CHAPTER XXV.THE NINE AT PRACTISE.
The following morning the principal Denver newspaper contained the following:
“FRANK MERRIWELL ACCEPTS.“Mr. Editor.“Dear Sir: While reading your paper yesterday I was somewhat surprised to see the challenge of Mr. David Morley, manager of the Denver Reds. While it is true that I have a number of my friends with me at the present time and have contemplated playing ball, it is not true that I have taken special pains to pick a nine, or that I have publicly expressed an intention of ‘wiping up the earth with everything I can find west of the Mississippi.’ It seems to me that Mr. Morley’s challenge is couched in language that is not only offensive, but is likewise insulting. My ball-team has not played together this season, and therefore is not in its best form. Nevertheless, I am willing to meet the Reds, and we will do our best to make the game interesting. As we are out for sport and not to make money, I decline to play the game for a special purse; but I am willing to make an agreement that the winning team shall take the entire gate-receipts.“Yours truly,Frank Merriwell.“Hotel Metropole.”
“FRANK MERRIWELL ACCEPTS.
“Mr. Editor.
“Dear Sir: While reading your paper yesterday I was somewhat surprised to see the challenge of Mr. David Morley, manager of the Denver Reds. While it is true that I have a number of my friends with me at the present time and have contemplated playing ball, it is not true that I have taken special pains to pick a nine, or that I have publicly expressed an intention of ‘wiping up the earth with everything I can find west of the Mississippi.’ It seems to me that Mr. Morley’s challenge is couched in language that is not only offensive, but is likewise insulting. My ball-team has not played together this season, and therefore is not in its best form. Nevertheless, I am willing to meet the Reds, and we will do our best to make the game interesting. As we are out for sport and not to make money, I decline to play the game for a special purse; but I am willing to make an agreement that the winning team shall take the entire gate-receipts.
“Yours truly,Frank Merriwell.
“Hotel Metropole.”
As it was necessary for Merry’s team to get some practise without delay, Frank secured the privilege of using the principal ball-field of the city that afternoon.
In the forenoon the entire team appeared at a tailor’s, and the men were measured for suits.
At two o’clock in the afternoon the boys appeared on the field in order to get some practise, having bought bats, balls, gloves, mitts, and other necessary articles.
It is needless to say that Dick Merriwell went along. Old Joe Crowfoot, however, had disappeared the previous night, and had not been seen since.
It was not thought that they would be troubled with spectators, as pains had been taken not to let it become known that they thought of practising at that time.
Dick took a seat on the bleachers, where he intended to remain and watch the practise.
Frank put his men onto the field, with Swiftwing in left, Gamp center, and Carker right. Of course, Browning, apparently too weary to move, was detailed to cover first bag. In the old days Rattleton had made a very satisfactory man on second, and Merry placed him there again, while Ready was planted near third. Carson was a good infield man at any point, and Merry made him short-stop.
Then Bart and Frank started in to give the men some work by batting out to them, Merry having the infield and Bart batting to the outfield.
This was the simplest form of practise, but it was good work to start with, and soon the men were hard at it, although they could not do as well as they might had they been in regular uniforms.
“Don’t be afraid of getting the crease out of your trousers, Rattles, old man,” called Ready. “Tailors are hard-working and industrious people, and they must have business. Besides, we’ve got to hump ourselves if we shave any frozen liquid in that little game with the redoubtable Reds. Yea, verily!”
They went into it in earnest, although it quickly became apparent that practise was sadly needed. Frank gave them all kinds of balls to handle, hot grounders, skippers, slow bunts, high flies, little pops, and liners.
“Ready!” he called, and out to Jack he drove a slasher along the third-base line, making the fielder by that bag jump and stretch for it.
Jack cuffed it with one hand, stopped it, fumbled it, got it up, and lined it across to first. But the throw was bad.
“That stop was all right,” said Frank, “and you would have had time to get the man after your fumbleif you’d made a good throw. Lots of games are lost by bad infield throwing. Try it again.”
By that time the ball had been thrown in to him, and he again sent it skimming the ground toward third.
