CHAPTER XXIII.THE FIRST RUN.
“What’s the matter, Merry?” asked Bart anxiously, as Frank came in to the bench. “You did not use the double-shoot once in that inning.”
“Oh, why not give the boys something to do?” said Frank. “They are shouting for it.”
He did not think it advisable to let Bart know his wrist had been injured. Still, knowing Merry as he did, Hodge seemed to feel that something was wrong, and this thought was in his mind when he picked out a bat and stepped up to the plate.
Two innings had passed without a score, and now Bart was resolved to do something to put the Merries into the game.
Nesbitt realized at last that he was up against something more than a lot of “easy marks,” and he decided that the snap was not so great as he had fancied at the outset.
Bart was cool, although he appeared anxious, and Nesbitt’s caution led him into the mistake of giving the batter a pass to first. Hodge flung aside his bat and trotted down, while Merry immediately took a position on the coaching-line.
Crouching there, Frank gave the signal to “hit andrun,” knowing Browning would find it difficult to bunt or sacrifice.
The first one was good enough, and Bruce met it. Already Hodge was scooting for second.
The ball went straight at Joiler, who fell over himself in his anxiety to pick it up quick enough for a double play. The ball rolled between the feet of the short-stop and avoided his hand a moment. When he got it he made a snap throw to Waldron on second, and, without hesitation, Hodge slid feet first for the bag.
Waldron came down on Hodge with the ball, but he went over onto his head and shoulders.
“Out!” said the umpire.
Waldron lay on the ground groaning when Bart got up. It was found that he had injured his shoulder, and time was called. A doctor soon announced that the shoulder was displaced, and it was necessary to set it at once. Waldron could play no more in that game.
Robinson had not fancied more than one substitute would be needed, yet now there was a call for another.
“Give me time enough, and I’ll have another man,” he said, as he hurried away to the dressing-room beneath the grand stand.
In a very short space of time he reappeared in uniform.
Not many years before this Nick Robinson had beenreckoned a fast infielder. He had kept in practise by often getting onto the field with his men, and now he welcomed the opportunity to get into a game of this sort.
Robinson was given a hand as he trotted out onto the diamond, which he acknowledged by touching his cap.
Hodge was out, Browning was on first, and Gamp was the hitter.
During the wait Frank had sought to impart some of his restless energy to Bruce, drilling into the big fellow the importance of playing a lively game and working hard for scores. Merry knew Bruce could run when he let himself out, but Browning seemed too lazy to make the circle of the bases in less than twenty minutes.
Gamp understood that the big fellow would attempt to steal, and he regarded the matter as a very foolish piece of business on Merriwell’s part.
“Frank ought to know Bruce cuc-cuc-cuc-can’t run faster than a snail,” thought Joe.
However, he obeyed the sign, which was for him to slash at the first ball pitched. This he did most successfully, missing it easily, and falling backward to bother the catcher.
Gamp’s floundering about bothered McCann just long enough to make it impossible to catch Browning, who ran with most surprising speed for him. However, McCann threw, and the runner was forced to slide, which he did.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Frank encouragingly. “Just see how easy it is.”
“Let him try it again!” muttered McCann sourly. “Let anybody try it. See if I don’t git der next duffer w’ot goes down.”
With Browning on second, Gamp longed to hit the ball hard, and he succeeded in fouling it three times in succession. Then he put up a long fly to right field, on which Browning ran the moment the ball fell into the hands of McGlinkey.
McGlinkey threw to Waldron, who wheeled about with the ball in his hands.
Browning had covered ground with great speed and was on his way from third to the home plate.
Uttering a low curse, McCann ran out after the ball, caught it, and plunged back in a mad effort to stop the score.
“Slide!” came from Merriwell, and Browning went forward in a headlong plunge.
McCann jumped on Bruce with his full weight, but Browning had scored.
“Dirty ball, dirty ball!” cried many voices. “Put him out!”
Browning flung McCann aside and got up.
“If you try anything like that again,” said the big fellow, “I’ll paralyze you!”
“Oh, g’wan!” sneered the catcher. “I’m playin’ der game, dat’s all.”
“A dirty game.”
