CHAPTER XIVWINNING A VICTORY
Frankwas right, one of the two substitute players to go forth was really Mark, and he had run across the diamond to fill the important position mentioned.
The explanation of this state of affairs is very simple. On being introduced to the player from Rochester Mark had discovered that he had met the fellow before, and a long talk on baseball matters followed. Then Mark was introduced to the captain of the team, who told of the way they were handicapped with only one substitute player, two others having disappointed him, and of the fact that the second baseman was liable to give out at any moment.
After the muff already mentioned the second baseman refused to play longer and had to be excused. Then came the accident at the home plate and the team found itself short a man.
“I’ll fill that place,” came from Mark. “I think I can give satisfaction. Anyway, I’ll try my best.”
“Give him the chance,” came from the Rochester player, and so it was decided, the captain thinking he could remove Mark at the end of one innings if the youth proved “a stick,” as he put it.
It was natural for the boys to give a cheer, and they did so with a will, even Professor Strong joining in, for he was almost as enthusiastic as anybody. Mark heard and saw them and waved his hand. He had slipped on a player’s suit, as well as a cap and a pair of baseball shoes and, to use Frank’s words, “he looked the real thing.”
But there was one in the crowd who did not fancy the turn affairs had taken. I doubt if there is need to state that this was Hockley.
“Humph! so he has wormed his way in with them,” he muttered. “I hope he loses the game.”
The ardor of the Americans among the spectators was considerably dampened when the two substitutes appeared. With the score a tie and only three more innings to play it was felt that the Roosevelts would have to put forth their very best efforts in order to win.
The seventh inning was over in remarkably shortorder. There was but one base hit, made by the Cubans, and this runner “died” at third. Mark had next to nothing to do at second, nor did he come to the bat. But the other substitute came to the plate, and when he “fanned the air” for three strikes a deep groan went up.
“The subs are no good! Might as well give up the game!” cried some of the hasty ones.
In the next inning the Cubans managed by good luck to score two runs. In this inning Mark might have put one of the runners out at second, but the ball was thrown so high up that only his finger tip touched it. Yet this counted as an error for him and the other players looked far from pleased.
“I knew it,” muttered Hockley to Sam. “He can’t play—he isn’t in practice.”
“Jake Hockley, you ought to be ashamed!” retorted Sam, and then turned his back on the lank youth.
With the score 8 to 6 in their favor the Palmas came to the bat for the last time. One man went out on strikes and the next on a foul. Then came the third, a heavy-set fellow, who “lined it out” straight for the pitcher.
It was a “hot” ball, far too hot for that pitcherto take, even in a last inning, and he hardly made a move for it. But Mark made a leap, and almost before the spectators realized what was up, he held the sphere in his left hand and the umpire had called “out!”
“Hurrah!” yelled Frank. “That’s the stuff!” And the others followed in a cheer, while Professor Strong’s face wore a broad smile. This game of ball made him feel a good deal like a boy again.
“Two runs to tie the score and three to win the game,” said more than one player of the Roosevelts as they took their positions at the “bench.” “Oh, we must get together and do something. We can’t allow these Cubans to win the series.”
The first player to the bat was the left fielder. He was usually counted a careful hitter and nobody was surprised when he reached first base in safety. But the others were sorry he had not made third, or at least second.
There followed an out on strikes and aided by a short passed ball, the runner reached third, taking desperate chances. Then came a short hit which took the batter to first by “fielder’s choice,” the ball being thrown in to cover the home plate. But the man on third was wise and stayed there.
“Hilgard to the bat, Robertson on deck!” sang out the scorer, and Mark’s heart gave a thump. Was it possible that the result of this game was to depend upon him?
In another moment he knew, for Hilgard went out on strikes, amid a mad yelling from the Cubans. There were now two out, so the whole result of that contest rested upon Mark’s shoulders.
