Lyford and Poole also noticed Owen's throwing and recognized his skill.
"He may beat Borland out after all," said the coach.
"There's a good deal more to catching than throwing to bases," Poole returned thoughtfully. "Borland has a lot of good points. He's a good backstop, is sure on fouls, and doesn't rattle; and he's used to our game. He was good last year and ought to be better this. I won't throw him over until I find some one surely better."
"I shouldn't, either," said the coach; "though, to tell the truth, I never thought him remarkable in inside work.[1]With green pitchers this year, a good deal will depend on what the catcher gets out of them."
[1]The term applied to the catcher's strategy in directing the pitching.
[1]The term applied to the catcher's strategy in directing the pitching.
The truth of this last remark was so obvious that no reply could be made to it except to assent, or perhaps to add as a corollary that, other things being equal, the best catcher was the one whocould get the most out of the pitcher. Poole was an excellent ball player and a just captain. To put an inferior man on the nine because he was a friend or a fraternity mate would have been impossible for him. But Poole had a way of planning things in advance, and then trying hard to make his plans succeed. In this he was almost obstinate. Carle and Borland as the school battery had been an important part of his plan. When this scheme miscarried, he had fixed on O'Connell and Borland, or Patterson and Borland—always Borland. Owen, he had decided, should go to right field to make a part of the heavy-hitting outfield which he had dreamed of producing. The suggestion that Borland's strategy was faulty did not please him, because it interfered with his plans. At the same time, if there was some one better he wanted to know it.
"Well, let us try the other battery," said the coach, at last. And the captain agreed.
The opportunity came soon. After the Dartmouth game O'Connell complained of a lame arm and asked for a rest. Borland was laid offwith him. Patterson and Owen were slated for the next game.
The Fryeburg school was on the schedule for Saturday, and Poole was eager to win the game. The year before the manager had induced this team to come to Seaton to substitute for a nine which had been obliged to cancel its game. In the spirit of superiority which the boys of Seaton and Hillbury often assume toward the athletic teams of other schools, the Seaton manager had seen fit to urge upon the Fryeburg captain that he bring up his best team and give the Academy nine a good game. The Fryeburger had responded by bringing up so excellent a team, and giving the Seatonians so stiff a game, that the latter were supremely thankful for the base on balls, the three-base hit, and the muffed fly which yielded them their two runs to match against the seven which the visitors achieved. Seaton doesn't easily forget that kind of a surprise. Next to the great Hillbury contest, the climax of the athletic year, there was no game in the schedule which captain and school desired so ardently to win. This year these fellows must be soundly thrashed!
To his men Poole appeared most confident as he ordered them to their places for the opening of the game. He tried to persuade himself that he really felt all the hopefulness he showed, but it was harder to deceive himself than to encourage other people. If there was another whose manner and words helped to stay the captain's courage, it was the new catcher. Owen had long ago learned that as the catcher's every movement is watched by the eight men before him in the field, so his whole bearing and his work are both in a marked degree either encouraging or discouraging to the rest of the nine. He must never show faint-heartedness or uncertainty. He must do hard things as if they were easy, must keep the whole play always before his eyes, direct the pitcher, watch the base-runner, throw instantly when necessary, take hard knocks with indifference, sprint for sudden fouls,—this and more is involved in the work of his position; but above all and everywhere he must have courage and inspire it.
Rob could do this because he had done it many times before, and because he trusted hisinfield. He had arranged with Ames at first for the throwing signal, with Hayes, the shortstop, and McPherson, second, as to covering second base; they were trusty men. Patterson was in good condition, asking nothing better than to follow the catcher's directions. Poole had given him from his last year's note-book certain facts about the Fryeburg hitters. It was just such an opportunity as this that Rob had longed for. Why shouldn't he feel confidence?
The three Fryeburg batters were soon disposed of, one striking out, one putting up a pop foul, which Durand found easy to handle, and the third catching a wide out on the end of his bat and rolling a grounder to Ames. When Seaton came to the bat, McPherson, perceiving that Simms, the Fryeburg pitcher, was nervous, waited patiently and went to first on balls; and Poole, a little later, put a clean hit over the shortstop's head. With two men on bases things seemed promising, but Sudbury struck out, Durand forced McPherson by a hit to third base, and Owen, to his great disappointment, sent a long fly into the centre fielder's hands.
In the second inning nothing was accomplished by either side. In the third a Fryeburger got first, only to be caught napping there on the first pitch by a sharp throw from the catcher, which called out from the well-filled benches the clear staccato "individual" cheer, "Owen, rah! Owen, rah! rah, rah, rah, Owen!" Rob might have appreciated the compliment if he had not been so intent on his work. A ball close in by a timid batsman drove him away from the plate; the next starting in apparently the same course, curved over; the third was the swift jump which Patterson threw as naturally as a left-hander throws an inshoot; the fourth, a teasing slow ball which made the third strike. Then with an easy fly to Rorbach, who was taking Owen's place in right field, the side was out.
McPherson came to the bat again and sent a liner over second base. Poole, who was an experienced bunter, tapped a weak bounder along the line to third, and, being a left-hander and quick, beat the ball to first. Sudbury struck out again. Durand drove a ball toward the second baseman which that fielder found toohot to manage, and the bases were full. Owen waited patiently until three balls were called, and then cracked another out into the field between right and centre, and two men came home. Ames hit a long fly to centre field, on which Durand scored. Then Hayes and Patterson went meekly out.
In the first half of the fourth Fryeburg got a run on a hit and errors by Durand and Patterson. From then until the eighth no more runs were made. Fryeburg reached first base thrice and second but once, and Seaton fared little better. After Larkin, the Fryeburg shortstop, essaying to steal second, ran into the ball in McPherson's hands a good three yards from the base, the Fryeburg base-runner clung to first if once he reached there, and waited for some one else to help him along. Patterson was following his catcher's signals like clockwork. Pitchers have days when the ball works with them, and this was Patterson's day. His jump balls really jumped; his inside ones cut the corners of the plate; into the straight, swift balls he put a powerful body swing. The fellows on the benches,the anxious captain, the critical coach, all felt the spirit that prevailed, perceived that the men were playing a game worth while, and were elated.
