CHAPTER XVII

THE END OF THE GREAT GAME

"The fellows want you to take Ripley's place," said Tim gruffly.

Ward's heart responded in an instant. The Weston boys were to bat now and the excitement in the crowd was increasing. He longed to have a share in the work which must be done within the four innings yet to be played. It was a marvelous thing too, that Tim should himself come and invite him to return to his place. It was true he was surly, and his countenance betrayed his feelings. The pressure of the nine and the crowd had been too strong for him to resist; and then, doubtless the advantage which the Burr nine had thus far won also had its influence, for no one more earnestly desired to win the game than did Tim Pickard.

Eager as Ward was, he still hesitated a moment. He well knew that Tim's anger would not cease if he should do well; while if he should fail in a time when so much was expected, his position in the school would be all the more trying.

Tim stood waiting before him and did not repeat his request.

In a moment Jack came running toward him, and as he came up, said: "Hurry up, Ward! Never mind the uniform. We won't stop for that. Just throw off your coat and come on. You can afford to spoil a dozen suits rather than let the Burrs win this game!"

Noticing the hesitation of his friend, Jack continued: "Oh, don't pull off now, Ward! all the school wants you. We've just got to have you, and that's all there is to it. Did you ever in your life see such work as Ripley made of it? I don't believe he could stop the moon if it was rolled at him by a baby. Come on, Ward, come on! Tim and I have got to go and bat, and we can't stay any longer. All the fellows want him, don't they, Tim?" he added, turning to the captain of the nine.

"That's what they say," growled Tim, and yet Ward could readily see that he was almost as eager for him to play as Jack was, only he could not bring himself to urge the boy whom he had abused in so many ways and hated with such a genuine hatred.

Just at this juncture Mr. Crane approached and touching Ward lightly upon the shoulder said in a low voice: "I should go in, Hill. You've nothing to lose and much to gain. Remember, you've had your Lexington and the Declaration of Independence and Trenton and Princeton, and now you're at Monmouth. Don't let the British or General Lee baffle you now. Besides, you must think of the school too."

Ward looked at the teacher in as great surprise as did Jack and Tim, and his hesitation was gone. He had no desire to appear unwilling or indifferent, for he certainly was not controlled by either feeling. He longed to enter the game and did not wish to be "coaxed" into it. All his hesitation had arisen from the fear that if he should not do well his position in the school would not be improved, and the enmity of Tim's special friends would only be intensified.

"I'll come in," he said gently, "and do the best I can."

"Good for you, Ward! good for you!" shouted Jack tossing his hat into the air and turning a somersault. "He'll take Ripley's place at the bat then, won't he, Tim?"

"I suppose so," replied Tim.

"Come on then, Ward. Maybe you'll get a chance this inning. Tim, you're next up," he added as he noticed who the batsman was, "and I follow you. We'll have to go now, Ward. Come up and take a seat on the players' bench."

"I'll be around in time," replied Ward quietly.

For several reasons he preferred to retain his place in the crowd for the present, unless his turn to bat should come.

Somehow fortune's wheel turned slightly in favor of the Weston boys, and although Ward's turn to bat did not come, the inning closed with two more runs scored by the nine.

"Six to three," shouted the boys as the players started for their places in the field.

Ward's heart was beating high as he slowly drew off his coat and handed it to Little Pond, who proudly received it, and then he started toward his old place in left field.

His appearance was at once noted by the crowd and received with a cheer. It was true it seemed to be wanting in the volume and heartiness of the old-time applause, but still it did Ward's heart good.

Striving to appear unmindful he looked away from the crowd as the game was now resumed. What had become of Ripley he did not know.

The inning was quickly ended, without a run being scored. Not a ball had come near him, and Ward was not grieved over the fact, for his nerves were in such a highly strung condition that he was fearful he would not have been able to do much had the opportunity presented itself.

He was the second at bat, however, and as he heard his name called he carefully selected his bat and then tried to collect his thoughts and appear calm, though he was far from feeling as he strove to appear.

Shackford, the pitcher of the Burr nine apparently was becoming somewhat nervous, for he gave the first batter his base on balls.

