CHAPTER XVII A SET-BACK FOR O'CONNELL

Absorbed as he was in one phase of the game,—the success of the second battery,—Rob felt no anxiety at all as to his own personal record with the bat. He wanted to hit O'Connell, of course, but the chief thing after all was that Patterson should not be hit. So he stood coolly at the plate, ready for anything that O'Connell might send in, but unworried and more than half expecting to get his base on balls. The first one was high, the second he had to dodge, the third was a called strike, the fourth a drop that dropped too far, the fifth an unmanageable in, that hit him in the small of the back as he squirmed away from it, and gave him the desirable gift of first base and the undesirable one of a painful bruise.

Allis strode up, pounded the plate with his bat, and squared himself, with legs apart, for a mighty deed. While Rob knew nothing of Allis's powers,[Pg 176] he did not like this form; and not wishing to be cut off at second by an infield hit, he determined to make a dash at the first pitch, when a steal would hardly be expected. So off he scampered at the first movement of O'Connell's arm, and covered his distance so well in spite of his bruise that when he slid safely to the bag, McPherson was in the air taking Borland's high throw. In other respects also the venture proved a lucky one, for Allis hit two fouls and then struck out, and Rorbach made a scratch hit to short that would certainly have cut Owen off at second if he had clung to first base. As it was, Rorbach was safe at first, and Rob reached third before the ball got back across the diamond. Then Reddy McGuffy sent up a little pop fly to the first baseman, and long Ames appeared beside the plate, swinging his bat like an axe.

The lads on the seats made merry as Ames smote terribly and in vain at the first one over. The next he let go by; it was a ball. At the third he smote again, this time with effect. The ball shot out over first baseman's head, bounced hard on the running track, and made full speed for the corner of the field.

[Pg 177]

Then for some seconds the onlookers saw lively running. Peters in right field sprinted for the ball, the second baseman ran out to support him, Rob trotted home, Rorbach fled along two bags behind him, and still farther behind came Ames, galloping like a cart horse and constantly twisting his head backward to make sure that the ball was not close at hand. The fellows who had been jeering were now stamping and yelling, the players of the Second were running up and down the lines, brandishing their arms and shouting contradictory directions. Ames rounded third base at full speed, saw the ball bounce into Borland's hands, stopped, turned,—and was touched ignominiously out by Durand two feet from third. And then the spectators hooted and jeered more violently than ever.

"If it keeps up like this, there'll be more fun than practice," thought Rob, as he buckled on his protector. And to Patterson, as the latter started for the box, he said: "Don't worry about the bases; I'll throw to them when it's necessary. Just try your hardest to put 'em where I want 'em, and don't worry. If a batter's slow or timid,[Pg 178] give him full speed. And don't think because one happens to hit you they all will."

McPherson led off for the First nine. Patterson fixed the ball in his two fingers and drove it hard and straight over the inner corner of the plate just below the shoulder line. It struck with a resounding clap in Owen's big mitt, and as it struck, McPherson realized that he had lost a chance. As the next one looked exactly like the first, McPherson whacked valiantly at it, but just before it reached the plate the ball broke and lifted, while the bat swept the air beneath it. Two strikes!

"It's all his way now," thought McPherson. "This'll be a ball,"—and it would have been if it had kept its first course. Unfortunately for the batsman, however, it slanted down and in instead of down and out, and the umpire called it a strike.

"Astonishing how a man loses his batting eye during the winter!" thought Poole, as he took McPherson's place at the plate. "If I can't hit that fellow I must be blind."

Now the captain was considered the best batter[Pg 179] in school, and deservedly so. In the fatal Hillbury game of the year before he had proved almost the only Seaton man whom the Hillbury pitcher could not deceive, and he and McPherson were responsible for all the hits the defeated team had made. He had an excellent eye, watched the ball closely, and was a patient waiter. All this Owen knew. He also knew that a waist ball was the kind Poole always longed for, that he was wary on high ones, and often hit a low one in a long fly. Patterson's first attempt was clearly wide of the plate; his second was low. Poole offered at neither, and both were called balls. By the next ball, the same full-speed straight one which had fooled McPherson, Poole was caught napping, and the sharp "Strike one!" of the umpire gave comfort to both members of the battery. Rob now signalled for the slow ball, at which Poole struck too soon. With two balls and two strikes, Patterson put a low one over the outside of the plate, hoping to finish with the captain immediately; but Poole caught it on the end of his bat and sent it in a long arch to centre field, where Rorbach gathered it in. Sudbury, who came next,[Pg 180] struck at the first pitched ball and raised a pop fly, which the second baseman, to Owen's surprise and McGuffy's own immense satisfaction, managed to hold. Reddy tossed the ball over to the pitcher's box with the best air of a professional, and strutted complacently in. The first inning had ended with the score two to nothing in favor of the scrub.

O'Connell pitched six times to strike out Smart. Meanwhile, Owen and Patterson discussed the situation.

"Great luck, wasn't it!" began the pitcher, eagerly.

"The greatest luck was that McGuffy held that fly," Rob answered with more coolness. With all his interest in the trying-out process, habit and experience kept him philosophical. "I didn't believe he'd do it."

"He may be better than he looks," said Patterson.

Rob had no answer for this. "How's your arm?" he said.

"All right. I can give you a little more speed if you want it."

[Pg 181]

"We shall have to be careful about Durand. The rest ought to be easy."

Smart returned to the bench, having surrendered his place at the bat to Peacock. Owen took a seat beside McGuffy. "You understand that you are to cover second if a man on first tries to steal, don't you?"

"Of course!" answered McGuffy, indignantly.

"I simply want to avoid a misunderstanding," retorted Owen. "I don't care to throw to centre field."