Ready set his teeth, got squarely in front of it by a hard dive, stopped it, but did not pick it up cleanly, fumbled a little, and then made a beautiful line throw across to first.
With one foot on the bag, Browning lazily smothered the ball in his big mitt.
“That was better,” commented Frank, “but it wasn’t perfect. Try another.”
And again he drove a “daisy-clipper” toward Jack, though not directly at him. This time Ready scooped up the ball, turned like a flash, and made a fine throw to first.
“That’s the stuff!” declared Frank approvingly. “Now you are doing it handsomely.”
He kept the others at it in the same manner, never letting up on a man till he did his work right. He had studied the temperament of each individual man, and some he praised, while others he criticized, though both praise and criticism were of the kind to be most effective without harming the player.
Rattleton had not been playing ball for some time, and two failures to pick up hard grounders seemed totake the confidence out of him, for he muttered, loud enough for Carson to hear:
“I’m afraid my ball-playing is about over. I’m not in it any more. I feel like ficking myself over the kence—I mean, kicking myself over the fence.”
He had not intended that Frank should hear, but Merry’s keen ears caught the words. Immediately Frank divined that Rattleton had lost confidence, and he decided at once that it must be restored. Then he batted a comparatively easy one straight at the second-baseman, who managed to get it and send it to first.
“Why, you can’t help doing it right when you get into gear, Rattleton!” laughed Merriwell. “It’s just as natural for you as it is to talk backwards.”
Harry knew the ball had been easy to get, but these words seemed to indicate that Frank had confidence in him, and that served to restore his own confidence. In a few minutes he was working much better, and he soon went after the balls as if he felt sure of getting them.
“It isn’t necessary to take a double step to throw, Carson,” said Frank. “That’s a new trick with you. You don’t throw that way naturally. When you get a ball up clean, use the short-arm throw in sending it over to first, with a step just as the arm swings forward, putting the weight of your body into the throw.That gets the ball away from you without loss of time.”
Carson’s face was red, but he nodded, saying, good-naturedly:
“I’ll try it, if I can remember.”
“Of course you can remember in practise,” said Frank, “and what you get in the habit of doing in practise is what you’ll do in a game. That’s what hurts lots of men. They fool around in practise, and it harms them when they come into a game. In practising, every man must handle himself just as he would in a game, if he wishes for the best results.”
When Browning betrayed a disinclination to “stretch” for balls that were thrown wide, Frank immediately opened on him sharply. He did not do so in a jollying way, knowing jollying would not awaken the big fellow to his best, but spoke in earnest.
“I’d lick any other man for that,” muttered Bruce to himself; “but, as long as it’s Merriwell, I guess I’ll have to ginger up.”
And he did.
All this served to awaken Dick Merriwell to a realizing sense of Frank’s supreme authority over men, and he glowed with pride in his big brother.
Frank was giving close attention to the work of the infield, and so he did not observe much that wastaking place in the outfield. After a while, however, Bart came close and said, in a low tone:
“It’s no use, Merriwell; the Indian has lost his cunning. He hasn’t made more than one decent catch thus far, and he’ll be just about as good as a ten-year-old kid in that field.”
Merry was somewhat surprised by Bart’s words, for Swiftwing had been a good man in days gone by. True, he was a better pitcher than outfielder, but he had demonstrated more than once that he could do good work in the field. Immediately Frank said:
“Change round. I’ll bat to the outfield a while.”
He drove the first ball out to Carker. It was an easy fly, and Greg gathered it in without trouble.
Then Frank gave Gamp one that made the long-legged New Hampshire youth cover ground to the best of his ability; but Gamp was in form, and he pulled the ball down after his long run.
It was Swiftwing’s turn. Merry put up an easy one, but he refrained from driving it directly at the Indian, knowing many fielders will miss a ball when nervous if they have to stand still and wait for it, although they will catch it when they have to make a brisk move to get under it.
Swiftwing got under the ball, but he did not hold it.
“You couldn’t drop another one if you tried to,” cried Frank, in a manner and tone that indicated hisfirm belief in his own words. Then he proceeded to drive another out to the young Indian.
