CHAPTER XXIII
A TRIPLE PLAY
The seventh inning began with Tracy Gilberth at bat. He watched Vosewith interest while that lanky youth settled himself to his task,hopeful that at last Robinson's star player was weary enough to allowthe opponents to hit him. But Tracy was doomed to disappointment.Vose's arm was tired, beyond a doubt, but he only took more time athis work, his curves remaining as puzzling as ever. Tracy struck outingloriously, just as he had done pretty much all through the game.Vose was still on his mettle.
Bissell's fate was the same, while as for Knox, although he managed, bygood judgment, to get three balls to his credit, yet in the end he tootossed aside his bat in deep disgust; and the nines again changed sides.
Robinson's first man up was the redoubtable Hopkins; he had gainedthe sobriquet of "Hard-hitting Hopkins" last season. So far to-day,while he had managed to find Tracy rather frequently, his hits hadnetted little. But Tracy judged discretion the better part of valor,and deliberately gave Hopkins his base, while the purple-decked standshooted loudly. Having given the other his base, Tracy next tried totake it away from him, but Hopkins was quick on his feet and time andagain Motter got the ball too late to tag him out. Tracy gave it upfinally, and turned his attention to the next batsman, Morgan.
Morgan popped a foul to the foot of the stand, and Joe, hurling asidehis mask, got it after a brilliant sprint of twenty yards. Devlinstruck out and Hopkins stole second. The Brown's captain came to theplate with determination to do great deeds written large on his face.After getting two strikes on him, Tracy couldn't put the ball over thebase, and Wood walked to first.
Then, with two on bases, Robinson saw visions of another tally. ButTracy settled down again and struck out the third man, Richman, andagain the Erskine contingent sighed with relief and cheered gleefully.
Jack, who during the inning had had nothing to do, trotted in andexamined the score-book over Patterson's shoulder. He found that hewould be the third man at bat, and wondered a bit nervously whetherhe would have any better success with the mighty Vose's curves thanhad his predecessor, who was now sitting weary and dispirited on thebench. King, who during the first half of the previous inning had beenlimbering up his arm, was put in for Tracy, and Lowe took his place inleft-field. Tracy sprawled himself down on the grass beside Jack with asigh.
"I wish to thunder I'd been able to hit that dub Vose just one!" hegrowled.
"What's he like?" Jack asked.
"Like a Chinese puzzle," Tracy replied grimly. "When you try him,Weatherby, look out for his drops; they're the worst; they comestraight to about four feet from the plate, then they go down so fastthat you can't see 'em. His inshoots are simple compared with thosedrops. Watch for fast balls, and when you see one coming, slug it! Makehim think you can't bat, Weatherby; it's your first time up, and maybeyou can fool him."
"I'll try," Jack answered dubiously. "_Good work, King!_"
King was speeding to first, having made a clean hit to the outfieldjust over shortstop's head. The Erskine stand burst into wild andconfused cheering. Northup selected his bat and went to the plate,and Joe Perkins, after whispering directions into his ear, ran to thewhite line back of first base and began coaching King at the top of hislungs. Vose settled the ball in his hands, tapped the earth with hisbrass-toed shoe, and glanced sharply toward the runner.
"Play off, Greg!" shouted Joe. "He won't throw! He's too tired! Now,now, now! This time! _Look out!_"
King scuttled around back of the bag and reached it before the basemanswung at him with the ball.
"Hold it, he's got the ball!" cautioned Joe. "All right, now; on yourtoes. Down with his arm! He won't throw again!"
Vose looked as though he intended to, then turned quickly and pitched.The ball went wide, and had it not struck Northup on the hip wouldhave given King two bases, since the Robinson catcher would never havestopped it. As it was, King, who was almost to second, trotted back andtagged base. The umpire waved his hand to Northup, and the latter wentlimping to first. King jogged to second, and the Erskine cheers drownedevery sound for several minutes. Two on bases and none out! It lookedlike a tally.
Joe yielded his place to Motter, sent Bissell to coach King from third,and caught Jack on his way to the plate. He had to put his mouth toJack's ear in order to make himself heard above the shouting.
"We've got to advance King, Jack," he said. "Wait for a good one, andmake a slow bunt toward third; you know the way, old man. Swipe atthe first ball as though you were going to knock it over the fence!Then wait for what you want. Keep steady, Jack!" He clapped him on theshoulder encouragingly and sped back to first.