Ward grasped his bat and started resolutely toward the plate. The crowd was silent, but Ward realized how eager his friends were for him to do well. Even a goodly portion of Tim's sneer had disappeared, and Ward could not determine whether his stronger desire was now for the nine to win or for him to fail. The task before the lad, however, quickly banished all other thoughts from his mind. How eager he was and determined to do his best.

"One strike," called the umpire. "Two strikes," he repeated a moment later.

Shackford was doing his utmost to puzzle him and Ward began to fear that he would strike out. The next ball, however, came close in to him and before he could dodge it or step out of its way it struck the handle of his bat and dropped a little ways from the plate. In an instant Ward flung aside his bat and rushed at his swiftest pace for first base, the runner in advance of him of course having started for second.

The excitement and necessity for quick action apparently rattled the Burrs, for both Shackford and the catcher started together for the ball, and as no one called out who was to make the play, the consequence was that they came together in a sharp collision, and were both thrown to the ground.

Before they could recover Ward was safe at first, and the other runner had gained the second base.

Shackford now began to play more deliberately. Every move was carefully timed, and he guarded his nine well. In spite of all the efforts of the Weston boys, and the encouraging shouts of their friends among the spectators, they could succeed in getting but one man around the bases, Ward having been left on third.

"Six to four, and only two more innings to play," said Jack to Ward as they walked together out upon the field to resume their positions. "Not a very brilliant prospect for us."

"We'll not give up before the last man is out," said Ward. "There's nothing more uncertain in all the world than a game of ball, and it's never finished till the end has come."

He had done nothing to warrant any special praise thus far, but he was in high spirits nevertheless. The increasing excitement as the game drew toward its close was manifest among players and spectators alike, and Ward Hill, as we know, was ever one of the quickest to respond to his immediate surroundings.

Again the inning closed without the Burrs being able to score. The utmost they could do was to get a man as far as second base, but there he was left.

"We've got two turns at the bat and they've got one," said Jack, as they came in from the field. "We've got to make three runs to win the game."

The inning opened very promisingly for the Weston boys. Both Tim and Jack made hits, and were on third and second bases respectively. The next two batters were out however, and as they all realized that everything depended upon the efforts of the next man, the crowd followed his movements with almost breathless interest.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and the various feelings of the spectators were at once apparent in their responses. "One ball!" "Two balls!" quickly followed.

Suddenly the crowd rose from their seats and stood leaning forward in intense suspense as they followed the movements of the catcher, who had let the ball which Shackford had pitched somewhat wildly get by him. Tim started quickly from third, and was running as he had never run before. Shackford stood waiting on the plate with outstretched hands for the ball to be thrown by the catcher, who was doing his utmost to get it and return it before Tim could gain the plate. Every player was eagerly watching the movements, and not a sound could be heard from the spectators. Nearer and nearer came Tim, and now the catcher had grasped the rolling ball. With a quick movement he turned and threw it swiftly to Shackford, who caught it just as Tim gained the plate, and running into the player threw both heavily to the ground.

The crowd rushed in from their places eager to learn the decision of the umpire, who had been standing close to the boys as they came together. "He's out!" shouted the umpire as he waved his hand for the spectators to go back to their places. For a moment there was a scene of confusion. In their excitement many of the boys forgot what was expected of them, and the shouts and cheers of the schools were mingled with the groans and cries of those who took different views of the decision which had just been made.

Tim was thoroughly angry, and stood talking loudly with the umpire, claiming that he had cheated him out of a run and the nine from a score which it had justly won.

In a moment, however, several of the boys had surrounded the excited captain, and at last, after much persuasion, induced him to return to his place in the field.

"It was close," said Jack to Ward, "and I think we ought to have had it; but we can't help ourselves, and there's no use in kicking."

The excitement was now intense as the Burrs came to the bat for the last time. The score still stood two in their favor, and even if they did not succeed in adding to it, the advantage was still decidedly on their side. Every movement of the players was cheered now, and the nervous actions of the rival nines betrayed their own desires to win.