Then in the eighth came the events that caused the sympathetic spectators first to grieve, then to revile their foolish optimism, and finally in one big howl, that carried fully half a mile, to pour forth their new emotions. It happened in this wise.
Lufkin, the first Fryeburg batsman, hit a long fly to Sudbury, who dropped it, thus presenting the runner with a two-base hit. Morris, who followed him, hit the ball in a low arch over third baseman's head, and reached first. The next Fryeburger hit to Hayes, who, in overhaste, threw home, while Lufkin stayed at third. No one out and the bases full! Poole stamped his spikes into the ground, rubbed his bare hand nervously into his glove, and asked himself with sinking heart whether Patterson wasn't going up in the air.
"One ball!" cried the umpire on the next pitch. Owen walked toward the pitcher's boxand said a few words to Patterson as he tossed him the ball at short range. Patterson nodded and went back. Owen stooped on the plate and tied his shoe, readjusted his glove, and took his position once more. The batsman struck, lifting the ball in a low pop foul hardly a dozen feet above the catcher's head.
"Over your head!" shouted Patterson.
In an instant Rob had turned, flipped the mask from his head, looked up and caught sight of the ball. It was already falling, two yards ahead of him! He leaped, as a football player makes a flying tackle, and clutched the falling object hardly a foot from the ground.
One out! but the three bases were still full. Patterson had calmed down. Ross, the Fryeburg catcher, usually struck over the ball; Patterson sent him a low one. The bat clipped the top of the ball and drove it into Patterson's hands.
"Here!" cried Rob, standing on the plate. Patterson threw, Rob received the ball, turned and cut it to Ames at first, where it beat the runner by ten feet. Not till they saw Rob toss aside his mitt and Ames and Patterson startin, did the crowd realize that Lufkin had been forced at the plate and Ross thrown out at first. After that the game was no longer in danger—nor the battery's reputation. In the ninth the Seatonians made a rally and batted in four runs. So that the final score of seven to one represented a very fair vengeance for the defeat of the preceding year.
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He leaped and clutched the ball hardly a foot from the ground.—Page250.
CHAPTER XXIII
A TIE GAME
Robert Owen received many attentions from enthusiastic schoolmates that afternoon. They hovered around him while he was dressing; they dropped in on him after he reached his room. But it was Patterson who got the credit for the pitching performance; and Rob, you may be sure, let fall no hint that would lessen the pitcher's glory. It was encouragement that Pat needed to bring out the best that was in him; he was getting it now in full measure.
But after all, the voluble flatteries of the ignorant were of little value to Rob compared with the opinions of captain and coach. They accosted him on his way up from the gymnasium, just where he had met them three weeks earlier, after the game between the First and Second.
"Well, Owen," began the coach, "it was a great game you caught to-day."
Rob's modest smile and quiet "Thank you" represented but poorly the delight he felt.
"I really was surprised at Patterson's work," went on Lyford. "I didn't imagine he could do so well. It looked as though he was going up in the eighth, but you pulled him down handily. You played in luck there, too, for it isn't often that a man is forced at the plate."
"How much of that pitching did Patterson really do?" demanded Poole, abruptly.
Rob glanced keenly at the captain. "All of it," he answered quickly. "It was good pitching, too. The ball came right where it was wanted."
"But you ran the thing, didn't you?"
"Why, yes, in a way. When I called for a ball he put it over as I wanted it unless he had something better. He usually took my suggestions."
Lyford nodded agreement. "There should be but one head in a battery," he said, "and it's my opinion that if you've got a good, wideawake catcher, it's better to let him do the head-work."
"We've decided to keep Rorbach at right," said Poole. "You're too valuable a man towaste in the outfield. And you may as well go on catching Patterson."
Rob scampered ecstatically up to his room. There is nothing like a victory which you have worked and waited and longed for through months of discouragement, and, finally, in spite of every obstacle, actually won. This day's work had brought the authorities over to his side. After this there could be no more taking for granted that the old catcher must be the best catcher, and that experience elsewhere must be inferior to that acquired at Seaton. Borland was on the defensive now; if he would hold his place, he must prove his claim to it. And to do that he must accomplish something more than make a steady backstop and occasionally catch a man at second. Rob chuckled aloud as he recalled Poole's question about running the pitcher. Twice only in the game had Patterson ventured to pitch a ball different from what his catcher had called for. One of these had been fouled close to the line; and the other—a straight over after two strikes and a ball, which Pat had tried in hopes of a quick strike-out—the batter had smashed to centre field for twobases. As a strategist, Patterson could be improved upon, but it certainly was not the catcher's business to say so, especially as Pat had vowed that afternoon after the two-bagger that he'd never interfere again.
Then the congratulating friends began to drop in—Lindsay, Laughlin, Duncan Peck, Strong, Ware, Hendry, Salter. Simmons appeared in the midst of the bustle and retired shyly into a corner, whence he looked on at the demonstration with smiling but silent approval. He evidently had something on his mind. Duncan Peck also showed himself unusually subdued; and though he had that day been permitted to remove from his door the hateful inscription "Duncan Peck, Study Hours, 8-1, 4-6, 8P.M.—" which had adorned it these four months, he yet manifested no exuberance of joy at his freedom.
The visitors went their ways before dinner-time, leaving to Simmons his opportunity. "I didn't go to the game—" he began, as if about to excuse himself for disloyalty.
"Up the river again with Payner?" asked Rob, smiling.
Simmons nodded.
"Have a good time?"
"Fine! Up the river, Payner's very different from what he is here. He's as jolly as can be, and tells you lots of things."
"Well, what's the matter, then? What makes you look glum?"
"I'll tell you. When we got home he took me into his room to show me a new specimen. Then he asked me what the Pecks were going to do about the plagues, and I told him that there wasn't any change so far as I'd heard. At that he looked fierce, and said they'd get the full number then; they'd better look out, for he'd put them to the bad before he got through with them. Then he asked me if I didn't want to see what the next one was going to be. I said Yes, and he unlocked the closet door and let me look in. What do you think I saw?"
