CHAPTER XXIII
PROVES THE SCORE-BOOK IN ERROR AND CLOSES THE STORY
As the first ball left the pitcher’s hand Bryant trotted along tosecond, secure in the knowledge that catcher would not throw down therewith a man on third. Chicora clamored for a home run. Bob watched thepitcher calmly. The first two balls were wasted, but the next sailedover the corner of the plate and was a strike. Bob refused to offer atthe following one, and the umpire indorsed his choice. The score wasthree and one. It looked as though a base on balls was to be given inorder to get Bob out of the way. But, whether that was the pitcher’splan or not, Bob was not satisfied with so easy a victory. When thenext delivery came to him he reached out for it, caught it on the endof his bat, and sent it sailing down the line over first-baseman’s head.
For a moment it looked like a home run, and the wearers of the blue andgray leaped and shouted. In raced Ridley and Bryant and around thebases flew Bob. Out in right field the ball had fallen untouched to theground and was now speeding back to second-baseman, who had run out torelay it in. Bob passed second and reached third just as second-basemanturned and threw, and Loom held him there. The score was 6 to 5 andonly one man was out.
Van Roden stepped to the plate looking determined. But he had no chanceto distinguish himself very greatly, for the Wickasaw pitcher waspretty well rattled and four successive balls sent him to first at awalk. Kendall, who followed him at bat, was a substitute and owed hisposition on the team to his fielding rather than his batting ability.But even Kendall managed to connect with the second ball offered him,and might, with speedier running, have beaten it out to first. As itwas, he made the second out and Bob’s hopes began to fall. Nelson wasthe next man up and Nelson had all day been unable to bat in anythinglike his real form. Bob decided that if the score was to be even tiedin that inning, risks must be taken. “Two out, run on anything!” washis order, while Wickasaw’s catcher reminded his men to “play for therunner!”
Nelson went to bat resolved to do the very best he knew how, but not atall sanguine of success. The thought that with him probably rested thefate of the nine worried him. To be sure, Chicora might be able to dosomething in the next and last inning, but that wasn’t to be dependedupon. The time was now, when, with two runners on bases, a clean hitwould put them in the lead.
The first delivery looked such a palpable ball that he let it go by,discovering too late that it was an in-curve and a strike. Van Rodentrotted to second and went on to a position half-way between that baseand the next. Bob was ten feet away from his bag, on his toes, watchingpitcher and catcher intently, ready to be off on the slightest pretext.Another ball went across the plate, and again a strike was scoredagainst poor Nelson, who mentally called himself names and grippedhis bat more fiercely. Bob decided that it was now or never. As thecatcher, with a glance in his direction, threw the ball back to thepitcher, Bob started calmly up the line toward the home plate at a walk.
The pitcher was walking back to the box, and for three or four secondsBob’s leave-taking went unnoticed. Then the third-baseman discoveredhis absence and yelled wildly for the ball. The pitcher, wheelingabout, looked here, there, and everywhere save in the right direction,ran a few steps toward second, thought better of it, and finallyobeyed the frantic injunctions of half the players to “put it home,”although he didn’t see why it was necessary, since Bob, who by thattime had increased his pace slightly, looked like any of the othergray-and-blue-clad fellows behind him.
But Bob had been watching from the tail of his eye, even if he hadseemed so unconcerned, and the instant the pitcher raised his arm tothrow he dashed for the plate, now only fifteen feet away. For the lastten feet he was in the air and when he came down and slid across theplate in a cloud of dust he had beaten the ball by just a fraction ofa second. He picked himself up, patted the dust from his jersey, andstepped back to where he could watch Nelson, while Chicora went wildwith delight, laughed and shrieked and tossed its caps in air. Therefollowed a delay during which Wickasaw strove to find some rule whichwould nullify that tally. But there is no law prohibiting a runner frombecoming a walker if he so pleases, and finally, much disgruntled,Wickasaw went back to the game.
