CHAPTER XXII
NARRATES THE PROGRESS OF THE CONTEST WITH WICKASAW, AND WITNESSES THEDISINTEGRATION OF ONE WELLS
TILFORD, c.f. SPEEDE, 1b. CARTER, 2b. RIDLEY, r.f. LOOM, ss. BRYANT, l.f. HETHINGTON, c. VAN RODEN, 3b. WELLS, p.
That’s the way the names were written in the score-book by the OfficialScorer, Mr. “Babe” Fowler, who sat on a soap-box and looked and feltvastly important. Behind him and about him--sometimes, much to hiswrath, interfering with his view of the proceedings--sat and stoodthe boys of Camp Chicora. Across the plate were the supporters ofWickasaw, while here and there, wherever shade was to be found, werespectators from the Inn, the village, Camp Trescott, and the smallerhotels and boarding-houses around. Behind Bob stood one of the Trescottcouncilors, Mr. Downer, who was to umpire. Mr. Clinton, and Mr. Powersof Wickasaw, watched the contest side by side from under the latter’sbig linen umbrella.
The afternoon was roasting hot, and by mutual consent the beginning ofthe game had been postponed from three until four. But even now, asMr. Downer called “Play!” the sun beat down on the meadow in a mannerfar from pleasant, while not a breeze stirred the leaves along thelake. But the players were too much interested to notice such a smallmatter, while as for the lookers-on they good-naturedly made the bestof conditions, cheered by the knowledge that they could seek launchesor rowboats whenever they pleased and speedily find a cooler spot thanthis low-lying meadow with its encompassing walls of forest. Under anear-by apple-tree Tom and Mr. Verder were fanning their faces andmunching the half-ripe apples that lay about them.
“I wonder if Wells will last out,” mused Tom. “He’s a queer dub. Hetold me this morning that he couldn’t stand hot weather and asked if Ithought Bob couldn’t have the game postponed.”
“Yes, he is a bit funny,” answered Mr. Verder. “Well, they’re starting.I’m glad we’ve got our last innings. That’s Bremer, one of Wickasaw’scouncilors, at bat. I used to know him at prep school. He didn’t knowmuch about baseball in those days.”
“I guess he doesn’t know much now,” chuckled Tom as Bremer struck at aball so wide of the plate that Bob disdained to even attempt to stopit. Bremer went out on strikes, the next man popped a tiny fly intoshort-stop’s ready hands, and the third batsman was thrown out at firstby Wells.
“No safe hitting there,” said Mr. Verder.
“Wonder if there’ll be any in this inning?” said Tom.
There wasn’t. Nelson struck out ignominiously, Dan failed to reachfirst ahead of the ball, and Joe Carter sent up a fly that seemed aimedat the third baseman’s big mitten. And so things went, with slightvariations, until the first half of the fourth. Then Hoyt, the Wickasawcaptain and first-baseman, found Wells for a long drive into left fieldthat netted him two bases. Bennett, a councilor and the rival pitcher,followed this with a scratch hit that took him to first and sent Hoyton to third, and the next man up, although he went out at first,brought in the first tally of the game.
And the score remained 1 to 0 until the last of the sixth. In thatinning Chicora developed a batting streak, Dan, Carter, and Ridley eachfinding Bennett for singles, and the bases were full when Loom senta long fly into right field. Dan scored, Carter went to third, andRidley to second. Loom went out. Bryant retired after three strikes,but Bob, who followed him, hit safely for two bases, and the score was3 to 1. Nothing happened in the seventh, and it looked as though 3 to 1might be the final figures. But with the beginning of the eighth inningaffairs took on a different appearance.
Wickasaw’s center-fielder went to bat, waited for a pass to firstand got it. Bob called out for the infielders to play for second. Asexpected, the next man attempted a sacrifice. Had Carter not muffeda good throw from Van Roden all might have been well, but as it wasthere was a man on second and one on first with none out. Wells lookedworried and the coaching across the field added to his discomfiture.The immediate result was that the Wickasaw third-baseman received theball on his elbow and trotted to first base. Bob informed the umpirepersuasively that the batsman had not tried to avoid being struck, butthe umpire couldn’t see it that way. Things looked bad for Chicora; thebases were full and not one of the opponents was out.
The next man was Bremer, a councilor, and he should have been an easyvictim. But Wells seemed unable to pitch a decent ball, and after fourefforts Bremer went down the line and the man on third trotted homeamid the wild applause of Wickasaw. Bob walked down to Wells, keeping aclose watch on the bases, and strove to put confidence into him.
“Take your time, Wells,” he whispered. “There’s no hurry.”
But Wells had become sullen and stubborn.
“I can’t help it,” he muttered. “I told you I didn’t want to pitchto-day, that I couldn’t do anything. The heat----”
“Oh, never mind the heat,” answered Bob soothingly. “Just put the ballsover; let them hit; we’ll attend to them all right.”
“That’s easy enough to say, but I’m not feeling well,” grumbled Wells.“My arm’s tired, and it’s so hot----”
“Well, try your best, that’s a good chap. Get them over the plate;never mind if they hit them.”