Jack's hope of rapping out a two-bagger was gone. Joe's directions werenot to be disregarded, and it was a case of substituting team-playfor ambition. He settled his cap, wiped his perspiring hands on histrousers, and gripped his bat. When he faced Vose he found that personeying him intently, appraising his ability as a batsman. Jack smiledeasily--despite that he felt terribly nervous, and that the muscles atthe back of his legs were twitching--and waved his bat forward and backa couple of times as though to say: "Right there, please, and I'll showyou how it's done!"
Vose looked about the bases very deliberately, and then offered Jackan outshoot. Jack was glad that he had been told to hit at the firstdelivery, for the mere act of swinging his stick fiercely through theair eased his nerves. He struck at least a foot too late, and theRobinsonians laughed and jeered. Vose thought he knew his man then,and tried the same ball again, and the umpire shook his head and wavedhis left hand. Jack waited; two balls; strike two; then he saw what hewanted, turned a trifle to the left, brought his bat around quicklyand easily, and, as he ran to first, knew that he had succeeded.
The sphere, a new and very white one it was, went rolling toward thirdbase just inside the line. King was making for that base, too, and thebaseman indulged in just that instant of hesitation that is fatal. Theball was his to field, yet he feared that if he left his bag none wouldcover it. When he finally got the ball, reaching it a second beforeVose, King was safe on third, Northup was sliding for second, and Jackhad crossed first. He tossed the sphere to the pitcher, and the latterwent back to the box scowling wrathfully. The Erskine stand was a bankof purple. The senior class president, bareheaded, wilted of collar andcrimson of face, was standing on a seat leading the singing:
"Robinson is wavering, her pride's about to fall; Robinson is wavering, she can not hit the ball; Erskine is the winner, for her team's the best of all; _Oh, poor old Robinson!_"
Billings went to bat. Motter was whispering instructions to Jack onfirst. Vose, calm of face, looked about the bases, while his supportcalled encouragingly to him. Then, before his arm was well back, Jackhad started like an express-train toward second. At the same instantKing made as though to dash home, and Northup played off half-way tothird. The delivery was a poor one, but Condit stopped it, threw offhis mask, and, bewildered, threw to second.
It was a costly mistake, for King was sliding across the plate beforesecond-baseman had received the ball, and the Erskine fellows werehugging each other uproariously. Jack had flown back toward first, buthalf-way there he paused. Northup was caught on his way to third, andnow was dancing back and forth with the ball crossing and recrossingabove his head, and shortstop and third-baseman closing in on him everysecond. Then he stumbled and shortstop was on him like a flash, and hecrawled to his feet to dust the loam from his shirt and trot off thefield. Meanwhile Jack had made a good slide for second, and had beatenthe ball.
The score was tied, there was but one out, and a man on second! Is itany wonder that Erskine's supporters went mad with delight and dancedand shouted and threw flags and caps into the air?
When things had settled down once more Billings stepped back into thebox. From behind him came imperative demands for a home run. Billingstried his best to accommodate his friends the next instant, for therewas a loud _crack_, and the ball went arching high and far towardright-fi
eld. But when it descended the Robinson fielder was under it,and Billings stopped his journey around the bases and came back. Theleft-fielder sped the ball home quickly, but not soon enough to keepJack from reaching third.
The Robinson band had started bravely to work once more, but across thediamond the Erskine leaders had brought order out of chaos, and fourhundred purple-flaunting enthusiasts were again cheering slowly and inunison:
"_Erskine! Erskine! Erskine! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah,rah! Erskine! Erskine! Erskine!_"
And the cheers took on new force when it was seen that the Purple'scaptain was the next batsman. Joe had given a message to King, andnow King was imparting it to Jack down at third base, and Jack wasnodding back to Joe. Robinson's catcher, Condit, was badly rattled,and Joe knew it and was planning accordingly. The stands settled downinto comparative quietude, and Vose, still calm and confident-looking,pitching the game of his life, faced his new opponent. The outfieldcame in a bit.
Vose's first delivery was easily a ball, and his second was undeniablya strike. Then followed an outshoot and a drop, neither of which didJoe take to. Back went the ball to Vose, and, with King shoutingweirdly at third, he shot his arms overhead and sped it again towardthe plate. Then an odd thing happened.
The ball was a drop. Joe struck at it hard, dropped his bat, and flewtoward base. The catcher, who had stopped the ball on the ground,stood up, glared bewilderedly, and then, concluding that it had beenthe third strike, threw to first-baseman, Vose shouting warnings whichhe did not hear. Jack, the moment Joe had struck, had started warilytoward home, and although first-baseman caught the ball and hurled itback to the plate in the next instant, he was lying above the base in acloud of dust ere the catcher tagged him. Again pandemonium broke loseon the Erskine stand. The Purple was one run ahead.