Simmons paused and gazed at Owen with big, horrified eyes.
"Well, what was it?" demanded the ball player. "I'm not going to guess through the whole zoölogy. Spit it out, can't you?"
"In the back of the closet was a kind of wire-levered box like a big rat trap, and in the box was an awfully big, shiny, black snake, all coiled up!"
"Dead?" asked Owen.
"Alive!"
"How did you know?"
"I saw it move its head, and the eyes shone, and there was food for it sticking through the wires."
"That's about the limit!" exclaimed Rob. "What then?"
"He pulled me out and locked the door, and said, as quietly as if he were talking about a commonbug, that he was going to wait a day or two and see if they were coming round. If they didn't, he'd give 'em the snake; he didn't know how yet, but they'd surely get it. Then he wanted me to promise not to let on about it to any one."
"Did you promise?"
Simmons straightened up. "No, I didn't," he declared proudly. "I just let him know what I thought of him and cleared out!"
"You told Duncan about it, didn't you?" asked Rob.
"Yes; how did you know?"
"I could see it in his face when he was here a few minutes ago. You'd better not worry over it. Payner wouldn't put a snake like that into their room."
"Oh, yes, he would," answered Simmons, wisely, with a doleful shake of his head. "You don't know that fellow. He's all right if you let him alone; but when he's mad, he's terrible. Why, he doesn't care any more for a snake like that than I do for an angleworm!"
It was nearly time for dinner, and as both preferred to be on hand at Alumni when the doors were opened, the conversation came to an end. Rob half resolved to have a serious talk with the Pecks that evening and see if he could not induce them to put an end to the unseemly feud. But after dinner he was unexpectedly called to a baseball meeting, and after that there were two lessons to prepare; so it happened that with his work and his natural weariness from the game, and the excitement of his new prospects, he forgot completely the Pecks and Payner and the snake.
But Duncan did not forget. He was thoroughly sick of the whole affair. Of what use was it to be off study hours, if one must forever be watching and dodging and locking up, never free from fear and never able to placate the enemy? Why must he suffer because Don was a mule? And the big snake! He shuddered at the thought of the coiling, crawling thing. He began to see it in the dark corners, to hear it in the rustle of papers on the floor. It was like a waking nightmare.
By evening he was ready for a decisive step. He went resolutely to Payner's room and made a complete apology. Payner listened and nodded approval. "I thought it was about time you fellows came down off your perch," he said. "Next time perhaps you won't be in such a hurry to roughhouse a new fellow. It's all right now as far as you've gone; but where's the other one of you?"
"My apology will do for both, won't it?"
"No, sir!" returned Payner, with decision. "You've both got to toe the scratch and sayyour little pieces, or it's no go. Two or nothing. Send along your brother with the same story, and then mebbe I'll call off the dogs."
"I will if I can," replied Duncan, dismally.
It was a badly discouraged lad who sneaked back to the Peck quarters and threw himself on his couch. It was no use. Don would never yield. He might fight, or get up a counter demonstration, but apologize—never. Duncan lay for some time on his back, throwing his knife into the air and catching it again. This process always had a soothing effect. It also served to clarify his thoughts and stir his imagination. After half an hour's practice with mind and hand, a new idea dawned upon him.
Pocketing his knife with a slap, Duncan pulled open the closet door and fumbled among the garments hung thick upon the crowded hooks. Yes, there was Donald's variegated waistcoat which he had been sporting of late, and which, in the excitement of the morning's scramble for breakfast and chapel, he had mourned his inability to find. Duncan stowed it away in a corner under a box, where only a thorough overhauling of the contents of the closet could bring it to light; then much easier in mind he took up the work of the evening.
On the next morning there was another burst of sputtering on the part of Donald, for this time his flat-topped gray hat, adorned with the hatband of the fraternity which he had recently joined, had likewise disappeared. He could find it nowhere, although he stole four minutes for the search from the short allowance for breakfast, and notwithstanding Duncan's remarkably unselfish assistance. A cap was near at hand, however, and taking this, Donald at length hurried over to the dining hall, vowing to complain to Dr. Mann downstairs that Lady Jane was swiping his things.
For two hours at least he could not execute his threat, for at eight came Greek, and at nine Rushers' Math. Duncan, who was in the Flunkers' section, recited an hour later, and thus was free between nine and ten. Once the "nine o'clocks" were well under way, Duncan arrayed himself in his brother's favorite necktie, donned the resplendent waistcoat, fished out the flat-toppedhat with its striking hatband from beneath his bureau, and giving to the brim the rakish tilt which Donald affected, put it carefully upon his head. Thus panoplied he rapped confidently on Payner's door.
"I've come to see you about that room business," began Duncan, looking down at the hat which he held in front of him, and yet in such a way that the waistcoat was largely visible.
Payner had risen from his chair. "So you're the other one, are you? Well, what do you want?"
"Didn't you send for me?" asked the visitor.
"No, I didn't," retorted Payner, sharply. "I said I wouldn't receive any apology until you both came."
"Well, I'm ready to apologize," announced the Peck. "I'm very sorry we did it."
This was a true word if Duncan had ever spoken such! His tones were likewise sincere. Payner, who at present sought victory rather than vengeance, and was not at heart bloodthirsty, felt immediately mollified. "How did you happen to do it?" he asked. "I'd never done anything to you fellows."
"Well, you see, you put the Moons wise about their room, and we thought you'd no business to butt in. We didn't hurt the Moons any. It did them lots of good."
"It didn't do me any good," replied Payner, significantly.
"Nor us," said Duncan, with his eyes on the floor.
There was a brief silence which the visitor found most irksome. "Is that enough?" he asked.
"I guess so," responded Payner. "I don't believe you'll be troubled by any more plagues."
"Thank you," said Duncan, humbly; "and I hope you won't say much about the affair. It would be pretty tough to have all the fellows guying us."