“All right,” answered the pitcher despondently.
The Wickasaw captain found the first ball, but it went up in an infieldfly. The next man, too, went out; Loom pulled down his liner head-highand the man on third scurried back to his base. Then came the Wickasawcatcher--and Wells kindly presented him with his base, and again the“Babe” was forced to score a tally for the enemy. The honors were evennow, but the inning was not yet at an end. Wells went thoroughly topieces. A two-base hit by one of the rival nine’s councilors broughtin two men and still left second and third bases occupied. Wickasaw’ssupporters kept up a continuous shouting, hoping doubtless to add tothe discomfiture of the Chicora pitcher, while back of first and thirdbases the Wickasaw coachers screamed and yelled with the same end inview. Naturally enough, Wells’s wildness eventually proved contagious,and it was Bob himself who let in the next run, missing a throw to theplate after a hit. But if he was accountable for that tally he was alsoaccountable for the termination of the inning. For he managed to tossthe ball, while lying flat on his back, to the plate in time to put outthe next ambitious Wickasaw runner. And so the rout finally came to anend with the score 6 to 3 in Wickasaw’s favor.
Bob was an anxious-looking youth when the side trotted in and threwthemselves about the ground to rest and cool off.
“I don’t know what the dickens to do,” he said to Dan and Nelson.“There’s no use putting Wells in again, even if he’d go, and he says hewon’t. Little Morris can’t pitch on account of his ivy-poisoning. VanRoden has done a little of it, but he can only pitch a straight ball,and it isn’t even swift. Who’s up, ‘Babe’?”
“Ridley up, Loom on deck!” piped the “Babe.”
“For goodness’ sake, Rid, hit the ball!” called Bob. “We’ve got to getfour runs this inning.” And after Ridley had nodded and stepped tothe plate Bob went on: “The worst of it is we’ve got our tail-enderscoming up. After Loom there isn’t a man can hit. However--” He turnedfrowningly to watch Ridley, chewing savagely at the blade of grassbetween his teeth. Ridley made a safe hit and went to first, andChicora applauded wildly.
“Joe, coach at first, will you?” Bob called. “You’re up, Loom. You knowwhat to do, old chap. We need runs, you know.” Then he turned to Danand Nelson again. “Look here, what do you fellows think? Shall I giveVan a chance?”
“No use,” answered Dan gloomily. “He’s no pitcher. Isn’t there any oneelse?” Bob shook his head.
“Not a soul that I know of. I’ll try it myself, if you say so,” he saidwith a feeble effort at humor.
“You cu-cu-cu-couldn’t do mu-mu-mu-much worse!” stuttered Tom, who hadlong since left the shade of the apple-tree and was now hopping aroundwide-eyed with excitement. “Why du-du-du-don’t you mu-mu-make Nelpu-pu-pu-pitch?”
“Can you?” cried Bob.
“No; that is, mighty little, Bob,” answered Nelson. “I pitched oneseason on a class team. But I’m willing to try if you want me to. Onlydon’t expect much; I’ll probably be worse than Wells was the lastinning.”
“Find a ball,” said Bob quickly, his face lighting up with hope, “andpitch me a few. Where’s my mitten? Say, Nel, why didn’t you tell me youcould pitch?”
“I can’t, not enough to call pitching. I can get a ball over now andthen and I used to be able to work a pretty fair drop, but that’s aboutall. You’ll have to explain signals to me.”
“All right. Say, Van, run over and tell Kendall I want him to playcenter field, will you? There he is talking to Clint. Scoot!”
There was a yell at that moment, and Bob and Nelson looked up intime to see Loom drive out a pretty liner toward first. He was outwithout question, but the sacrifice had advanced Ridley to second, andChicora’s little group of cheerers made themselves heard. Bob ran overto speak to Bryant, who was next up, and then came back to Nelson. Thesignals were quickly explained, and Nelson began throwing into Bob’sbig mitten, slowly at first, then increasing in speed as somethingof the knack came back to him. Bryant offered at a close ball, andRidley, who was ready and waiting, shot out for third. Catcher lost ahalf a second in getting the ball down, and the umpire waved his handdownward; Ridley was safe. Dan took Bob’s place in front of Nelson,and Bob hurried over to Ridley’s assistance, relieving Loom on thecoacher’s line.
Nelson felt some of his old power returning to him and slammed ballafter ball into Dan’s hands in a way that made that youth grin withapproval. Once or twice he essayed a drop with but indifferent success;somehow, he couldn’t yet make that work.
Bryant connected with a straight ball over the plate, which, had heallowed it to pass, would have been the third strike, and lit out forfirst. At the same instant Ridley started for home. But Wickasaw’sshort-stop smothered the ball on its first bounce and lined it in tothe plate. Ridley doubled back, slid for the base, and got there aninstant ahead of the ball. Bryant was safe at first. Chicora’s shoutswere deafening. The audience had gradually edged toward the infielduntil now the paths to first and to third were lined with excitedpartizans of the rival teams. Bob trotted in and selected his bat,pulled his gray cap firmly down on to his head, and went to the plate.Nelson stopped his work to watch. There were two on bases; a home runwould tie the score.