CHAPTER IX
A GAME WITH BOXER HALL
The grandstand was filled with cheering students. In one section werethe cohorts of Randall College, led in giving their cries by "Bean"Perkins, who had a voice like unto that of some fog horn. There was amass of glowing colors as flags and streamers were waved in the wind.
In another part of the stand a smaller but no less enthusiastic throngsent up exultant cries of rivalry, calling out repeatedly: "Boxer!Boxer! Boxer!"
Scattered among the students in each of the two divisions of the standwere girls and more girls, all of them pretty, at least in the eyes oftheir admirers, and all of them sporting one college colors or theother.
The bleachers were filled by ardent supporters of the game who were notso particular about having a roof over their heads and who, for onereason or another, had to look to the difference in cost between agrandstand ticket and one on the side benches.
It was the occasion of the first regular game of the season in theTonoka Lake League between Randall College and Boxer Hall. As theopposing players came out for warm-up practice the yells, cheers andcries were redoubled, and the stands seemed a waving riot of colors,like some great bed of flowers.
The sounds of balls impinging on thick mitts, of willow bats crackingout hot liners or lofty flies were heard all over the diamond. Never hadthe grass seemed greener and never had the field looked so inviting. Itwas a perfect day for the game.
There was not a little anxiousness on the part of the Randall playersas they "sized up" their opponents. They found them a sturdy lot ofyoungsters.
"They're playing snappy ball," observed Coach Lighton to CaptainWoodhouse.
"Yes, and so will we," predicted Kindlings. "Just watch us."
"I intend to. That's why I'm out here. Now let me give you and Langridgea few pointers," and he called the pitcher to him, the three strollingoff to one side of the field.
Tom Parsons was on hand, and it does him no discredit when it is statedthat there was a feeling of envy in his heart. But it was honest envy.He wanted to get out on the diamond and do his share in helping theRandall team to win. But he could only look on and cheer with theothers.
To win or lose the first game meant much to either team. Not so much toBoxer Hall, perhaps, as that team had run Fairview Institute a closesecond for the championship, but to Randall the winning of the gamemight put the necessary "snap" into the lads, while to lose it might sodiscourage them that it would be well on in the season before they would"take a brace."
So it is no wonder that there was a feeling of nervousness on the partof the coach and the players.
The practice was over. The preliminaries had been arranged, the hometeam, Randall, having the privilege of being last to bat. Langridge,with final instructions from the coach, took his place in the box.
"Play ball!" fairly howled the umpire, and the game was on.
"Ping!" That was the sound of the bat colliding with the ball, the firstball that Langridge threw. Describing a graceful curve, the white spheresailed up into the air. Ed Kerr, hoping it might be a foul, had thrownoff his mask and was wildly looking for it, but it was winging its waytoward Jerry Jackson in right field. A yell went up from the two hundredcollege supporters of Boxer Hall, but it was changed to a groan when oneof the Jersey twins neatly gathered in the fly and put the runner out.Langridge breathed a sigh of relief and struck out the next two men.
Not a man got to first on the Randall team in the initial inning. Kerrknocked a pop fly, but it was caught by the pitcher, who repeatedLangridge's trick and sent the next two men to the bench in short order.
The next three innings saw goose eggs in the squares of both teams, theonly hitting that was done being foul tips.
"It's a pitchers' battle," began to be whispered from seat to seat, andso it seemed. In the sixth inning Randall succeeded in getting a man tofirst on balls, and then began an attempt on the part of the onlookingstudents of that college to get the pitcher's "goat," which, beinginterpreted, meant to "rattle" him. That he had a "glass arm" wasthe mildest epithet hurled at him, but Dave Ogden, who was doing thetwirling for Boxer Hall, only smiled in a confident sort of way andstruck out the next man.
He was not so successful with Kindlings Woodhouse, and the captainhammered out a pretty fly that was good for two bases and sent BricktopMolloy to third. The Randall boys were rejoicing now, for they saw achance to score the first run. And the run itself was brought in by theblue-eyed and red-haired Molloy a moment later, when Phil Clintonknocked a hot liner right between the Boxer Hall shortstop and the thirdbaseman. But that ended the fun, though the score was 1 to 0 in favor ofthe home team.
This may have been an incentive to the visitors, for straightway theybegan pounding Langridge, and when the seventh inning ended the scorewas 4 to 2 in favor of Boxer Hall.
"Boys, we've got to down 'em!" said Woodhouse fiercely. "Don't let themput the game on ice this way. Don't do it. Take a brace."
In the eighth inning it looked as if there was going to be a slump inRandall stock. Langridge seemed to go to pieces and issued walkingpasses to two men, while he was batted for a two-bagger and a three-basehit. But with a gritting of their teeth the others rallied to hissupport, and though the visitors tucked away two more runs, making thescore 6 to 2, at which their cohorts went into a fine frenzy, that wasall they could do.
"Fellows, we're going to win!" cried Captain Paul, or "Pinky" Davenport,of the Boxers.
"Wait a bit, son," advised Kindlings dryly.
In the ending of the eighth there was a look of "do or die" about theRandall players. Tom Parsons felt himself gripping the sides of the seatuntil the board hurt his hands.
"Oh, if I could only get down there and play!" he whispered to himself."Why can't I? why can't I?" But he couldn't and he knew it.
Rather to their own surprise the Randall lads began finding theball with surprising regularity. They batted it out "for keeps," asMolloy said, and they managed to tie the score. Then came the evernerve-thrilling ninth inning in a close game. By great good luck, afterhe had given one man his base on balls, Langridge retired a trio inone-two-three order, and the score still stood a tie.
"Now, fellows, slam it into them. Wallop the hide off 'em--sting'em--souse 'em--put 'em in brine for next year!" implored Holly Cross."I'm first up, and I'm going to give you a correct imitation of a manmaking a home run."
But he didn't. Holly struck out miserably and he went away into a farcorner and thought gloomy thoughts. Not for long, however. A resoundingcrack of the bat told him some one had knocked a fly. It was PhilClinton, and he started for first like a deer with the hounds after it.
"My, but he can run!" exclaimed Tom in admiration. "Wouldn't he be finecovering the gridiron with the ball tucked under his arm? Go on! go on!That's the stuff, Phil! Pretty! pretty! That's a beaut! that's a beaut!"
Tom was on his feet yelling at the top of his voice. So were hundreds ofother lads and girls also. But the Boxer third baseman was right nearthe ball. He gathered it in and hurled it to first. It would have beenall over with Phil, in spite of his magnificent run, except that thefirst baseman missed it, and Phil, amid a riot of cheers, kept on tosecond.
That sealed the fate of the Boxers. They "slumped" and went to piecesbadly. The Randall lads garnered a run and so they won the game--thefirst of the season--by a score of 7 to 6.
And then what cheering there was!