Payner grinned. "That's a good deal to ask, but I shan't talk about it if you don't."
Five seconds later, with the door of his own room safely closed behind him, Duncan was laughing and capering and tossing his brother's show hat into the air, and rolling on the couch in the gorgeous waistcoat. Presently, however,he bethought himself that time was passing, threw the hat under the sofa, hung the waistcoat in the closet under Donald's light overcoat, and returned the borrowed necktie to the drawer. Then, after resuming his regular costume, he stole forth to waylay Donald after the latter's recitation and inform him that a hat which looked like his was lying under the sofa, and that if he would take the trouble to remove the top layer of garments in the closet he might find his vest. It was with real regret that he refrained from rehearsing certain events of the morning, but the usually appreciative twin was the last person of whom in this case he could make a confidant.
Toward noon Duncan, who was bursting with his secret, espied Owen coming up the stairs, and forthwith haled him into his room. "I say, Bobby, what do you think has happened?" he demanded eagerly.
Rob glanced around the room. "Another plague, I suppose," he said, "though I don't see any signs of it. You look pretty happy for a fellow who's been seeing snakes."
"No snakes and no more plagues!" cried Duncan, gleefully.
"How's that?" demanded Owen.
"We've come to terms. From now on Mr. Payner and we are friends. He's a great fellow for bugs, but when you really want help in time of need, just call on old Odysseus!" Whereupon he slapped himself on the chest and his visitor on the back and danced around the table. Later, after trying to exact a pledge of secrecy, he told his story with much detail and scroll-work; and finally he stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and strutted up and down before his visitor, declaring that if he was not as great as Cicero who saved a state, he was at least the equal of the infant Hercules who killed a snake, and certainly greater than Laocoön, who let the snakes do him up. The sudden arrival of Donald threw the actor into some confusion.
An hour later Rob sat at his table staring vacantly at an open book, and musing on the adventures of the Peck family. A knock at the door was followed by the appearance of Payner on the threshold.
"Simmons out?" asked the caller, laconically.
"Yes," Rob replied. "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to tell him he needn't worry any more about that snake. I suppose he told you about it?" he added with a shrewd grin.
"Yes, he did."
"I knew he would. And he told the Pecks too?"
Rob laughed but said nothing.
"Oh, he told them all right. You needn't pretend he didn't. I knew he would, or I shouldn't have shown him the thing. I meant him to tell them."
"You really wouldn't have put that snake in their room!" said Rob, severely.
"Why not? It wasn't alive."
"A dead snake wouldn't be much better than a live one."
"It wasn't dead either," chuckled Payner. "It was made of an old black necktie stuffed, with glass eyes, and its head worked with a string. I got it up to scare the Pecks through Simmons. I knew he'd go and tell them just as soon as hesaw it, and I thought that would bring 'em round. You see, the plague business was playing out, anyway. The last time I tried it the housekeeper came pretty near getting on to it, and I didn't dare take any more risks. And yet if I stopped without getting the apology, they'd have me beaten! So I tried this scheme, and won out. They've both apologized."
"I see," said Rob. As a matter of fact, he did not see, for he was trying to determine for himself who had outwitted the other.
"Just tell Simmons I've given up my plan of the snake, won't you?" said Payner, turning to go with the air of a victor. "And don't let on about the rest of it. I shouldn't want it to get back to the Pecks."
For some seconds Rob sat looking blankly at the door through which the self-satisfied face of Payner had just disappeared. Then he threw back his head and laughed loud and long.
CHAPTER XXIV
MAKING READY
In the next Wednesday's game, O'Connell and Borland composed the school battery, and on the following Saturday, Patterson and Owen. O'Connell won his game; Patterson lost his. And none the less, after the second game, Poole let it be definitely known that Patterson and Owen were now considered the regular battery. This decision was not based on the scores.
O'Connell won his game because he played against an inferior team, whose pitcher the Seaton men could hit. Patterson lost an uphill game against a clever pitcher whom his men could do little with, while the Seaton players behind him failed to support him at critical moments. O'Connell's friends maintained that the results of the two games showed the comparative merits of the pitchers. Lyford and Poole took the oppositeview. Patterson at two several points had saved his game when there were men on third and second with but one out. It was lost in the seventh, after a two-base hit and an error had put men on first and third, and another error permitted one of them to reach the home plate; but the very play through which the game was lost enhanced Owen's reputation. It happened thus:—
With members of the visiting team on first and third, and one man out, Rob, who had analyzed a similar situation more than once before, made up his mind that the man on first base would try to steal at the earliest opportunity; first, because against a school team like Seaton there was more than an even chance that a double steal would rattle the catcher and bring in a run; secondly, because a single with men on second and third would yield two runs, while if the man remained at first it would score but one. So Rob signalled to his infield, and called on Patterson for a wide, unreachable out. The ball came true, while the runner on first started hard down, and Rob snapped in a straight line for second, which Hayes ran to cover; but McPherson, who had his eyeon the runner at third, seeing him start for home, ran in behind Patterson, cut off Owen's throw to second, and shot the ball back home. So far the play had been perfectly carried out.
Unhappily, however, its very perfection interfered with its success. Rob and McPherson had done their work so rapidly that the base-runner was only about halfway between third and home when Rob received the ball at the plate. The runner stopped and turned back. Rob ran down toward him and threw to Durand. The man doubled again, and Durand—trusty, capable, but over-eager Durand—returned the ball about a foot above Owen's reach, while Patterson, who should have been backing up the catcher in the line behind, stood halfway over from his box gazing fascinated at the play.
So at the same time the game was lost and the catcher glorified—at least in the eyes of those who knew what it meant to have a man behind the bat who could keep the game in hand, recognize opportunities when they came, and perform his part in the plays. Poole and Lyford belonged to this number, and most of the members of the nine.Poole was inclined to be obstinate, and he disliked to be proved wrong; but when once satisfied that he was wrong, he turned promptly and finally about. From this time forth there was no more uncertainty about the catcher in Poole's mind. He was for Owen through and through, without wavering or question. Borland must give way to a better man.