Swiftwing got under it, but again the ball bounced out of his hands. This time, however, he made a leap for it, and caught it before it fell to the ground.
“That’s what I told you!” laughed Frank. “I knew you couldn’t drop the ball, old man. It’s no use for any old ball to try to get away from you.”
He made Swiftwing believe it, and from that time on the Indian steadily improved, so that, before long, he was catching everything any one could reasonably expect him to hold. Hodge was astonished.
“How the dickens do you do it?” he asked. “You have a way of making a man do his best.”
Frank smiled.
“Few men do their best unless encouraged,” he said; “but all men cannot be encouraged in the same way.”
The main secret of Merriwell’s success in handling men was that he brought out the very best that was in them. Had Bart paused to think about this he would have known it was true, for Frank had developed in Hodge all the best qualities of the latter.
Frank directed Bart to fling aside his bat and put on his big catching-mitt. Then Merry batted to both infield and outfield, directing the throwing of each man. The throwing-practise was sharp and fairlygood. Hodge overthrew second the first time he sent the ball down, but after that he sent the ball straight as a rifle-bullet.
“Runner on first and second!” called Frank. “Double play!”
He drove the ball to short, and Carson picked it up, snapped it to third, upon which Ready drove it to second in beautiful style.
“Sure double,” said Merriwell. “Runner on first, one man out, two strikes on the batter. Double ’em up.”
Down between first and second bounded the ball. Rattleton went out for it, his teeth set, and took it successfully. Then he wheeled and jerked it back to second. Carson had covered second when he saw Rattleton start after the ball, and he took the throw. The ball did not linger in his hands, but went whistling to first, where Browning smothered it.
“No mistake about that,” asserted Frank. “The swiftest runner in the country could not have made first on that.”
It was amazing how those fellows improved in a short time under Merriwell’s direction. Frank called them in, one at a time, to get batting-practise, Hodge putting on cage and body-protector.
“Come out here, Dick,” said Frank. “I want you to throw some, while I coach the batters.”
This call had been unexpected by the boy, and he hesitated for a moment.
“That’s right,” said Browning, who was the first batter; “give us something easy.”
Immediately Dick left the bleachers and entered the diamond, his eyes flashing and his lips pressed together.
“Don’t strike him out, Dick,” adjured Merry, as he tossed the ball to the lad. “He’d feel bad if you did.”
“No danger,” grunted Browning. “The outfielders better move back.”
Frank went up behind the catcher, announcing that he would act as umpire and coach.
Dick Merriwell had tossed aside his jacket as he entered the diamond. His shoulders and arms were fairly good for a boy of his age, although they might have been developed more.
“Give your signals,” called the boy to Bart.
Frank had been teaching him to pitch by catcher’s signals.
“Oh, you won’t need to bother about that,” said Browning.
The words of the big fellow seemed to put the boy on his mettle. Hodge called for an out, and Dick delivered it quickly. Browning was not looking for a curve, and he swung at it.
He did not touch it.
“One strike!” laughed Frank. “At least, he fooled you once.”
“Why, the young rascal has a curve!” exclaimed Bruce, in surprise. “I thought he had never seen a game.”
“He never has.”
“Oh, say——”
“It’s a fact, but he has been practising some.”
“Oh, well, one curve is pretty good for a boy like him; but he’ll never fool me with it again.”
Bart called for an in, and the boy nodded.
Then Dick swung out with all the speed he could command, which was excellent for a lad of his age. The ball seemed coming straight over, and Bruce fancied it must be a straight one this time. He slashed at it hard, but the ball took a sharp in shoot, and he fanned again.
“Is it possible!” laughed Frank. “Now, wouldn’t it be awful if it really did happen that—— But I won’t speak of it.”
“Confound him!” growled the big Yale graduate. “He has two curves! You must have found him an apt pupil, Merriwell.”
“Not at first; but he is coming into it all right.”
“I should guess yes! But I fancy his stock oftricks is exhausted now. I’ll just have to line it out.”
Hodge signaled for another in, but Dick shook his head. He also shook his head on being given a signal for an out, but nodded when Bart called for a drop.
