CHAPTER XLPINWHEEL MURTEL
The great Bancroft crowd laughed. They had come to Kingsbridge to see their new southpaw show the Kinks something about pitching. Incidentally they had made arrangements to take home with them various sums of money which the foolish Kingsbridgers had wagered on their team.
Bangs whipped the ball back, and Craddock again went through with that remarkable delivery, looking, as one man expressed it, “as though he was all arms ’n’ legs.” Again the ball bit a corner off the plate, and Labelle, fascinated by the pitcher’s gyrations, swung too late.
The only delay was that caused by the movements of Craddock preliminary to pitching, and he did not waste a single “teaser” on the Kinks’ first hitter. The third one was high, with a sharp slant on it, and the little Canadian whiffed out.
“There’s pitchin’ fur ye!” yelled a Bancrofter. “What d’ye think o’that?”
“Nom de tonnerre!” said Labelle again, as heretired to the bench. “Where he come from, de circus?”
Stark, following, fouled three times, but eventually the Bancrofter twirler outguessed him, and sent him, fanned, to take his place beside Labelle.
“Whut’s he got?” asked Reddy Crandall, pawing among the bats.
“Curves and speed,” answered Larry, in a low tone. “Don’t get to watching his delivery and forget to watch the ball. Go to him! He can be hit.”
But Reddy could not hit him that time, and the Bancroft crowd howled as their new projector fanned the third man in succession. There were some who began to prophesy that the Kinks would be shut out without a hit on their own field. There are always wise heads who make foolish prophecies early in every game.
The second inning opened with Bancroft’s left-handed hitters coming up, and Locke, knowing they had been practicing against a left-handed pitcher, worked with the utmost care and judgment, his change of speed being most effective, as it caused two of the four men who faced him to bump weak grounders into the diamond, to their complete undoing.
With two down, Bernsteine, standing well backfrom the plate, with a long bat grasped near the end, stepped into a “roundhouse,” and lined out a pretty single. It did no good, however, for Lisotte banged a grasser into the clinging paws of Labelle, and Bernsteine was out at second on a force.
“You all hit him, boys,” cried a Bancroft man. “You’ll straighten ’em out by and by, and lose the balls over in the slashings at the foot of Bald Mountain. He’s due to get his bumps.”
Craddock continued his remarkable work, and, one after the other, Anastace, Hinkey, and Lace were mowed down, even as their comrades had fallen in the first round.
The Bullies were urged to fall on Locke, and Bangs led off with a long drive to center, which Sockamore retrieved on the fly. Craddock did not seem to be strong with the club, and he made a laughable exhibition by seeking to hit the low ones on the inside corner, where Locke kept the ball for a strike-out. Harney got one to his fancy, through a momentary lapse on the part of Locke, but, by tall hustling out in the left garden, Reddy Crandall picked the globule out of the air.
“You’re hittin’ him now,” declared the encouraging Bancroft fan. “Keep it up; they can’t get ’em all. You’ll put the blanket on him yet.”
The delight of the visitors may be imagined as Craddock finished Kingsbridge’s list by handing the last three men upon it the same medicine he had given the first six. Three innings had passed, nine men had faced him, and not one of them had even hit the ball into the diamond. It began to seem that the man who had prophesied no hits and no runs for the Kinks might not be such a fool, after all.
Locke’s manner was almost trancelike as he toed the slab at the beginning of the fourth. His first ball was wide, but Trollop caught the second one on the seam and pounded it for two sacks, bringing the Bancroft rooters up, roaring. They continued to roar, as Grady bunted and sacrificed Trollop to third, where, with only one out, he was in position to score on the squeeze play if the Bullies saw fit to try it.
They did try it, but, knowing what was coming, Locke pitched to Mace high and close, and Mace bumped a little pop fly straight into Lefty’s hands. Holding the ball a moment, Locke smiled at Trollop, who made ludicrous efforts to stop and turn back toward third. The roaring of the Bancrofters died away in a disappointed groan as they saw the ball tossed to Fred Lace for the third put-out.
“Oh, this is something of a game!” crowedStark, capering toward the bench. “It’s about time we came to life and touched that gangling port-sider up a few. Stop watching his contortions, Labelle. This is no vaudeville performance; you’re here to play baseball. Try to hit him, anyhow.”
“You bet!” growled the Canadian. “I hit de ball dis time; you watch.”
Nevertheless, although he slashed viciously, he did not graze the first one.
Suddenly Reddy Crandall, who had spent his time on the bench staring at the long-geared pitcher, struck his thigh a resounding slap.
“I’ve got him!” he declared excitedly. “I’ve spotted that guy! I know him now! Craddock, hey? No wonder them Bancrofters come up to this town to-day loaded with bettin’ money. Craddock! Why, that’s ‘Pinwheel’ Murtel, of the National League, as good a man as Matty himself, only he’s got a rotten disposition, an’ no manager can handle him. He’s been blacklisted and outlawed time after time, but he’s such a wonder they always fix it up somehow, an’ take him back when he wants to come. That’s Murtel, I’ll bet my life on it. Fellers, we’ll never score to-day withhimpitchin’.”
Stark, standing near, had ceased to swing thetwo bats he had picked up, listening to the excited words of Crandall. He had never seen the famous and eccentric Pinwheel Murtel, but he had heard a great deal about the man, as, doubtless, had every other baseball player in the country.
“By Jove!” he muttered, having turned to stare at the lengthy twirler. “I believe you’re right, Reddy.”
“IknowI’m right,” said Crandall. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the man was, and I’ve got him at last. At his best, he can walk any three of us without a man down and then keep us from scoring. This game is as good as settled, and a lot of Kingsbridge sports have lost some good money to-day.”
“Nonsense, Crandall!” said Locke swiftly. “Even if the manisPinwheel Murtel, he isn’t invincible.”
“There goes Pete ag’in,” said Reddy, as Labelle fanned out the second time. “Nobody’s even touched him.”
“What of it? The best pitchers in the business can be hit.”
“But not by batters in our class.”
“Yes, sometimes they can be hit by batters in our class. Mathewson has been batted and beaten by a scrub country team, at least once, accordingto his own confession; and other top-notch pitchers have met the same treatment, much to their surprise.
“We’re going to fight this game through to the last ditch, I hope, whether that man is Murtel or not. There’s no knowing what may happen. At any rate, if I can hold them down, and you fellows keep on giving me the support you have, they may not get any runs. We’re not going to quit, are we, just because we’ve found out that Craddock is Murtel?”
“No,” rasped Jim Sockamore, the Indian, “we won’t quit! You’re right, Lefty; mebbe well beat that bunch yet, if we support you.”
It was plain, however, that Crandall’s discovery had taken the courage out of him, and it seemed to fade away entirely as Stark, also, fanned. Reddy stood up to the plate with his heart in his shoes and swung apathetically, being sliced down without waste of energy on the part of the pitcher.