CHAPTER XXIITO THE RESCUE
Hicksley started off in good shape. The first man up went out on a foul that Sparrow caught after a long run. The second batter, who was left-handed, could do nothing with the ball at all and went out on strikes. The third man connected and shot a sharp grounder which Fred picked up neatly and threw in plenty of time to Durrock at first.
The side was out, and hearty applause greeted Hicksley as he came in to the bench, Bobby joining in as heartily as any of the others.
“That was a dandy start!” cried Bronson.
“Keep it up, Tom!” exclaimed Jinks, encouragingly. “They can’t touch you.”
Rockledge was more fortunate in its half of the inning. Frank, who led off in the batting order, had two halls and one strike called on him, but on his second attempt he sent the ball on a line between center and right for three bases. He was tempted to try to stretch it to a home run, but Bobby, who was coaching, saw that the ball would get there before him and held him at third.
The next batter fouled out, but Mouser, who followed him, sent a neat single to left on which Frank scored easily. Barry went out on strikes, and Mouser was left on the bag when Spentz died on a weak dribbler to the box.
But Rockledge was one run to the good and had shown that they were in a batting humor, so that their rooters in the stand were jubilant at the promising beginning.
The next two innings went by without a score for either side. Hicksley was still pitching well, and the opposing pitcher had tightened up considerably.
In the fourth, Somerset broke the ice. The first man up laid down a bunt that Hicksley picked up, but threw wild to Durrock, and the batter reached second before the ball was recovered. A neat sacrifice put him on third, from which he scored on a long fly to right, which Spentz gobbled after a long run, but could not return to the plate in time to catch the man running in from third after the out. No further damage was done as Fred and Durrock disposed of the batter, but the score was tied, and it was Somerset’s turn to cheer.
But Rockledge got the run right back again in the fifth, and added one for good measure. Fred smashing out a rattling two-bagger to left. He stole third on the first ball pitched. Two infield flies followed, and it began to look as though Fred’s hit had gone for nothing. Then Mouser brought the stand yelling to its feet by a clean home run, following Fred over the plate and making the score three to one.
His comrades gathered around him, pawing and mauling him exultantly.
“That’s what you call hitting it a mile!” cried Bobby.
“A lallapaloozer!” shouted Fred, doing a war dance.
“A peach!”
“A pippin!”
“You’re all there, Mouser!” yelled Pee Wee.
Mouser grinned appreciatively at the medley of shouts that greeted him, and then retired to the bench, where he sat panting and happy.
Radford, the Somerset pitcher, pulled himself together and retired the next man on strikes, and Somerset came in for its turn at the bat.
“Go for ’em now, fellows!” shouted their supporters.
“Eat ’em up!”
“Get right after ’em!”
“The game’s young yet.”
But Hicksley, encouraged by the two-run lead his team had handed him, was still more than they could solve, and again they went out into the field runless.
The Rockledge boys also had a goose egg for their portion in their half, but this did not worry them much. The game was two thirds over, and at that stage a lead of two runs looked mighty good to them.
But in the seventh inning their confidence began to give way to anxiety. Hicksley began well by retiring the first man on strikes. But then he began to lose control. Two batters in succession were given their bases on balls. A fine pickup of Fred’s disposed of the next batter at first, each of the others advancing a base on the play. There was only one other to be put out and end the inning without a run being recorded.
But the next batter landed square on the ball, which whizzed like a bullet between first and second, and in a jiffy two runs came over the plate, tying the score. The batter reached second on the play and then imprudently tried to make third. A quick throw to Sparrow caught him ten feet from the bag and the side was out.
Hicksley came in shaking and with a strained look in his face. The Rockledge rooters yelled encouragement to him, but he paid no attention to them and sat moping sullenly on the bench.
Frank and Mr. Carrier had a hurried consultation, and then the former came over to Bobby.
“You’d better get out there at one side and warm up,” he directed him.
Bobby did as ordered.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Hicksley in a surly tone. “Take me out and put that fellow in?”
“Not yet,” answered Frank soothingly. “You’ve had a bad inning, but that can happen to any one. Perhaps you’ll be all right after a rest. We’ll see how you start out the next inning.”
The Somerset boys, with their chances brightened, had taken a mighty brace, and Rockledge went out in one, two, three order.
Hicksley took up his position in the box with an air of confidence that Frank felt was assumed.
Still, the first ball he pitched cut the plate for a strike. The next two were balls. Then followed another strike and a third ball, making the count three and two.
With both batter and pitcher “in the hole,” the next was a hall and the batter capered happily down to first.
Durrock walked over to Hicksley.
“How about it, Hicksley?” he asked.
“Let me alone,” growled Hicksley.
The next batter connected for a clean single, advancing his mate to second.
Hicksley now was plainly cracking, and when he issued another “pass,” filling the bases, Frank motioned him to retire and beckoned Bobby to the box.
Hicksley glared at Bobby as the latter came forward.
“Sorry, Hicksley,” said Bobby regretfully, as he reached out for the ball. “You pitched a dandy game for the first six innings.”
“Yes, you’re sorry a lot,” snarled Hicksley. “You’re tickled to death at the chance to show me up.”
Instead of handing the ball to Bobby, he threw it angrily on the ground and slouched away to the bench.
Bobby’s eyes flashed, but he controlled himself, quietly picked up the ball and took his position in the box. It was no time now to get angry when he needed above all things to keep cool.
It was a trying position for so young a player. The bases were full with no one out, and the Somerset rooters were yelling at the top of their lungs, trying to rattle him.
A clean hit would bring in at least one run, probably two. Even a long fly to the outfield would probably enable the man on third to score.
“Go to it, Bobby, old boy!” called Fred from short.
“You can hold them!” encouraged Mouser.
“We’re all behind you, Bobby!” sang out Sparrow.
Bobby sized up the batter and wound up for the first pitch.