CHAPTER VIIIA RECORD
Silence speedily swept over the assembly as the next two batters both struck out. The third batter managed to send a slow roller toward first base, which speedily was taken by the baseman, who did not return to his base, but stood waiting on the line to touch the runner. The Benson player attempted to run into the waiting player, but the Rodman baseman stepped nimbly to one side, avoiding the onslaught, although he succeeded in touching the fleet-footed runner.
When Walter joined Dan, as the Rodman nine came in from the field, his enthusiasm became still more marked. “Dan,” he said, “can’t these fellows bat any? Is that the reason for the exhibition they’re making of themselves or is it because you are pitching such a game?”
Dan smiled in his demure way, but did not directly reply to the question of his friend. Whatever may have been the trouble with the opposing nine the Rodman players at least found little difficulty in solving the curves of the pitcher that faced them. As the game progressed the score of the Rodman team steadily increased, while in every inning atleast two of the Benson players struck out and the sole hit they had made was a two-base hit in the seventh inning. The prowess of the batter, however, had been without avail, for he had been left on second base, the two batters that followed him having both been struck out. When the ninth inning came the score stood fifteen to nothing in favor of Rodman.
“Don’t lose your nerve now,” Walter said to Dan as they resumed their places in the field for the final inning.
Dan laughed good-naturedly and by way of reply threw the ball swiftly to his friend at short, who in turn threw it to first.
And yet Walter was suspicious of Dan, or at least fearful. What a record he had made, with only one hit and thirteen strike-outs in the eight innings. There was slight danger that the game would be lost, but if Dan should “go to pieces” now the marvelous record might be spoiled. Dan had not had much experience in pitching and it would not be unnatural if, under the strain, he should fail to maintain the steady success that thus far had so wonderfully marked his work in the game. The Benson supporters, as well as the Benson nine, had ceased most of their noisy protests, the failure of their batters to do anything with Dan’s pitching being too manifest to be explained or even defended. As for Walter’s part in the game, thus far he had not covered himself with glory; he hadmade two errors and not a hit had been placed to his credit. It is true he had caught two high twisting flies and had received vociferous applause from Silas and his companions for his successful attempts, but in the light of his condescending manner at the beginning of the game and the freedom with which he had lavishly given his instructions he felt that he stood before the assembled spectators in no very favorable light. Dan not only had pitched a wonderful game, but had not failed once in hitting the ball when he came to bat. Once he had sent the ball far over the head of the left-fielder—a hit which had brought him safely to third base, and also won tumultuous applause from Silas, who was the unrecognized leader of the cheering of the Rodman supporters.
And now the final test for Dan had come. Would he be able to keep up his good work? Walter was nervous as Dan drew back to send in the first ball.
Crack! The batter hit the ball with a force that sent it skipping between short-stop and third base, and the runner was safe at first, with the second safe hit the Benson players had secured. The following batter was given his base on balls, and the runner at first slowly made his way to second. Two on bases and none out! Had Dan’s hand lost its cunning? “Steady, Dan,” called Walter, striving to speak encouragingly. The young pitcher, however, did not even glance in the direction of hisshort-stop. With increased deliberation he drew back his arm and sent in a slow in-curve.
Crack! Dan’s heart sank an instant at the sound, and then he was aware that the ball was coming swiftly toward him. He put up his hands almost instinctively and, scarcely realizing what he was doing, caught the ball. Instantly swinging about he threw the ball to second and the player was out. “First! First! Throw it to first!” shouted Dan almost beside himself in his excitement. “Throw it! Throw it!” he yelled frantically, going through the motion of throwing the ball himself in his eagerness.
The second-baseman, at the sharp call, wheeled and sent the ball with all his might to the first-baseman, who had advanced several feet from the base and was standing with outstretched hands awaiting the coming of the sphere. The Benson runner who, at the sound of the bat when it struck the ball, had heedlessly started at full speed for second, now was frantically endeavoring to regain first base. As the baseman caught the ball the runner dove head-foremost, and the two came down in a heap about six feet from the coveted bag.
Dan was dimly aware of a mighty shout that went up from the excited spectators, but he instantly ran to the place where the two players were lying. The Rodman player had been struck in the pit of the stomach by the head of the Benson player and was gasping for breath, his face being colorless.
“Work his feet, Dan,” called Walter as he himself began to move the arms of the player much after the manner in which the handle of a pump is manipulated. There were expressions of anger to be seen on the faces of the people that instantly rushed upon the field, and for a moment there were signs of serious trouble. Fortunately the Rodman first-baseman quickly recovered and arose, though he stood for a brief time pale and trembling. With his recovery the threatening peril of a conflict was avoided and slowly the assembly began to depart from the field.
“Dan, that was a wonderful catch you made,” said Walter quietly, as he joined his friend.
“Was it?” laughed Dan, elated by the words of praise.
“Yes; though the best thing you did was when you sent the ball like a shot to second,” said Walter.
“Nat Carey wasn’t asleep. He got the ball to first in time to catch the runner. Nat played a good game to-day at second.”
“That is the first time I ever saw a triple play.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It was great.”
“It saved the day, I guess.”