“Wot’s der matter? Youse chaps has knocked out two of our men a’ready. Wotcher kickin’ fer?”
“So you are trying to get even. I think I’ll hit you a few, anyhow!”
But Browning did not do so, for the players interfered again.
“What a lovely, quiet game of baseball!” chirped Jack Ready. “It’s a positive pleasure to take part in such a game. I think somebody will get killed a few times before the fracas is over.”
“But we have scored!” laughed Dick Merriwell. “We are going to win!”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” warned Carker dolefully. “No game is won till it’s over.”
Swiftwing came up to the plate, but no one was on a base ahead of him, and he simply put up a fly that was easily handled at third.
The Merries, however, had made the first run.
“Wot’s der matter wid youse fellers?” said Bud McCann as the home team came in to the bench. “Is yer goin’ ter let dis gang of kids walk off wid der game?”
“Don’t talk so much with your face, Bud,” came from Robinson. “There is plenty of time. Wait till the streak breaks and you’ll see the youngsters go allto pieces. That’s the way with young teams. I’ve never seen one that could hang together and fight an up-hill game against old stagers.”
“But we’re der ones wot has der up-hill game ter fight.”
“They’ve made only one score.”
“Dat may be ernough fer dis kind of a game.”
“Nonsense! We’ll make ten runs before we are through, see if we don’t. All we have to do is to keep right after them. See how hard we hit the ball last time. Start it off, Maloney, by driving out a nice little single.”
Maloney, the first hitter, vowed that he would, and walked up to the plate with the air of a conqueror.
The first ball was an underhand rise, and the batter popped it into the air, so that Merry easily handled it when it came down. The first man was out. Maloney swore beneath his breath as he retired to the bench.
Flobert went after an out shoot, and up went another infield fly, which Ready secured.
Nesbitt was not a heavy hitter, and Merry easily caused him to fan at the first two.
“What do you think of that?” cried Ready. “They go out in order just as fast as they get up to strike.”
Nesbitt, however, did not fan, as expected, but drove a hot one at Dick Merriwell, who jumped for it, failed to handle it, and let the runner reach first.Dick ran back for the ball, which had gone through him. Seeing this, Nesbitt started for second.
Dick got the ball, picked it up quickly, threw toward second, but threw so high that the ball went ten feet over Rattleton’s head.
Over second raced the runner, while both Browning and Carson got after the ball, which was bounding merrily away toward the fence.
Carson reached it first and saw Nesbitt crossing third on the dead run. Nothing but a clean throw to the plate would stop a score, and Berlin did his best to make it. The throw was too high, Hodge being forced to retreat a few feet to get the ball, and Nesbitt crossed the pan with the score that tied.
Then the rooters for the home team vented their delight with wild howls of joy, and Robinson said to Hayward:
“We’ve got them going. If you can start right in hitting, we’ll win the game in this inning.”
Hayward felt that this was true, and he stepped up to the plate overflowing with confidence and determination.
Merry gave Robinson a drop, and the latter missed it cleanly. Then, just when the fellow was looking for a variation, Frank put over another of the same kind and fooled him again. Hayward muttered something to himself, and Frank laughed. The batter gripped his stick, thinking:
“He’ll waste the next two.”
Then, when he was expecting a “bender,” Frank put the next one straight over, and Hayward let it pass.
“You’re out!” came from the umpire.
Hayward savagely flung his bat aside, while the great crowd cheered loudly.
Again Frank Merriwell was the first one to hit.
Bud McCann got close under the bat and gave the signal to Nesbitt, who started with a high one. Frank let it pass, and a ball was called.
Then the pitcher started one right at Merry, but Frank fancied it would curve over, so he stood up and swung to meet it. As he did so the hand of McCann struck the bat aside, and Frank did not touch the ball.
Merry turned and gave McCann a hard look. Then he spoke to the umpire, saying:
“Mr. Umpire, will you please keep watch of this man? He fouled my bat that time.”
“Dat’s a lie!” cried the catcher. “I never touched yer bat at all! Ye’re a big stiff if yer says so!”
“Dat’s right, Bud!” cried Squinty. “I was watchin’, an’ he is lyin’ erbout it!”
