CHAPTER VIIA DISPUTE
“Tell him to get off the field,” said Walter in a low voice as he saw the stout harness-maker approaching.
“Tell ye what, Dan,” roared Silas, “ye’re jest givin’ Benson somethin’ t’ think on. Our boys are jest knockin’ th’ cover right off th’ ball.”
“That doesn’t look like it,” responded Dan quietly as the Rodman batter hit a little fly to the short-stop, who turned quickly and caught one of the runners. It was the first occasion for a shout from the followers of the Benson nine and the applause was as noisy as it was prolonged. Two boys, one with a pitchfork in his hand, jumped down from their seat in a farm wagon which they had driven to a place not far from third base. “Hello, Si!” shouted one of the boys. “We’re goin’ t’ give you fellows a dose you’ll never forget.”
“Be ye?” retorted Silas, his round face shining under the heat and his excitement. “If ye keep up as ye’ve begun, it’ll look like the ‘dose’ was somethin’ prepared special for Benson. Ye haven’t got a man t’ first base yet.”
“Just wait, Si——”
“I am a-waitin’,” interrupted the harness-maker. “An’ so be you, I guess. Doesn’t seem t’ be doin’ ye much good, though.”
“You haven’t got but two runs.”
“That’s jes’ two more’n you’ve got.”
“Wait till this inning is over.”
“All right. I’m pretty good at waitin’. If you get a fellow as far as third I’ll give ye a new saddle.”
“The saddle is mine. I’ll stop for it on my way back t’ Benson.”
“An’ keep up th’ same waitin’ ye’ve been havin’, I guess.”
“Dan,” said Walter, as the two boys a few minutes later together walked out to the field, “the keenness of Si’s wit is almost too much for me. I don’t know but I’d better go out under the shade of that maple yonder and rest up.”
The young pitcher, however, neither responded nor acted as if he saw anything unusual in the boasting of the harness-maker. In a brief time the game was resumed.
Again the first batter to face Dan struck out. The second was hit with the ball, and a wild yell arose from the boy with a pitchfork, who was still standing near third base. “Now run, Zeb!” he shouted to the player, who was on first base ruefully rubbing his shoulder. “Never mind a little thing like that! ’Twon’t hurt long! I’ll risk ye! If ye get around home I’ll let ye ride back t’ Benson on my new saddle.”
Dan at that moment threw swiftly to his first-baseman, but the runner, who perhaps was thinking more of his bruised shoulder than of the game, unfortunately was directly in the way of the ball and was again hit by the swiftly thrown sphere. Leaping to his feet with a yell, he shook his fist at the pitcher and shouted, “Do that again an’ I’ll knock yer head off!”
Instantly Dan threw the ball, which had been returned to him, and the baseman touched the excited runner, who had incautiously advanced a yard or more toward the pitcher.
“You’re out,” said Moulton quietly as the man was touched before he could regain the base.
“I hain’t neither!” roared the angry player as he advanced threateningly toward the umpire.
Ignoring the protest, the umpire motioned to Dan to resume his work and the young pitcher instantly threw the ball.
“Strike!” called Moulton promptly.
“Look here, you!” said the angry player that had been declared out at first. He had approached the umpire and wrathfully was facing him. “Do you know what I’d give you for two cents?”
“Get off the field,” said Moulton quietly, scarcely glancing at him.
“I won’t get off! I tell ye I wa’n’t out at first. No, sir! That fellow stood right in my way.”
“I told you to get off the field,” said Moulton again in a low voice.
“Mebbe you’ll put me off.”
Lifting his hand in token that time was called, Moulton turned to the angered player and said, “I don’t want to make any trouble. If you don’t know any better——”
“I know what I’m talkin’ about!” interrupted the Bensonite. “I’m telling you I wa’n’t out on first.”
“I called you out.”
“I know ye did, but that doesn’t make it so, does it?”
“Yes. Now leave the field and take your seat.”
The silence among the spectators was tense as the eyes of everyone were turned toward the two boys. “That’s Jim Fuller,” said the farmer boy who, still holding his pitchfork in his hand, was standing beside Silas near third base. “He’s the best wrestler in Benson. That umpire doesn’t want t’ rile him.”
“Don’t ye worry none ’bout th’ umpire,” retorted Silas promptly. “I rather guess he c’n give an’ ’count o’ himself if he has to.”
Both became silent a moment as the protesting Benson player looking angrily at Moulton, finally said: “You’re a robber, but I’m goin’ t’ let ye have your way this time. But if ye call me out again when I hain’t out—why, jes’ look out for yerself. That’s all I’ve got t’ say t’ ye.” As the Benson player turned to seek the place where the fellow-members of his nine were seated, a derisive shoutfrom the Rodman supporters greeted him and he instantly turned and faced the noisy crowd as he shook his fist at them. The game was resumed as Moulton quietly tossed the ball to Dan.
Whether it was due to the excitement or because he was not keenly watching the batter Walter did not know, but the third batter rapped a ball feebly toward the short-stop and as Walter seized it and threw it high above the head of the first-baseman the runner gained second and then started toward third.
“Get that ball! Don’t let th’ feller get third! I don’t want t’ give up a new saddle!” roared Silas.