“You ought not to complain, Dan,” said Walter. “Fifteen strike-outs shouldn’t make you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Ye didn’t do s’ bad after all,” roared Silas, at that moment joining the boys and slapping Walteron the back as he spoke. “I thought long in th’ first o’ th’ game ye wasn’t worth shucks, but th’ way ye took that liner an’ then giv’ it a heave t’ second was pretty slick. What d’ye think o’ the Rodman nine now?” he added triumphantly.
“I think the ‘nine’ consisted mostly of Dan and his pitching.”
“Dan done noble,” admitted Silas, “but th’ trouble was he didn’t give none o’ th’ other fellows a show. He struck out so many o’ th’ Benson chaps that ’bout all th’ was left for our boys was t’ stan’ still an’ watch th’ Bensons walk up t’ th’ home plate, sass th’ umpire, give their club a fling, an’ march back an’ sit down.”
“Well, it came out all right, Silas,” laughed Walter.
“Ye’re right it did. I told ye ’twould, didn’t I? Neow what d’ye think ’bout what I said?”
“What did you say?”
“That Dan ought t’ get th’ New Yorks t’ come up here. I rather guess Dan could give their best knockers somethin’ t’ think ’bout.”
Dan laughed lightly, and Walter said: “Silas, I’m afraid you’re a little bit prejudiced in favor of the Rodman nine.”
“Not a bit. Ye see what was done to the Benson fellows, didn’t ye? That tells th’ whole story.”
“It might be a different story if we had been playing a professional team like New York or Chicago.”
“Prob’ly they’d got a run or two,” admitted Silas, “but they couldn’t ’a’ batted Dan. Nobody could.”
“He certainly did well,” said Walter warmly as he turned once more to his friend. “Dan,” he added abruptly, “come over to the house this evening, won’t you?”
“Why?”
“My father will be there. He’s coming up this afternoon and I want you to meet him.”
“That’s good of you, but probably he won’t be overanxious to see me. Why should he?”
“After you struck out fifteen men this afternoon? Why, it’s like meeting the President or the King of England!” exclaimed Walter enthusiastically.
“Is that all?” laughed Dan.
“No, it isn’t all. Will you come?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Will you come?” said Walter persistently.
“What time?”
“Any time after supper.”
“I guess so.”
“I shall expect you!”
The boys separated, each starting for his home. Walter’s elation over the result of the game was great and manifested itself in the way in which he walked along the road that led to his grandfather’s farm, which was a half-mile or more from the little village. His thoughts plainly were upon some project in his mind, for he frequently exclaimed, “Great! We’ll have something to shownext spring! The school will think I’ve made the greatest find in years!”
As Walter turned into his grandfather’s yard he saw his father and mother seated on the wide, shaded veranda, and instantly he ran to greet them. “When did you come?” he asked his father as soon as he had warmly welcomed him.
“I arrived about half an hour ago. Been playing ball, Walter?” Mr. Borden inquired, as he glanced at his boy’s uniform.
Walter laughed as he replied, “I thought better of you than that. What did you think I wore this suit for? To hoe potatoes?”
“One might suspect something of the kind,” said Mr. Borden smilingly. “It certainly couldn’t look worse if you had been hoeing potatoes.”
“That’s what I got in sliding to second,” explained Walter as he glanced at his discolored suit. “I’m awfully glad you came, pop,” he added affectionately. “I’ve got something to say to you.”
“How much?” asked his father in mock seriousness as he at once thrust his hand into his pocket.
“It isn’t money—at least, it isn’t money for me.”
“What then?”
“You know Dan Richards, don’t you?”
“Is he the boy that lives with his mother on the farm yonder?”
“Yes, sir. He’s one of the finest fellows I ever met.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Yes, sir; he is. And he told me the other day that he was saving up his money——”
“Did he explain how, clearly enough for you to see?” broke in Mr. Borden good-naturedly. “I shall be glad if——”
“No,” interrupted Walter, “he’s saving his money so that he can go to the normal school this year and then he wants to go to college.”
“A very worthy ambition—if he has the root of the matter in him.”
“He has. He’s one of the best fellows that ever lived! He struck out fifteen men in to-day’s game!”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, sir; he did! Now what I want is for you to send him to the Tait School with me this year.”
“And he struck out fifteen men,” laughed Mr. Borden.
“Yes, sir; I wish you might have seen him! It was wonderful! And he’ll do well in school and in college too! He’s one of those quiet fellows who always do everything well.”
“That means a thousand dollars a year, Walter.”
“Well, you can cut down my allowance. He can room with me. I’m sure he’d have a good influence over me and you often say you care more for that than you do for anything else.”
“I do, my boy. You’d better get ready for supper now. We’ll talk about this matter later.”
“What a generous boy Walter is!” said his mother fondly as her son departed.
“What makes you think that?” inquired her husband.
“Because he wants to help Dan. And Dan is a good boy. He is fond of Walter, and I hear that he is very good to his mother, who is a widow.”
“Likewise he struck out fifteen to-day,” retorted Mr. Borden quizzically.
“What makes you laugh?” demanded Mrs. Borden a little resentfully. “I’m sure I don’t know just what that means, but it must be something good.”