But there were many who could not follow the captain in his change of view; who, in fact, could see no sufficient reason why the old catcher who had proved himself competent should be laid aside for a new man. The "inside work" of a catcher is not apparent to the occupants of the bleachers; they cannot measure accurately the comparative merits of two men playing in different games; they do not count assists. When Borland made his three-base hit in a game in which his battery played, his friends made sarcastic comment: "That's the man who couldn't hit well enough for the First!" When in the next game Patterson pitched an in instead of the out that was called for, and Owen, after losing time in getting the ball still tried to catch the runner at second, and senta short bound at McPherson's toes, the same critics added: "—and that's the star thrower who put poor Jack out of play. The old man could do better than that with his eyes shut!" These, let it be understood, were Borland's friends. Borland himself never said a word.
The Hillbury game drew on apace, and the nine settled to its work. The play was improving; the infield was coming, quick and true, the men trusting each other and working well together under the catcher's direction. Patterson had learned to value himself aright. Throughout the school the doubters had grown fewer as the days went by. Poole paid no attention at all to them, but Rob knew of their existence and understood full well how their number would be suddenly multiplied by ten if he should disappoint the hopes of the school in the great game. To lose a Hillbury game is a calamity; the single man who loses it by a single error is unforgivable.
And yet to win under the circumstances seemed more than the school had a right to expect. There had never been a poor nine in Hillbury since school nines began to be. This year the blue team waslargely veteran, with the identical pitcher who had last year mown down the Seaton hitters as a well-aimed bowling ball clears away the pins from their triangle. The scores of the nines which had played with the two school teams compared unfavorably for Poole's team. Patterson, a mere green apprentice, was a wholly uncertain quantity. Such considerations fairly weighed gave little promise to the Seatonians; but in the Seaton breast hope springs eternal, and a game may always be won until it is actually lost.
A week before the game, the whole school journeyed to Hillbury for the track meet. Before the contests both sides had counted probabilities. According to Seaton reckoning, if Rohrer beat Royce in the high hurdles, and Benton won the half mile, and Laughlin and Lindsay took seven out of eight points in the shot-put, Seaton would have twelve points to spare. By Hillbury count, only accidents could keep the blue from beating the red by at least twenty. Each side regarded the results as ominous for the more important contest of the following Saturday.
And that was why Seaton took the defeat soto heart. Rohrer did beat Royce in the hurdles, and Laughlin and Lindsay won their seven points; but there were unexpected offsets, and Benton did not even get a place in the half-mile. Six points is not a bad defeat, but any defeat is bad when you expect victory. If omens counted, the ball game was as good as lost.
But Owen's hopes never wavered. He had seen hard games before, games which he had won and games which he had lost; and never had he felt such a spirit of keenness and unity as animated this raw Seaton nine. If Hillbury beat them, Hillbury must play good ball, far better ball than any team which had come that season to Seaton. If only Patterson kept up!
On the Friday before the great day, as the decorations were blossoming out on the houses, and in recitations the game was crowding the lesson matter hard for possession of the minds of the pupils, Poole and Owen were hailed from across the street by Wally.
"Hello, Wally," called Poole, "come over here!"
The boy hastened across.
"Could you get us the seats?" asked Wally.
"Only two," said Poole, "and you'll have to let your father and sister have those."
Wally's countenance fell.
"But as you helped me out of a scrape once, I'm going to pay you back. I'm going to let you have a seat on the players' bench."
"On the players' bench!" cried the delighted lad. "Great Scott! do you mean it?"
Poole laughed and nodded.
"You've got to bring us luck," said Owen.
"Oh, I will," returned the boy, "but you don't need it. You're going to win anyway. I've got my red fire all ready."
"I wish I felt as he does," said Poole, as the boy scampered across the street to inform his friends of his good fortune.
"I do," replied Owen, promptly.
CHAPTER XXV
AS WALLY SAW IT
Proud as a king, and happy as a king rarely is, Wally sat on the players' bench and stared at the throngs pouring in through the entrances and flooding the seats. On the fence over by the woods, like sparrows crowded close on a telegraph wire, was strung a line of twittering and jostling youngsters, let in by a wise manager who preferred to have them safely quiet inside rather than uproariously disorderly without. And every one of the shrill flock sooner or later fastened his eyes on Wally and demanded the reason for their comrade's elevation to the company of the gods.
Such a question must, of course, be answered. Whether the answer is correct or not is of minor consequence. Some said Wally was a mascot; others that Poole was sweet on his sister; while still others were able to give melodramatic accounts of Wally's rescue of the captain from thedesperate gang of upper middlers who had "pinched" him. While the argument on these points was going forward, the advance scouts of the fence brigade discovered signs of the arrival of the nines, and Skinny Flick, waving his tattered cap, led a high-pitched imitation of the long Seaton cheer, weirdly shrill and yet true and even and united.
"How can those little boys do it so well?" asked Margaret Sedgwick, amused at the unexpected prelude.
"Practised it, I suppose," replied Mr. Sedgwick, indifferently.
And Wally not being on hand to set forth the true relations of things, Miss Margaret accepted her father's explanation, and gave the soprano cheerers full credit for patriotic forethought. As a matter of fact their facility had been as unconsciously acquired as the street ragtime which a dignified adult is shocked to find himself whistling. The Seaton urchin begins to hear the school cheers as soon as his legs are strong enough to take him where students gather or heroes battle. Classes pass before him as the generations of menbefore the aged Nestor. There were boys on that fence who could already have repeated the Seaton battle cries when fellows who were now leaders of elevens and nines in Yale and Harvard and Princeton and Dartmouth had just set foot in the Seaton streets. The gamin's term of instruction is long; so the cheer from the fence had the true ring.
It was likewise well timed. A minute later the four cheer-leaders on the Seaton side were swinging their arms and swaying their bodies in a convulsion of energy, as they led in the first great welcome to their team; while at the heels of the Seaton players came the Hillbury nine, waking into enthusiasm the whole solid phalanx of blue. And here unquestionably was the first evil omen for Seaton hopes. Every Hillbury student produced a megaphone and turned it toward the Seaton side; the volume of Hillbury's cheer was multiplied by three. What a handicap! What a depressing evidence of Hillbury superiority!