“You must do it, Mark!” yelled Frank, at the top of his lungs. “Go in, old boy, and win! Whoop her up for old Lakeview!” And then the others took up the cry, that is, all but Hockley, who, true to his nickname, remained as glum as ever.
When Mark stepped up to the home plate it was with a determination to “do or die” right then and there. He grasped the ash stick firmly, planted his feet and took a good, hard hold of his nerves.
The Cuban pitcher eyed him curiously. He was a “new proposition” and the pitcher hardly knew how to handle him. He stepped back, gave the catcher a sign, and delivered a swift out curve. Mark let it go by.
“Ball one!” called the umpire.
“That’s right, take your time!” yelled Frank.He was standing up and so was everybody else in the stand.
In came the ball again and this time Mark struck at it but missed.
“Strike one!”
A loud yelling went up from the Cubans.
Mark took a firmer grip than ever. It must be confessed that he was in an agony of mind. What if he should “fan out?” He was certain that club would never forgive him. And he was equally certain that he should never forgive himself.
And then came a ball waist high and directly over the plate, a beautiful ball, and just where Mark wanted it. Around came the bat in one swift drive. There was a crack, and the ball went sailing down into deep center field.
On the instant the crowd in the stand were yelling like so many demons and Frank was dancing up and down as if he had suddenly gone crazy. Mark had reached first—he was already on his way to second, and still the center fielder was chasing after that ball, which kept bouncing on and on just out of his reach. One runner crossed the home plate and the second followed almost on his heels. The catcher was yellingand so was the captain of the Palmas but nobody heard them. Mark, his breath coming thick and fast was fairly leaping through the air on his way to third. Here the baseman made a feint as if to catch the ball and Mark ducked and slid in to the bag.
“Go on! Go on!” yelled the coach, and a hundred others, and Mark glanced back, to see that the fielder was just picking up the ball. How he got to his feet he never knew, but off he started for home, amid a yelling that was louder than ever. He came over like the wind, to sink exhausted near the “bench,”—and then the ball came in.
The game was won!
“Hurrah for Mark!” Frank fairly screamed, and made a wild leap into the field, followed by Sam and Darry, and even the professor, and in another moment the enclosure was black with people. All the Americans were shouting loudly, while the Cubans had but little to say.
“He must be a first-class professional,” said one Cuban.
“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Frank, who heard the remark. “He is only an academy player. He never played on a professional team in his life.”
The players on the Roosevelt nine were not slowin congratulating Mark, and had he allowed it they would have carried him around the field on their shoulders. But Mark was too modest for this, and as soon as possible escaped to the dressing room.
“Oh, say, but it was great!” burst out Darry, as he wrung Mark’s hand. “Better than anything I ever saw at Lakeview.”
“You fairly lifted the crowd off its feet with that home run,” put in Sam. “Even the professor was yelling like a senior.”
“Was I?” the question came from Amos Strong himself, who stood behind Sam. “Well, I fancy the game was worth it,” he added, but looked rather sheepish for a second.
The Roosevelts insisted upon giving Mark a supper that night (since he had refused to accept part of the gate money for his services), and a good time was had until late in the evening. Frank accompanied Mark, and during that festive hour the lads made several warm friends.
“But the Cubans played a good game,” observed Darry, to Sam, while they and Hockley and the professor were waiting for Mark and Frank to return. “It was nip-and-tuck from start to finish.”
“That hit by Mark was a fluke,” grumbled Hockley.“I’ll bet a thousand dollars he can’t do it again.”
“Perhaps it was a fluke,” returned Sam, dryly. “But, just the same, Glummy, you’ll never have such a fluke happen to you;” and then Sam turned his back on the bully.
Hockley sauntered off to his sleeping apartment all out of sorts both with himself and everybody around him.
“After this they’ll be more stuck on themselves than ever,” he growled. “And they won’t want anything to do with me. But never mind, I’ll fix them yet, see if I don’t!”