Frank felt like forcing the fellow to swallow his words, but he wished no further trouble in the game, and so he simply prepared to strike again.
Bud McCann fanciedhe had driven Merry into his boots, and it gave him a feeling of satisfaction.
“You’re a big blow!” he muttered loudly enough for Frank to hear. “Wait till I git anodder chance to t’ump yer! I’ll fix yer, see if I don’t!”
Nesbitt sent in a sharp curve, which Merry let pass, as it was not over; but, to Frank’s dismay, the umpire called another strike.
“Dat’s der stuff!” exclaimed the catcher. “He’s easy, Nes. Put ’em right over der platter.”
But Merry was not at all nervous, and he forced the pitcher to give him a good one that was right over.
Frank felt confident of meeting that ball and getting a hit, but once more McCann touched his bat as he swung, and he simply put up a foul, which the tricky catcher easily captured.
Merry ran out and asked the umpire if he had not seen McCann foul the bat again, but the official shook his head and declared Frank out.
Merry came back and spoke to McCann.
“If you touch my bat again during the game,” he said in a low tone, “I’ll have to hit you.”
“Go ahead!” blustered the ruffianly catcher. “I’d like ter have yer try dat trick once more! I’d swat der packin’s outer yer in less dan a jiffy!”
Merry longed to teach the fellow the lesson he deserved, but his aversion for fighting prevented him from getting into further trouble just then.
Rattleton was not encouraged by what happened to Merry, and he tunked an easy one down to Robinson, who threw Harry out at first.
“W’y, we’re just beginnin’ ter play ball!” cried McCann.
Dick Merriwell stepped out from the bench, his light, strong bat over his shoulder.
“Der kid will be pie, Bud!” cried Squinty.
“You didn’t find him pie yesterday,” said a voice from the bleachers, and the few who knew about the encounter in front of the Continental Hotel laughed heartily.
“I could lick dat babby ter-day,” thought Squinty. “I’d jest like ter do der trick afore all dis crowd. Den I guess dey wouldn’t laugh at me!”
He sat there, meditating on some manner of revenge. The more he thought about it the greater became his belief that he could easily whip Dick in another encounter.
Dick was fooled by the second one Nesbitt put over, and he missed it easily. Then followed one that was just where the boy wanted it, though it came with fearful speed.
The surprised spectators saw the lad strike at the ball with the quickness of a veteran, the bat meeting the sphere fairly. It was a pretty hit into left field, and Dick ran with the speed of a frightened fawn.
“Take another!” was the cry that sent him flying over first and down to second.
He saw the left-fielder get the ball and throw, and he heard Merry’s clear cry:
“Slide!”
Forward shot the boy, and the manner in which he slid along the ground to the base was beautiful to see. The baseman was a bit too late to touch him out, and the umpire declared it safe.
“That’s Frank Merriwell’s brother!” cried a clear voice in the grand stand. “What do you think of him?”
“He’s all right!” shouted hundreds.
“They’re both off the same web!” roared a man on the bleachers. “For his years the youngster is the hottest stuff.”
“Merriwell,” said Jack Ready, “I see where your glory is about to be eclipsed. Listen to the words of a prophet: That confounded kid is going to become even more famous than his brother.”
“Good!” laughed Frank. “I am rather proud of him now. If he keeps on, he’ll make a record for himself in baseball some day.”
Ready walked out to strike. Nesbitt was angry, for he felt that it was a disgrace to have a boy like Dick make a two-bagger off him. He fancied he had discovered Jack’s weak spot, and so he kept them in close to Ready’s fingers.
Jack fouled two, and then he fell back far enough to hit the ball fairly, sending it down between second and third.
The moment the ball was hit Dick Merriwell was in full leap for third, and the way he covered ground astonished all witnesses. He tore up the dust and raced over third without slackening speed in the least.
The right-fielder got the ball and sent it home. Once more the remarkable boy hurled himself forward and slid along the ground as if his body was greased. That slide was something never forgotten by any one who witnessed it, for it was made with perfect skill and grace.
The ball came into the hands of McCann, who dropped heavily on Dick’s head with his knees.
“Safe!” said the umpire.
But when McCann arose the boy lifted from the ground a face that was stained with blood.