But something more than noise was necessary to depress Wally; his optimism was not to be extinguished by megaphones. The Seaton players went out for their preliminary practice. Lyfordbatted to the outfield, Borland to the in-; Rob stood at the plate, caught the returns, and joined in the cross-diamond throwing. Lyford was directing the practice, but even Wally could see how the infield followed the catcher's leading and instinctively looked for his suggestion. Nor was this remarkable. The players were feeling the strain of the situation. Sudbury had just missed an easy fly that he ought to have held; Hayes had made a bad mess of a grounder; Durand had sent a ball to first that had defied Ames's long reach. Nervousness was in the air, but Owen stood smiling and steady, taking the balls with an easy grace that had in it no sign of ostentation, throwing straight and swift, cheering into confidence by his very presence and attitude. "We've got an awfully good catcher, anyway," thought Wally, proudly, as he squirmed on the seat and tried at the same time to watch all the Seaton fielders, and the Hillbury players tossing the ball to and fro near their bench, and the two captains talking with the umpire.
Presently Hillbury took the field and Wally now had a harder task, for there were the Hillburymen to be observed and compared with their predecessors, while Patterson was warming up with Owen over by the backstop, and must have sympathetic attention. Rob had borrowed Ames's mitt to use as a plate, and over this Patterson was pitching, unsteady at first with the tension of the strange conditions, but soon settling down under Owen's soothing guidance. When Rob found that his pitcher had himself sufficiently in hand to be able to place the ball pretty accurately over one side of the mitt or the other, he called to him to stop.
"You're all right, Pat!" he declared, dropping his arm on his companion's shoulder as they walked back to join their mates on the bench. "It's all there; you'll pitch your best game to-day. Don't hurry now, and don't worry; and don't forget to back up first whenever you can get over there."
Patterson nodded; there was nothing for him to say. He was content to leave the results in Owen's hands.
"We go out!" announced Poole, coming up with a smile on his face. "All ready, Pat?"
Patterson gave a sign of assent. "Yes, he'sready," said Owen. "Here's your mitt, Ames. This is one of the days when we can cut it every time."
The Hillbury players came in, the Seatonians scattered to their positions. The supporters cheered for their school and their captain; then for the captain of the other team. 'Tis a fine custom of the Seaton-Hillbury rivalry which the colleges might well imitate. The Hillbury megaphones bellowed a response. The umpire threw down a new white ball which Patterson coolly scrubbed in the dirt outside the box, while Michael, the head of the Hillbury batting list, took his place by the plate. The game was on!
Owen crouched and signalled with his fingers between his knees. Patterson answered with an out that threatened to strike Michael on the shoulder, but swung in over the inside of the plate. The batsman stepped back and the umpire called a strike. The next one was high and wide and out of reach; Michael did not bite. One ball! For the third effort Patterson stepped to the left and threw a swift one that cut the inside corner of the plate at an angle—or would have cut it,if it had been allowed to take its course. Michael struck at it and knocked it into Patterson's hands. Long Ames had the ball before Michael was halfway down the line.
Hood, the Hillbury shortstop, who had been standing by, swinging two bats like a professional, now strode up, thumped the ground with his chosen stick, and looked valiantly at the pitcher. The first ball, a drop, he struck at and fouled. The second he misjudged and let go by. "Strike Two!" The third and fourth were tempters which he resisted. Then came one which he fancied. With sudden impulse he struck hard at it, but even as he struck, the ball slammed in Owen's trusty mitt.
A strike out! Two men gone! The Seaton cheer-leaders were busy again, and with contorted faces and fierce arm swings goaded on their company of howlers. Hillbury answered with a blast of megaphones, as Coy, their centre fielder, appeared at the plate. The first ball pitched appealed to him; he struck at it and sent a low bounder toward third. For just an instant Durand juggled it and then threw straight to Ames,but Coy was fast and the umpire called him safe.
Kleindienst, the Hillbury captain, came up, eager to make a hit that would help the runner round the bases. Thanks to Poole's note-book, and information gathered from many sources, Owen knew what to call for. The first pitch was a swift breast-high ball off the inner corner of the plate; Kleindienst smote and smote in vain. "Now Coy will steal," thought Rob, and signalled for an out. Coy did steal and Kleindienst tried to hit at the same time, but all he succeeded in accomplishing was to catch the ball on the end of his bat and drive it in easy bounds to Ames, making the third out.
"You've got to get a hit, Mac," said Poole, as McPherson picked up his bat. "Don't bite at the teasers. Make 'em put 'em over!"
Now McPherson meant to do that very thing, but the first one was so plausible that even though it wasn't just what he wanted, McPherson could not resist the temptation to try it. The result was a pop foul that Kleindienst gathered in off third base.
Poole was second on the list, and Poole waited; one ball! two balls! a foul! three balls! two strikes! At the next Poole dropped his bat and started for first, and the umpire did not say him nay.
And now it was Owen's turn to face O'Brien, and he tried to sacrifice, but the bunt rolled over the line, and his attempt came to naught. O'Brien was careful now, and gave him high balls that he could not bunt, and kept them well out of his reach. Two had been called balls and one a strike, when Rob's chance came. The ball was a trifle too far in, but he drew back a little as he struck, and drove a liner over second baseman's head out into the ground between centre and right. Poole went to third, and Rob was safe at second.
It was Rorbach's turn. He knew what he was expected to do without the spur implied in the sudden roar of greeting from the benches, followed by tense, expectant silence. O'Brien sought to work him with seductive outs, but Rorbach waited. Three balls and one strike brought the pitcher to reason; he couldn't afford to pass aman with two on bases. So Rorbach got one where he could hit it, and lifted the ball in a splendid long arch far out into right field. The cheer-leaders caught their breath and, forgetful of their duties, silently watched it fly. Was it a home run? It would have been if some one else than Furness had guarded the Hillbury right field. Furness started almost as soon as the ball, and racing backward toward the fence, turned as the ball was just going over his head and pulled it down. Rorbach was out, but Poole came home easily on the throw-in, and Owen wisely paused at third.