Tim Pickard was sending the balls in with a speed he had never had before. If his own exertions could win the game, then surely the Weston boys ought not to lose that day.

The first batsman struck out, and a fierce cheer arose from the Weston contingent as the player flung his bat on the ground and strode back to his place on the bench.

The next was struck by the first ball Tim threw in, and was evidently hurt, but in a moment he pluckily started toward first base, and the cheers of the spectators followed him.

His successor also struck out, and the din which arose was almost deafening. All depended now upon the efforts of the next batter, and the Weston boys' hearts sank when they saw that this was to be Shackford, the heaviest hitter on the opposing nine.

Shackford grasped his bat and stood calmly facing Tim, each realizing that it was now a battle royal. Tim was a trifle wild now, and the fears of his friends increased when the batter hit one or two long fouls that went far down the field, but luckily outside the lines. Again Shackford hit the ball, and sent it with tremendous force down the field directly toward the short stop. Jack made a desperate effort to stop it, but it was going so swiftly that it almost threw him backward, and he dropped the ball. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, and quickly picking up the ball threw it swiftly to the second baseman, who was waiting for it. He caught it just an instant before the runner gained the base, and the umpire shouted, "Out!"

The din on the field now increased. Most of the spectators were standing, and the boys were crowding close in to the lines. Each of the Weston players was cheered by name as he approached the plate and stood facing the calm and collected pitcher of the Burrs.

The first man was out, and a yell of delight arose from the supporters of the Burrs.

The second made a hit, and a louder shout arose from the friends of the Weston nine.

The third batter sent up a high foul, which was easily caught by the third baseman, and the uproar broke out again. Another gained his base, and now two men were out, two were on the bases, and two runs were required to tie the game, and three to win, and it was Ward Hill's turn to bat. Already some of the outer spectators were leaving the grounds, for the game seemed to be practically ended.

"Now do your duty, Ward Hill!" called Jack as Ward grasped his bat and started toward the plate. "Remember everything depends upon you."

Ward made no reply. Was it likely he could fail to realize how much depended upon him? He was dimly conscious of the applause which greeted him. Eager faces seemed to surround him, and the tension was intense.

Shackford brushed back the hair from his wet forehead, glanced coolly about him at the runners on the bases and to see that his own men were all ready, then quickly drew back his arm and sent the ball in swiftly and directly over the plate.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and shrieks and calls resounded from the crowd.

Before Ward could prepare himself Shackford swiftly drew back his arm and sent in another ball.

"Two strikes!" shouted the umpire, and cheers and jeers alike could now be heard. Indeed, many more of the spectators arose to depart, for it seemed to be evident that the end had come. Only one more ball might be necessary.

Shackford sent in the ball again, but this time Ward was ready. He hit it squarely, and with all his force. Only realizing that the ball was going, he started swiftly toward first base. It seemed to him that pandemonium had broken loose behind him. Shrieks, calls, shouts, and cheers were all mingled.

As he touched the first base and started toward second he looked at the ball. He had sent it far out over the center-fielder's head, and not yet had he caught up with it. It was a terrific hit, and all of Ward's long pent up feelings seemed to have found vent in the force with which he had struck. On and on sped the ball, and on and on ran Ward.

Before he had gained the third base both of the runners in advance of him had scored. He touched the third base, and putting forth all his speed started toward home. The applause was deafening now. He was dimly conscious of a mass of waving banners and flags off on his right, and that "Hi! yi! yi!" could be heard on every side.

"Go it, Ward! Go it!" shouted Jack intensely as he ran outside the line to encourage his friend; and Ward was "going it" at his very best.

He bent low and rushed forward. He could hardly breathe now, but his speed did not slacken. On and on he ran, until it seemed to him he never could gain the coveted base.

Putting forth all the last remnant of his strength he obeyed Jack's warning, and throwing himself on the ground touched the base just as a last, loud, prolonged yell came from the crowd.

With his hand on the plate he for the first time glanced behind him. The ball had just been thrown in and Shackford had caught it. The game with the Burrs was won, and Ward Hill's long hit had won it.