He dashed for the plate.]
As may be supposed, Van Roden had not neglected his opportunity, andnow he was on third. But his chances of getting any farther seemedvery slim as Nelson stepped up to the plate again with two strikes andno balls against him. A hit would make the score 7 to 6 in Chicora’sfavor, but he doubted his ability to secure it. The Wickasaw pitcherhad suddenly become very deliberate. He eyed Nelson thoughtfully forquite five seconds before he wound himself up, unwound himself, andsped the sphere forward.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
Catcher returned to pitcher. On third Van Roden, coached by Dan, waseager to score, and was taking longer chances than even Bob approvedof. As the pitcher poised himself to deliver again Van Roden made adash up the line. His plan was to rattle both pitcher and catcher andsecure a passed ball to score on. But although the pitcher threw wideof the base the Wickasaw captain refused to muff the ball, and VanRoden, sliding head foremost for the plate, felt the ball thump againsthis shoulder while he was still two feet away. But the crowd was closeup to the line, and the umpire, back of pitcher, had not seen it verywell. He shook his head and dropped his hand. A howl of angry protestarose from the Wickasaw players who had been near enough to see theout. In a moment Mr. Downer, the center of a wrathful group of players,had called “Time,” and was listening patiently to the protests. VanRoden, grinning with delight, climbed to his feet and walked off. Bob,in front of whom the affair had taken place, walked out to the centerof the diamond. As soon as he might he gained the umpire’s attention.
“Could you see that very well, sir?” he asked.
“Not very, I’ll acknowledge, because of the crowd about the base. Butit looked to me as though the runner touched base before he was tagged.And that’s my decision, boys.”
Again the protests arose. Bob raised his hand.
“Just a moment, please,” he said. “I was there, Mr. Downer, and sawit----”
“Well, so was I there!” cried the Wickasaw catcher and captain angrily.“I tell you I caught him two feet off base!”
“That’s right!” cried the pitcher.
“I was there and saw it,” repeated Bob dryly. “The runner was out.”
There was an instant of silence during which the Wickasaw playersobserved the captain of the rival team as though they thought he hadgone suddenly insane. Then:
“Their own captain says he was out!” exclaimed the pitcher, turningeagerly to the umpire, “and if he acknowledges it----”
“I’m satisfied,” responded Mr. Downer, with a smile. “Out at the plate!”
* * * * *
Almost an hour later Chicora, cheering as though after a victory,steamed home in the launch or trudged back through the woods, whileWickasaw, apparently no less elated, took herself off across the laketo Bear Island. It was almost dark. The game had come to an end afterthirteen innings with the score 6 to 6. Time and again Chicora hadplaced men on bases only to have them left there. For five inningsNelson had held the opponents down to a handful of scratch hits, noneof which yielded a score. It had been a hard and well-fought contestand only darkness had brought it to a close. Although the score-book,sedulously guarded by the “Babe,” pronounced the game a tie, yet therewere many among those that knew how the eighth inning had ended whocredited a victory--and a gorgeous one--to Chicora. Scores do notalways tell the whole story.
* * * * *
Two days later, while the sun was just peeping over the hills, Bob,Dan, and Nelson stood on the deck of the Navigation Company’s steamer,their trunks on board and their bags beside them. On the landing wasassembled Camp Chicora in a body, and well in front, in momentary perilof an involuntary bath, stood Tom, a rather doleful Tom, whose eyesnever for an instant left the face
s of the three on deck.
The line was cast off, the propeller churned impatiently, and the headof the launch swung toward the foot of the lake, the railroad, andhome. The departing ones had been cheered separately and collectively,and as the boat gathered way only a confused medley of shouts andlaughter followed them. Only that, do I say? No, for as the boatreached the point and the group on the pier was lost to sight therecame a final hail, faint yet distinct:
“Gu-gu-gu-good bu-bu-bu-by!”
THE END