing between the instructors and their pupils.
"Are you all ready?" asked Dr. Fillmore, as though he was inquiringwhether a student was prepared to recite, and as if he really expectedto pitch a ball that was to be hit.
"Play ball!" called Harvey Hallock, who was umpiring.
"Not too swift now, if you please, Doctor," stipulated Nat Pierson, whowas first up.
Then the venerable president delivered the new, white horsehide sphere.He threw rather awkwardly, but with more accuracy than might have beenexpected from a man who had a ball in his hands but once a year. Rightover the plate it went, and though usually the initial ball was neverstruck at, Nat could not resist the opportunity.
He "bunted," and the ball popped up in the air and sailed back towardthe pitcher's box. To the surprise of all, Dr. Fillmore stepped forwardand neatly caught it.
"Hurray!"
"That's the stuff!"
"Put him on the team!"
"Why didn't you say you were a ball-player, Doctor?"
"Let him play the game!"
These and many other cries greeted the president's performance. He bowedagain, gravely, and smiled genially as he tossed the ball to Joe, whowas waiting for it. A little round of applause came from some members ofthe faculty who had accompanied the doctor to the grounds, and then thehead of the school walked off the diamond amid a riot of cheers. Thebaseball season at Excelsior Hall had opened under auspicious occasionseveryone thought, and more than one lad had great hopes that the BlueBanner would come back there to stay for a while.
"Play ball!" called the umpire again, and this time the game was on inearnest.
Joe dug a little hole for the toe of his shoe, revolved the ball in hishands a few times, and looked to get the signal from Bob Harrison, thescrub catcher.
Bob, who knew the individual characteristics of each batter better thandid Joe (though the latter was rapidly learning them) signalled for ahigh out, and our hero nodded his head in confirmation. The next instanthe delivered the ball.
There was a vicious swing of the bat, and there could almost be heardthe swish as it cut the air. And that is all it did do, for thehorsehide landed squarely in Bob's glove with a resounding ping! andthere was one strike against Nat.
"That's the way to do it!" cried Bob.
"Say, what's the matter with you?" angrily demanded Luke Fodick of oneof his best batters. "What do you want to fan for?"
"Couldn't help it, I guess," answered Bob rather sheepishly. "It was acurve."
"Well, don't you know how to handle them by this time?" fairly snarledHiram, who was closely watching every player. "If you don't know how tohit out a hot one you'd better go back on the scrub. Don't do it again."
"I'll kill the next ball!" declared Nat, but he did not like the looksof it as Joe delivered it, and did not swing his bat.
"Strike!" called the umpire sharply.
"Wha--what?" cried Nat.
"I said strike. It was right over the plate."
"Plate nothing!"
"What's he doing, calling strikes on you?" demanded Hiram.
"It looks that way," spoke Nat.
"Well, say----" began the manager in his bullying manner, as he strodetoward the umpire.
"Hold on now!" interposed Luke, who sometimes had better judgment thanHiram. "It's all right. Don't get excited. It may have been a strike.The fellows haven't got on to all the points of the game yet thisseason. Go on."
"All right," growled Hiram. "But don't you dare strike out, Nat."
Joe's next delivery was called a ball, though it was rightly a strike.Joe said nothing, realizing that the umpire was naturally a bit afraidof offending Hiram and Luke too much. Then Nat knocked a little popfly, which was easily taken care of by the second baseman, and the firstman on the regular, or school team, as it was called, was out.
"All ready for the next one!" called Catcher Bob.
"Don't you fan!" warned Hiram to Jake Weston, who was next up.
"Just watch me!" exulted Jake as he walked confidently to the plate.
Joe sent in a puzzling drop, with considerable swiftness, but to hischagrin Jake "killed" it, landing on it squarely and lining it out fortwo bags.
"That's the way to do it!" yelled Luke, capering about.
"Now, where's your star pitcher?" inquired Hiram, and he looked towardTom Davis, who was playing first. "I guess he isn't so much!"
Tom said nothing. He realized that perhaps his advocacy of Joe'sabilities had brought his friend and himself too much in the limelight.But he meant well.