Then the boy threw a ball that seemed a very pretty one to Bruce, but it suddenly dropped toward the ground, just when the big fellow swung the bat, and he missed it for the third time.
“Struck him out, Dick!” said Frank, smiling. “I knew you could do it.”
“Struck me out, by thunder!” rumbled Bruce, his face crimson. “Struck out by a kid like that!”
He seemed to be greatly cut up over it, but Merry was highly satisfied.
“He struck you out, for one reason, because you were too confident, Browning,” said Frank. “You thought you were dead sure to hit a little chap like that. It is this same overconfidence that sometimes makes a good batter strike out. A heady pitcher often gives a good batter the impression that it is easy to get hits off him, doing it for the very purpose of fooling the batter. There are lots of tricks in pitching besides throwing curves. Change of speed is necessary. Then a pitcher may often fool a batter by appearing to have no control over the ball. Thebatter thinks he is sure of getting a base on balls, and he waits, throwing away his chances.”
Then Merry directed Dick to give Bruce some good straight ones, instructing the big fellow to swing to meet the ball, and not to “kill it.”
“It’s the first duty of every batter to get his eye on the ball,” said Frank. “If he stands up and slashes away with all his strength, he seldom succeeds in this. Slashing is what spoils many good men who might become skilful batters.”
Browning had a reputation as a “home-run hitter,” and no home-run hitter is ever a sure hitter. It’s the man who meets the ball cleverly and places it for singles who is the most valuable. Of course, there are times when home-run hitting counts, and it always enthuses the spectators; but the man who tries for nothing save long hits does not obtain the best results.
Coached by Frank, Browning met the ball handsomely several times, and then was sent out to his base, Ready being called in.
“I suppose I’m the only real thing that never fans,” chirped the apple-cheeked fellow.
Frank looked at Dick and nodded. Bart gave his signals, and Jack began to fan at once, missing the first two.
“Oh, Laura!” he exclaimed. “How did it happen? But I always do that to fool the pitcher. Then I put the next one over the fence.”
The next one, however, was a high in shoot, and he was completely deceived, as Browning had been.
“Look here, Richard, my son,” said Ready; “you’re altogether too flip! Is this the way you treat your trusting friends?”
The boy showed his teeth in a smile that was very attractive, illuminating his entire face. That face was a most expressive one, betraying his suddenly shifting emotions.
“I’ll have to teach him to work the batter with his looks,” said Frank. “There is something in it. A pitcher who looks intensely savage sometimes impresses the batter as dangerous. The pitcher who wears a cool, disdainful smile is liable to provoke the batter so that he cannot locate the ball. There are all sorts of tricks in this business.”
Then Frank began coaching Jack about his striking, causing him to stand up and step straight out toward the pitcher with one foot when he swung at the ball, instead of swinging the foot back and partly behind him, which is a very bad fault, as it weakens the batter’s position and spoils his ability to drive out sure hits.
When a shrewd pitcher finds a man is given tostepping back or pulling away from the plate, he is pretty sure to “keep ’em in close,” which will drive the batter back right along.
One after another the members of the team came in and took their turn at bat, and Merriwell’s instructions were obeyed implicitly. All were surprised by the skill displayed by Dick, and it was the universal opinion that the boy had the making of a pitcher in him.
Indeed, Dick had accomplished much in the short time he had been at it; but he was the brother of Frank Merriwell, and the same sort of perseverance and determination dwelt in his breast.
When Frank was satisfied that Dick had thrown enough, he took the lad out and went into the box himself.
At this point, before Merry had delivered a ball, several persons entered the grounds by the gate. One seemed to be an old man with gray whiskers, while two of the others were Black Elrich and the man who had first caught the big dog by the collar in the Hotel Metropole.
Elrich was at the head of the party, and he advanced straight toward the diamond. As he drew near, he loudly said:
“So this is your team, Merriwell? I’m glad Ifound you here. I’ve brought Dave Morley, manager of the Reds, along. This is Mr. Morley.”
A short, stout, thick-set man came forward. He had a smooth-shaven face of the bulldog cast, and he was smoking a black cigar. His first words were:
“Mr. Merriwell, I see you are a squealer.”