Long Ames now appeared at the plate, brandishing his bat in the clumsy fashion which had aroused so much merriment along the benches in that first game of the season. No one made merry over it to-day. The anxious Hillburyites thought only of the possibility of another hit, while the Seatonians' hopes now hung on the derided man's bat. And Ames, who cared nothing whether they derided or not, fixed his eyes on the pitcher and waited. One he let go by without offering at it; the second he fouled; the next proved a second ball, the fourth another strike. Still he waited,clutching his bat a hand's-breadth from the end, with his lank figure bent awkwardly forward toward the plate. The fifth pitch was to his liking; with a short, quick stroke he chopped the ball in a safe little liner over third baseman's head, and galloped away to first, while Owen gleefully trotted home. Then Durand went out on an infield hit, and the first inning was over.
Such luck, of course, could not last, but the exhilaration engendered by these two runs carried the Seaton players safely through several innings. The second, with the tail-end of the list at bat on either side, was quickly over. In the third Poole led off with a hit, reaching second on an error, but got no farther. In the fourth sprinter Coy got to first on balls, but was thrown out by two yards when he tried to steal second; and the Hillbury captain, after making a clean hit, was forced at second by Webster's unlucky drive to Hayes, which resulted in a double play. By this time O'Brien had settled down into his best gait, and his best Poole's company found far too good.
On the other hand, Hillbury seemed to be finding Patterson less puzzling. The Seaton fieldershad work a-plenty. In the sixth Poole ran far back for a long fly from Michael's bat, cutting off what to the uproarious rooters on the Hillbury side seemed surely a three-base hit; and Hood's hard liner, that promised almost as much, was gloriously taken just inside third by Durand. The third Hillburyite hit over Ames's head, and reached second only to be left there when his successor was retired on a foul fly. The Seatonians in their turn went tamely out in order; not a single one reached first.
A thrill of apprehension passed through the ranks of red and gray as Webster opened the seventh with a slow grounder to Hayes, which the Seaton shortstop fumbled. Two runs are not great margin when a heavy-hitting team opens up on a pitcher, especially if that pitcher be, like Patterson, comparatively inexperienced. A couple of good hits, with an error or two and a base on balls, would quickly wipe out the slight advantage. Only steady playing and the steadiest kind of pitching could save the game, if the Hillbury sluggers showed themselves at all equal to their reputation. So thought many a timidSeaton sympathizer, whose hopes of victory had been excited by the success of the first inning. Wally was not of these doubters. He knew full well that a man who reaches first does not necessarily reach second or third. Webster was at first; the only question was how and where he was to be stopped.
Now Wally did not see Owen signal to Ames, nor recognize the object of the swift, wide ball which Patterson next threw; but he did see Owen's arm come back like a spring and snap instantly forward; he likewise saw Ames gather in the ball and swing with it suddenly on Webster, who was leaping back to first; and he understood well the gesture by which the umpire called Webster in. The Seaton crowd shouted with unexpected joy, but Wally's surprise was only partial; he had expected to see the runner thrown out at second.
Then Ribot struck under one of Patterson's jumps and sent the ball far up in the air. Rob snatched off his mask and watched the returning sphere, relieved to see it descending on McPherson's side of second. Ribot was out, and O'Brienbrought the inning to a close by giving Durand a chance at another pop fly.
The Seaton hitters had no better luck. Hayes got his base on balls, but Patterson forced him at second, and was himself put out on the play, while McPherson flied out. Here was little encouragement for those who looked for more Seaton runs!
Furness started the eighth with a drive past second, which by bounding over Sudbury's shoulder enabled the runner to make two bases. Rounds, the last man of the Hillbury list, was counted an easy victim, but instead of striking out as he was expected to do, he hit the ball over Durand's head. Poole got it back in season to cut off any attempt at crossing the plate, but the awful fact remained that with only two runs needed to tie the score, Hillbury had men on first and third, with no one out and the heavy hitters coming on. A double now would bring in two men. Even Wally acknowledged to himself that he did not see how they were going to get out of that hole, while the dubious on the Seaton benches were sadly thinking that the game was lost. The fatal eighth was here!
A ball! two balls! Then Michael's bat cracked and the ball shot toward Hayes, struck well, and bounded into his hands. He gave but a glance at third—where Furness was lingering, hoping to draw a hasty throw to the plate, and so get Michael safely to first—then threw to McPherson, who had covered second. Rounds was thus forced out. Meantime Furness had made a late start for home, trusting to McPherson's slowness and probable confusion. But McPherson, who was neither slow nor confused, sent the ball directly to the plate, where Owen received it safely. Furness, while still ten feet away, stopped and wheeled about; but Owen ran him down, then turned sharply, steadied himself, and drove the ball with all his strength to McPherson. Michael had passed first on the plays and was sliding into second; the ball in McPherson's hands touched him before he reached the base.
In a fraction of a minute it was all over. The umpire was signalling to Michael that he was out; Poole and Rorbach had started in from their positions; Owen was unbuckling his protector. Still Patterson stood and stared, unable to believe thathis rescue was complete. And then, like the explosion set off by an electric spark, the audience waked to the situation. The whole Seaton company roseen masse, waving arms and hats and banners, and sent forth a formless, exultant roar; while the recreant cheer-leaders turned their backs on their chorus and danced frantic jigs before the benches.
So ended the first half of the eighth, with the score two to nothing. The Seatonians were soon disposed of. Poole, over-eager, struck out. Owen hit to O'Brien and was thrown out at first. Rorbach made a pretty single into centre field, but came to grief when he tried to stretch it into a two-bagger. Hillbury came in for the last trial!