Joe trotted back to the plate and picked up his bat, and Jack went tothe bench, dusty, panting, and happy, to be hugged and slapped by thedelighted occupants. There followed a pause in the game's progressduring which Robinson's captain sought to find a rule that wouldput Jack back on third. But Joe's strategy was within the law, andpresently the Robinson catcher picked up his mask miserably and thecaptain, disgruntled, went slowly back to his position in center-field.
The incident appeared to have discouraged both the battery and thesupport. Vose took up his work listlessly, and in a moment Joe waswalking to first on four balls. A minute later he had stolen second.Motter bunted toward first, and beat the ball to base. Joe took third.Vose was now plainly rattled, and a wild pitch became a passed ball,and Motter went to second, Joe, however, fearing to attempt to score.Then Lowe took up the stick.
Lowe bided his time, and had two strikes called on him before he swunghis bat. When he did he found the ball fairly, and drove a terrificgrounder into outfield between first and second bases. Joe jogged homefrom third, and Motter, his legs making a purple streak, sped like thewind to third. Lowe sat down on first and tied his shoe. Bissell wentto bat, and was deceived by a drop that absolutely hit the plate. Andright there the half ended, for Lowe tried to steal second, and was putout four feet from the bag.
There was joy in the Erskine camp. The score stood now 3 to 1. If herplayers could hold Robinson from further scoring the day was won. And,with King in the pitcher's box, it seemed that it might be done. Reganwent to bat for Robinson, and stood there idly swinging his stick whilethe umpire sang: "Strike one!... Strike two!... Striker's out!" Andthen, to fill Erskine's cup overflowing with delight, King struck outVose and Cox in just the same way; and the cheering broke forth anew,loudly, triumphantly. And the ninth and last inning began with littleKnox at the bat.
It would be pleasant to relate how Knox knocked a home run and howErskine continued the performance inaugurated in the preceding inning.Unfortunately, that is impossible. Knox was struck out, King was thrownout at first, Northup made a base hit, but was left there a minutelater when Jack flied out miserably to Vose. The stands were emptyingthemselves of their throngs and supporters of the rival collegescrowded along the base-lines cheering doggedly or ecstatically, as thecase might be. King picked up the ball, Joe donned his mask, Motterthumped his mit, and Jack, at second, danced about from one foot tothe other out of sheer joy. Near at hand Knox was grinning like aschoolboy, and calling shrilly to King to "Eat 'em up, Greg!"
"First man, fellows!" cried Joe cheerfully.
Condit stepped to the plate. He was pale, and looked an easy victim.But luck turned its back upon the Purple, for at his second deliveryKing struck the Robinson catcher on the elbow, and the latter took hisbase. Robinson's friends took courage, and their cheers thundered overthe field. Then came Hopkins, the "hard-hitter," and swung his batknowingly. King realized that here was foeman worthy of steel, and wasaccordingly careful.
But Hopkins was desperate. He found the second ball, and it went flyingtoward center-field. Bissell failed to reach it in time to get hishands on it before it struck the ground, and Hopkins gained second,Condit going to third. Morgan followed with a slow grounder towardKing. King fielded it to first too late, after making sure that Conditwas not trying to score, and the bases were full. A home run would winfor Robinson! A two-base hit would tie the score!
The brown banners flaunted and gyrated in the air, throwing strangedancing silhouettes upon the turf. The shadow of the western stand hadlengthened across the infield. Back of the stand the sky was aglow withorange, while toward the village a golden haze filled the air.
The throng at large was silent, intense, expectant. Yet here and theresections of the throng still shouted, and back of the dense wall ofspectators on the Robinson side of the field the band was playing.A cheer, undismayed yet faint, ran along the ranks of the Erskinesupporters. It is hard to shout when your heart is throbbing away up inyour throat. Devlin went to bat, his determined chin thrust forth andhis sharp eyes sparkling from between half-closed lids as he watchedthe pitcher. Joe Perkins half knelt behind him and held a big mitteninvitingly open on his left knee.
"Steady, fellows!" he called cheerfully. "Play for the plate!"
His voice rang true, with never a quiver in it. Yet now and then hisheart raced and thumped for an instant in a way that turned him halffaint. Despite the tiny beads of perspiration that trickled down hisface, he was livid, and the fingers in the hot leathern mit trembledand twitched. If he could keep those brown-legged players from crossingthe plate the game was won for Erskine and his labors and hopes werecrowned with success. If! He groaned as he thought of all that mighthappen ere the third man was put out. For the first time during thecontest he was nervous; for the first time almost in memory he wasfrightened through and through. Then his gaze swept over the field andhe saw Motter at first carelessly flipping a pebble across the grass,Weatherby alert and impatient at second, Northup shading his eyes withhis hand as he stood motionless in right-field, Knox calling blithelyto King as he slapped his hands together, and beyond, Bissell and Lowe,their figures throwing long, slanting shadows across the turf. ThenKing's left hand wandered carelessly across his forehead, his arms shotup, and Joe, reaching out, drew in the first delivery.