Peacock hit to Hayes, the shortstop, and was thrown out. Fletcher reached first base on balls, but was left there when Patterson sent a fly to Durand. The First team came in to bat once more.

Patterson put the first one over, and Durand met it, driving a grounder to Smart. The shortstop fumbled, and then, when it was too late to catch the fleet runner, threw wide and low to first. How Ames managed to get his mitt on the ball was hard to understand, but the mitt was there and the ball stopped. A new batsman came up, Peters, the right fielder; and Rob, glancing at the[Pg 182] pair at first base, made up his mind that Durand was going to steal. So he signalled for a high out, and Peters whacked at it, though it was beyond his reach. Even as the ball struck in the pocket of his mitt, Rob's fingers clutched it; his right leg went out and his arm came back simultaneously; like a flash the arm returned, the wrist snapped forward, and the ball shot straight and swift in a line for second. But alas! there was no one on second to receive it! McGuffy was on the way there, but although he arrived before Durand, the ball was already spinning toward centre field. Fletcher let it slip between his ankles, and Durand jogged easily home.

This was poor work. Rob pounded his fist into the hole of his mitt, disgusted and indignant. But Patterson was waiting for the signal, and there was no chance to give to McGuffy the few forcible suggestions which Rob felt that he ought to be privileged to make. Patterson settled Peters with two high ones in succession; the first a poor one which he struck at, the second a good one which he did not recognize. Then Hayes hit to Patterson and was thrown out; and Borland, after[Pg 183] two fouls, was caught on a swift jump ball and retired, muttering hard things at the umpire.

And now Rob had another opportunity at the bat. He still felt the sore spot on his back where O'Connell had potted him on his first appearance, but he stood up to the plate just as courageously as before, confident that O'Connell would not repeat the offence. The pitcher gave two balls, then put one squarely over, which Rob was fortunate enough to hit "on the nose." It sped away in a line over the third baseman's head out into the debatable ground, bounced just inside the foul line, then out, and rolled away into the far corner of the field. Rob raced past first and second, and reached third in safety just before the ball bounded into Durand's hands. Here he stayed while Allis went out on a hit to the second baseman, and Rorbach, waiting patiently, heard two strikes and three balls called. O'Connell dreaded a record of many bases on balls more than an additional run; so he tried to satisfy the umpire by putting one directly over, and Rorbach cracked it whizzing by O'Connell's head out over second base. Rob came home at his leisure.[Pg 184] Then stubby McGuffy turned his freckled face toward the pitcher, and by hitting to O'Connell unintentionally sacrificed Rorbach to second; and big Ames, with his woodchopper's swing, drove another long hit into right field and brought Rorbach in. Smart, with the resignation of a fatalist, struck out.

The tail end of the school batting list now appeared at the plate, Weaver, first baseman, and O'Connell. Neither proved a hard problem for the Second battery to solve. Weaver hit a pop foul which Ames caught, and O'Connell struck three times ingloriously. McPherson, sending a long fly to Allis, made the last out. So the third inning ended with the score four to one against the school.

Peacock, Fletcher, and Patterson all went out in the fourth on feeble infield hits, and Poole came to bat a second time, manifestly disturbed by the course of events. It was not merely the fact that the Second hit O'Connell that worried him, but the failure of the First to hit Patterson. It seemed hardly possible that a man who had so little experience in actual play should prove so[Pg 185] clever in the balls he used, and so effective in holding off old batsmen. Poole could not or would not understand it. He came up fiercely eager, determined to turn Patterson's luck.

The first pitch he let go by, and had the satisfaction of hearing it called a ball. The second—a straight one—he struck under and fouled. "One strike!" The third came hot, just at the level of his breast, but lifted with a sudden break as his bat swung beneath it. The fourth was obviously a ball, the fifth just as obviously ditto, but it slanted in over the corner, and from the umpire's sharp "Strike three!" there was no appeal, even for Captain Poole.

Sudbury followed, and after balls and strikes, tipped a kindergarten bounder to McGuffy, who, with the air of Little Jack Horner, stopped it and threw it within Ames's long reach. Durand profited by a fumble of Smart's to reach first, but he was caught here a minute later by Owen's quick snap to Ames—and the fourth inning was over.

In the fifth, by an error, a base on balls, and a hit, another run was added to the Second's score. The First too gained a run on a hit by Hayes and[Pg 186] errors. But the end came when Borland drove the ball right into Ames's hands; and Weaver, after slashing twice in vain, dropped a fair ball in front of the plate, and found Ames holding it when he reached first.

The game was over. The spectators drifted moodily down toward the school buildings, exchanging sarcastic and pessimistic comments on the work of the school nine and its prospects: "A lot of duffers;" "Couldn't hit a balloon;" "The only players on the field were the Second;" "The Clippers wouldn't have done a thing to 'em;" "Worst exhibition of baseball ever seen." Some, especially Patterson's surprised classmates, looked at the matter from a different point of view and vowed that all the trouble was due to Patterson, who was too good a pitcher for the school batters. Poole had a short talk with Lyford, and then called Patterson aside and thanked him for his good work; he must take good care of himself, for he would certainly be used frequently in the box. Lyford followed with similar compliments, and a troop of others followed Lyford. Even O'Connell came heroi[Pg 187]cally with his meed of praise; and while offering congratulations on his rival's success contrived to explain that he himself had not felt at his best that day, and that it always took time for him to get his arm into shape in the spring. Unquestionably Patterson was the hero of the day.

And what of Owen? He, too, had his share of attention. Lyford assured him that he had played a good game, Poole informed him that he had hit well, some one else spoke of his throwing. But this was all. No one held him in any sense responsible for the pitching, not even those to whom Patterson protested that the credit belonged to Owen. Such statements were to be expected from a modest, reticent fellow like Patterson, who had kept his light hidden under a bushel all the year.