"Only three outs!" thought Wally, complacently. "Only three outs now!" ran the whisper along the Seaton benches, but expressed in timid hope rather than in confidence. Runs might precede those outs; these Hillbury men could not forever be checked on the bases. The courage rose when Hood sent Durand an easy chance, and was out at first. Then Coy bunted safely,and took second when Patterson threw wide to Ames. Kleindienst hit to Patterson, and was put out at first, while Coy was held on second. Two out, but a man on second! The spectators drew labored breaths; the cheer-leaders on either side, fearing to add to the strain upon their champions, hung silent on the scene before them.
Webster, after two balls and two strikes, caught one on the end of his bat and sent it just out of Hayes's reach. On this scratch hit Coy was advanced to third. Again men on first and third, this time with two out! Ribot was at bat, nerved and resolute; and Rob felt a dread—almost a conviction—that a ball within his reach would be hit safely. On the other hand, in the desperate situation in which Hillbury stood, Webster was bound to steal, so as to make two runs possible in case of a hit. Patterson waited for his catcher's signal. The game hinged on Owen's decision. An error in judgment, a fault in execution, and the peril which had been warded off for nine long innings would be upon them. A tie at this stage, Rob knew, would mean defeat.
He called for a swift, wide ball. Webster feinted a start, hoping to draw a useless throw to second that would let Coy in. Rob hesitated, took a step forward, and pretended to throw; then wheeled and sent the ball to Durand. Coy was nailed as he scrambled back to the base—and the game was won.
The score:—
Seaton
Seaton 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 —2Hillbury 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0—0
CHAPTER XXVI
RECOGNITION
Was there a celebration?
Ask Wally Sedgwick, who ought to be able to furnish a detailed account of it, for he followed the procession from its formation, and having stayed out an hour longer than the time set in the parental permission was in consequence compelled to go to bed at seven every day during the following week. He didn't complain; it was inconvenient, of course; but, after all, the celebration was worth it.
Rob saw three of the newspaper accounts of the game. The first paper, which had previously predicted an easy victory for Hillbury, declared that Seaton played in great luck, "bunching hits for tallies and being helped out of several deep holes by stupid Hillbury base-running." The second asserted that the victory was due to "Patterson's steadiness and the fine all-round work of theSeaton infield, in which McPherson was the bright and particular star." The third, after commenting on the fact that Hillbury men were frequently on bases but seemed unable to get round to the home plate, added: "Patterson showed himself, if not a great pitcher, at least one who can use his head as well as his arm. Men on bases never fazed him; the more there were, the better he pitched. Coach Lyford deserves great credit for the excellent team work. Owen threw well to bases."
Owen threw well to bases! And only one paper had discovered that! Rob laughed scornfully as he tossed the papers down. So this trifling mention was all the glory his achievement was to yield him. For a moment he felt hurt—but only for a moment. Soon his good sense and natural modesty reasserted themselves. He had not sought glory; he had not striven to display himself. His ambition had been first to help win the game for Seaton and then to vindicate himself as against Borland. Both these objects had been attained; what more could he fairly ask? Poole and Patterson and Lyford evidentlyappreciated his work; his friends and acquaintances, from Lindsay and Laughlin down through a whole range to the Pecks and the Moons and even Payner, had all, in one form or another, expressed to him their admiration. That ought to satisfy him.
"Who's going to be captain next year, Rob?" asked Simmons, a few days afterward.
"I don't know yet—probably McPherson. He's been two years on the nine, and after that bully game he put up on Saturday, he deserves it."
"The fellows were saying it would be McPherson," said Simmons, looking up into Rob's face with an expression of keen regret. "I was hoping you'd get it. You know so much about the game, and have helped them all so."
Rob flushed. The suggestion touched him in a sensitive spot. "Nonsense!" he retorted sharply. "What put that idea into your head? I'm no better than any one else. For heaven's sake don't suggest that to any one outside; they'd think it came from me."
On his way over to the baseball meeting thatafternoon Rob was waylaid by Laughlin and Ware who insisted that they had something important to say to him.
"Well, what is it?" demanded Rob.
"You're coming back next year, aren't you?" asked Ware.
"Of course, if they'll let me," Owen replied in a tone of surprise. "Why?"
"We were just talking about the prospects of the teams for next year," said Ware, smiling shrewdly. "When our class goes, there'll be a pretty big hole to fill."
"Oh, a few poor sticks will be left," Owen observed sarcastically. "In baseball McPherson and Ames and Patterson and I form quite a bunch. Then there's Hendry and Milliken and Buist as a foundation for the eleven. They're about as good as you find 'em. Rohrer and Wolfe are pretty respectable left-overs for the track. If any one can get new material out, Rohrer can. We might be worse off."
"That's a fact," nodded Laughlin. "You've got two good captains in Hendry and Rohrer anyway."
"And McPherson will be just as good," added Rob, promptly. "That makes three."
"Yes, that makes three," repeated Laughlin, with a look of amusement stealing over his broad face. "Only I'm not so sure about McPherson."
"Well, the baseball men are, and we ought to know," retorted Rob. "What's this important thing you wanted to tell me?" he added, turning on Ware.
Ware grinned across at Laughlin. "What was it, Dave? I can't think, can you?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied the football man.
"Here! let me through!" commanded Rob, who now perceived that the pair were holding him up for their own amusement. "I'm ten minutes late for the meeting already." And he charged past the two triflers toward the room at the end of the corridor.
"You're late!" declared Poole, as Rob opened the door of Number 7. "The election's over."
"I'm sorry. Dave and Ware tackled me outside and wouldn't let me by."
"Your vote wouldn't have been any use, anyway," remarked Durand. "It was a unanimous vote."
"All right, then," said Rob, looking round at the row of smiling faces. He didn't see why they should all grin so and stare at him. "I'm with the rest."
"Glad to hear it," said Poole, with a wink at his neighbor. "Here's the result."
Rob took the slip of paper and read with a thrill of astonishment and joy that for a few seconds deprived him of the power of speech:—
"Unanimous choice for Captain of the Nine—Robert Owen."
And here we leave our embarrassed catcher vainly struggling for fitting words in which to express his gratitude. His experiences as a Seaton senior, with the vicissitudes of the captains three, are recorded in the chronicles of "The Great Year."