Walter heard the shouts of Silas above the wild yells of the dancing Bensonites, who were leaping and slapping their thighs and emitting wild shouts in their excitement. The first-baseman now had recovered the ball and threw it fiercely to overtake the runner. In his eagerness Walter leaped and caught the ball, which had been thrown high, and as he came down he fell directly upon the runner and both lay sprawling upon the ground. Wriggling from the place, the Benson player crawled over the intervening yard and lay with his outstretched hand grasping the third base. “Never touched me!” he shouted triumphantly.
“He’s out,” said Moulton quietly. The player, however, doggedly seated himself upon the base and refused to move.
“Get off the field!” shouted Walter angrily. “Don’t you know how to play ball?”
“You’re the whole thing, are you?” tauntingly called the Benson player, who was calmly seated. “Maybe you’ve come up into the country to show us greenhorns how the game is played.”
“I know enough not to dispute the umpire,” retorted Walter, his face flushing with anger.
“It’s your umpire. He isn’t giving us any show at all. You didn’t touch me with the ball and you know you didn’t!”
“I did touch you.”
“Go tell that to somebody that didn’t see it!”
By this time the players of both nines were assembled near the third base, almost all of them shouting and gesticulating wildly. Dan remained in his position near the box, but he was the only member of the Rodman nine who had not run to join in the noisy altercation.
Suddenly in the midst of the confusion the runner leaped to his feet and made a wild dash for the plate. As there was no one there to prevent him he easily crossed, and turning to the scorer shouted: “That’s a run for us! Don’t forget to set down that score for me. They can’t work that on us, not when we have our eyes open!”
For a moment the confusion redoubled, the excited spectators rushing upon the diamond and adding their noisy claims or protests to the shouts of the rival players.
Moulton now quietly approached the assembly, and pushing his way into the midst of the throng he said, “The runner was out.”
“No, he wasn’t either!” roared the captain of the Benson nine. “Your man never touched him! He wasn’t out!”
“Look here!” said Moulton advancing upon the speaker. “You asked me to umpire this game, didn’t you?”
“I suppose so,” growled the captain, “but we don’t intend to be robbed——”
“No one intends to rob you of anything,” broke in Moulton in a low voice. “I saw the play. The man was out, that is all there is to it.”
“No one else saw it,” growled the captain.
“That may be true, but it doesn’t change matters. He was out. Now if you want to play ball go on with the game. If you’d rather spend your time wrangling like a lot of hoodlums, then that is your privilege. Either go on with the game and tell your men to play ball as gentlemen ought to play it or give it up and quit.”
The angry captain glared at the umpire a moment, then turned sulkily to his companions and said: “Oh, well, come on, fellows! I suppose we’ll have to give in, but we’ve got to play the umpire as well as the Rodman nine.”
“I guess it isn’t the umpire, it’s the pitcher that bothers those fellows,” said Walter to the third-baseman as the Benson players sulkily walked totheir positions on the field. “Dan is doing great work!”
His words were overheard by the Benson player who had been the cause of the interruption. Stopping abruptly, he glared at Walter a moment and then said: “I guess if the pitcher didn’t do any better than your short-stop does, it wouldn’t take long to wind up this game.”
“Don’t say anything, Walter,” said Dan as he came to the side of his friend and quietly took his arm. “When a fellow is in the game he wants to work the muscles in his arms and legs and back, but there are some other muscles he doesn’t want to let get into the game at all.”
“You mean the muscles of his tongue?”
“Yes.”
“I never dispute the umpire anyway,” said Walter, his face flushing slightly as he spoke.
“Don’t dispute the other nine. If there is any disputing to be done, let them do it all.”
“But they were——”
“Yes, I know,” broke in Dan. “But it doesn’t pay. Besides, it’s part of the game to learn to control one’s self.”
“Dan, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Walter good-naturedly. “If you’ll strike out the men in one-two-three order the next inning, I’ll promise not to say another word before the ninth inning.”
“I’ll do my best. You’re the first to bat.”
“Am I? I’d forgotten that in the excitement.”Seizing his bat Walter advanced to the plate, and in his eagerness to redeem himself he struck at the first ball and sent a slowly rolling grounder toward second. The Benson second-baseman juggled the ball and Walter’s speed increased as he dashed toward first. He was aware of the shrill exhortations of Silas to “hump himself,” whatever that might mean, and just as he gained the base the ball was caught by the baseman, who stood directly in front of the base. The first-baseman was the one who had made the trouble in the preceding inning, and a grin appeared on his face as he looked at Walter. For an instant Walter was intensely angry and was about to voice his protest. The sight of Dan, who had advanced to coach the runner, however, instantly sobered him and he merely said, “A raw deal, Dan,” as he passed his friend.
Dan scowled as he replied, “I know it, Walter, but let it go.”
As he rejoined his companions Walter did not refer to his recent experience and seated himself to watch the progress of the game. A base on balls and two hits netted two more runs and the stentorian plaudits of the harness-maker were heard over all the field. The Benson supporters were strangely silent as their nine came in once more to bat. There was little shouting until the first player to face Dan received his base on balls. Then the hopes of Benson revived and a wild yell followed the player as he went to first base.