"Strike," droned the umpire.
Joe's fright passed with the settling of the sphere in his hands. Theblood crept back into his cheeks and courage into his heart. Returningthe ball, he eased his mask, thumped his hands together, and calledconfidently to King.
"That's the eye, Greg; once more!"
Erskine applauded grandly. Then followed two balls. The coaches wereshouting like maniacs and the runners were set, like sprinters on themark, ready to spring into flight on the instant. Joe signaled a drop.It came, and Devlin tried and missed.
"Strike two," droned the little umpire.
Again the supporters of the Purple shouted and waved their colorsagainst the evening sky. King swept a glance about the bases, unmindfulof the coachers' taunts, settled himself once more, and pitched.Devlin's body moved quickly forward, ball and bat met squarely, Devlinraced toward first, and the runners on the
bases sprang away.
Out by second, Jack, on his toes, alert and ready for anything, heardthe _crack_ of bat against ball, and instinctively ran toward base.Hopkins, head down, started like a flash toward third. Then Jack'seyes found the ball. It was speeding toward him, straight, swift andwell over his head. He stopped in his tracks a foot or two behind thebase-line, threw his hands high into the air, put his weight on to histoes, and then sprang straight upward until there was a good two feetbetween him and the turf. To the excited watchers it seemed that foran instant he hung there suspended, a lithe, slim figure against thegolden sunset haze. Then the ball stung his hands, the throng brokeinto confused shouting, and--
Weatherby sprang straight upward, two feet above theturf.]
"Back! Back!" shrieked the coaches.
The runners turned in their tracks and scuttled for the bases they hadleft like rabbits for their burrows. Jack, the ball securely clutched,reached second in two strides, and then, with a lightning survey ofthe situation, threw straight and sure to Billings at third. Condit,arrested ten feet from the plate by the coaches' warnings, had doubledback, and now was racing desperately for third base and safety. Sixfeet from the bag he launched himself forward, arms outstretched. Atrailing cloud of red dust arose into the still air, and the ballthumped into the baseman's hands. The little fat umpire swung his handcircling toward the bases.
"Game!" he said.
The long ranks broke like waves, and the players were engulfed, thencaught and tossed to the surface. Jack, rocking perilously about on theshoulders of comrades, looked dazedly yet happily down over a sea ofwaving purple banners and upraised, excited faces, while against hisears beat the thunderous refrain of "_Erskine! Erskine! Erskine!_"
----------------------------------+---------------------------------- ERSKINE. R. H. P. A. E. | ROBINSON. R. H. P. A. E. | Perkins, c. 1 1 8 2 0 | Cox, 1b. 0 3 9 0 0 Motter, 1b. 0 1 8 0 1 | Condit, c. 0 1 13 1 1 Gilberth, p. 0 0 1 2 1 | Hopkins, 3b. 0 2 0 3 0 Bissell, cf. 0 0 2 0 1 | Morgan, ss. 0 0 1 3 0 Knox, ss. 0 1 0 0 0 | Devlin, lf. 0 0 1 0 0 King, lf., p. 1 2 2 0 1 | Wood, cf. 0 0 0 1 0 Lowe, lf. 0 1 0 0 0 | Richman, 2b. 0 1 1 2 1 Northup, rf. 0 1 1 0 0 | Regan, rf. 1 0 1 0 0 Stiles, 2b. 0 0 2 1 2 | Vose, p. 0 1 1 2 1 Weatherby, 2b. 1 1 2 1 0 | -- -- -- -- -- Billings, 3b. 0 0 1 1 0 | Totals 1 8 27 12 3 -- -- -- -- -- | Totals 3 8 27 7 6 | ----------------------------------+---------------------------------- Erskine 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 --3 Robinson 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 --1
Two-Base Hits--Wood, Hopkins. Triple Play--Weatherby to Billings. Bases on Balls--Off Gilberth, 3; Off Vose, 2; Off King, 1. Hit by Pitched Ball--Northup (2), Condit. Struck Out--By Gilberth, 8; By King, 3; By Vose, 13. Sacrifice Hits--Knox, Richman, Regan. Umpire--Cantrell. Time of Game--2.40. Attendance--4,000.