"Oh, well, we just let you hit that one to see how it felt," shouted BobHarrison, and that brought back Joe's nerve, which, for the moment, haddeserted him as he saw his effort go for naught. Jake was on second,but he only got one bag farther, stealing to third as Joe struck out thenext man.
The school nine members were now whispering uneasily among themselves.Never before, at the opening of the season had they had a scrub pitcherwho did such things to them. They realized that they had to play thegame for all it was worth.
Luke and Hiram were whispering earnestly together and when Harry Lauter,whom Joe had struck out walked to the bench, Luke stepped up to theplate.
"Hold on!" cried Ward Gerard quickly. "You are out of your turn, Luke."
"How's that?" indignantly demanded the school captain.
"George Bland is up next, according to the batting order you gave me."
"Well, we've changed the batting order," put in Hiram quickly.
The truth of the matter was that George was not a very good hitter,while Luke was, and both the latter and the manager had seen thenecessity of making at least one run the first inning in order toinspire confidence in the school team. They had hoped to change thebatting order unobserved, and bring up a good hitter when he was mostneeded. But the scrub captain had been too sharp for them.
"Changed the batting order, eh?" asked Ward. "You can't do it now underthe rules."
"Oh, well, we ain't playing strictly according to rules yet," said Lukeweakly. "I'm going to bat, anyhow. You can change your batting order ifyou like."
"We don't have to," responded Ward. "But go ahead, we'll allow it."
"Thanks--for nothing!" exclaimed Hiram sarcastically, and Luke held hisplace at home plate.
The situation was now rather tense. There were two men out, a man was onthird and the captain of the school team himself was at bat. It was upto Luke to bring in his man and save his side from a goose egg in thefirst inning. Luke fairly glared at Joe, as if daring our hero to strikehim out, and Joe was no less determined to do that feat if possible.
He looked at Bob for a signal, and got one that meant to deliver aswift in. Then Joe knew that Luke, for all his boasting was a bitafraid--afraid of being hit by the ball, and, being timid wouldinvoluntarily step back if the horsehide seemed to be coming too closeto him.
"Here goes!" murmured Joe, and he sent in one with all his force.
As he had expected, the school captain did step back, and, an instantlater, the umpire cried:
"Strike!"
"What?" fairly yelled Luke turning at him. There was a laugh fromsome of the scrubs, and it was joined in by a number of the otherstudents--lads who were kept from the athletic committee by the snapruling of Luke and Hiram. The captain realized that there was a feelingagainst him, and he quickly swallowed his wrath.
"Watch what you're doing," warned Hiram.
"Oh, t
hat was only a fluke," declared Luke. Joe smiled. He was going tosend in another "fluke," but not the same kind. He delivered a quickball, with a peculiar upward twist to it, and, as Luke swung viciouslyat it, but too low, naturally his bat passed under the ball.
"Strike two!" yelled the umpire, as the ball landed safely in Bob's bigmitt.
There was a murmur of astonishment from the school nine and itsparticular sympathizers, and a breath of delight from the despisedscrubs. Hiram flushed angrily, yet he dared say nothing, for there wasno doubt about this strike. As for Luke, he was too surprised to makeany comment.
"I'll get the next one!" he declared, as he tapped his bat on the homeplate. He did hit it, but it was only a foul, and, being on the laststrike, did not count against him.
"That's the way to do it. You're finding his curves if he has any!"cried Hiram. "Swat it!"
"Sure!" assented Luke.
With all his might he hit at the next ball, only to fan the air.
"Strike three--batter's out!" called the umpire amid a tense silence.Luke had done what he was seldom guilty of; he had struck out, and to apitcher whom he not only hated but despised. Joe's great work hadenabled the scrub to retire the school team without a run--a thing thathad not been done at Excelsior in many years.
"Wow! That's the stuff!" yelled Tom, as he raced in from first. "I knewyou could do it, Joe."
"Great work, old man!" complimented Ward. "Now we'll see what we cando."
There were gloomy and dubious looks on the faces of Hiram and Luke asthe school team filed out on the field.