CHAPTER XVIII

AN UNFORTUNATE HIT

“Who’s up?” demanded Paul Bird, as he tossed his mask and chest protector aside, wiped his steaming face, and picked up a bat.

“You are, and if ever you made a base hit get one in now!” said Captain Seymour.

“Yes, everything depends on this inning. We can do it if we try, fellows!” exclaimed Ben Allison, also selecting his favorite piece of ash.

Once again the crowd settled down, though the anxiety felt was plainly depicted on the faces all around.

The noise had broken out again worse than ever. Even the voice of the brazen-throated Princeton man could not be heard, and he depended on signals to announce whether it might be a ball or a strike. Not one of those boys but whose nerves thrilled with the intense strain. And it can easily be understood how Coddling must have suffered as he toed the slab once more to try and mow the Columbia boys down, so as to prevent a run.

“You know how to do it, Coddling. Give them some of your famous teasers, and see ’em break their backs trying to connect!”

“Yes, Coddling, one, two, three for yours, now. And start right in with this guy of a catcher!”

“What have you got on him, hey? Did he let a ball pass him like your feller? He ain’t so hefty, but he’s the stuff they make champions out of!” declared a Columbia backer, a brawny blacksmith, whose appearance alone was enough to inspire respect, so that the Bellport man dared make no answer.

Paul waited. He did not want to appear too anxious. He knew that the man who was hurling that ball over was just as nervous as they make them, and he hoped to profit by this. Still, he could not hold off when he felt sure he saw a ball coming within his reach.

Too late after he struck he learned that it was one of Coddling’s shrewd outshoots, and that it had jumped beyond his reach.

“Get a pole, sonny!” advised some one from the crowd.

“He felt for it that time; now he’s going to take some!” shouted another.

“Strike two!” came the voice of the umpire, though Paul had not tried to connect; and that was one of Coddling’s equally clever inshoots which had seemed as if about to miss the plate by a foot, yet took a sudden turn and shot in.

If one were only a mind reader, Paul thought, and could guess every time what the pitcher intended to do, how easy it would all be.

Suddenly changing his hold upon his bat, Paul thrust it out with the intention of bunting. He managed to connect, and was off like a flash, though doubtful as to his chances for reaching first, for he felt that he had not made as neat a drop of the ball as he had hoped.

Still, the ball player to be successful must try to the utmost, no matter how discouraging the prospect, always hoping that some little luck may turn things his way--a dropped or fumbled ball has given many a base that was not earned.

“Run, Paul! Harder and you’ll get there!” shrieked Herman through his megaphone, and the sound seemed to spur the catcher to even greater exertions.

Runner and ball seemed to arrive at the same second. Some shouted that he was out, and partisans of Columbia cried that he was safe. The umpire steadied his hand. That meant the runner had the benefit of the doubt, and should remain where he was on first.

Then Bedlam seemed to break out! Even though every fan from Bellport knew deep down in his heart that the decision was just, still he felt it incumbent on him to howl at the umpire, and the ancient word, “robber!” was heard right and left.

The old Princeton man only smiled, and turned his attention to the game. Doubtless he chuckled at hearing the old familiar outbursts to which he had listened many a time himself, and perhaps joined in shouting at the referee.

By degrees the excitement began to ooze out, as attention became riveted on the next man at bat. This was Ralph.

They had failed to rattle him while in the box, but that did not prevent the Bellport legions from indulging in a most astonishing din. Ralph never noticed what was going on. His eye was on Coddling. He wanted to guess what sort of a ball the clever Bellport twirler meant to dish up to him.

“Watch that feller! He’s going to win the game if you let him hit it!”

“Strike him out, Coddling. He’s dead easy!”

“Hey, Ralph, old boy, you know what I told you? Nothing less than a three-bagger will do! Hear me?” called one fellow, who did not even know the batter to speak to; but on the ball field astonishing familiarity becomes the rule.

Ralph had his teeth set hard. If it depended on him to win the game he meant that they should not be disappointed. He watched Coddling eagerly, yet with every muscle set for instantaneous work.

Whack!

“He done it! I told you so!”

Ralph was jumping for first, while Paul had run down to second. The third baseman had knocked the ball down, but had to chase it, so that Coddling rushed over to cover third as in duty bound, in case Paul attempted to come along.

But he went back to second, quite contented. Columbia stock rose just about then; and Herman again led his crowd whooping in concert:

“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! _veni! vidi! vici!_ Columbia! Sis boom, ah!”

“Once more, fellows! You can do it! They’re going to pieces! See ’em creeping in, expecting to make a double play. Over the second base, and win the game, Ben, and the pennant!”

Allison meant to do that same thing. He took a firm grip on his bat, and settled in his box to strike. Since that first time he had faced Coddling three times, and on every occasion had connected with the ball, though twice he went out, once at first and again when trying to stretch a fine hit into a triple, much to the disgust of his backers.

The noise died away as if by magic. Every one was holding his or her breath, in the expectation of giving vent to a whoop when Allison had either done what he set out to do or passed out.

Seymour stepped out and whispered to the batter.

“He’s telling him to bunt!” cried a few, expecting that this would be the program; and not realizing that with the infield playing short it was next to suicidal to attempt anything along this order, and meant double play.

Both basemen were playing well off, because they had nothing to fear. Excitement was keyed up to top notch.

“Look out for Banghardt!” shrieked a coach; and Paul found that the center fielder had crept in, so that he came near being cut off from his bag.

Again Coddling wound up to pitch. Allison let the sphere pass.

“One ball!”

The next time it came the batter smote it full “on the nose” and the sound of the collision electrified that entire assemblage like a shock from a gigantic battery. But alack and alas! as sometimes happens, while he drove the ball directly in the line he had marked out, it chanced to be just a few feet too low!

To the horror of the Columbia adherents it landed full in the eager hands of the second baseman, who held it fiercely for just a second, when he sent it with all his might to Bardwell on third, but not before touching his own base.

Was it a triple? There was a wild upheaval on the part of the entire mass of spectators. Paul had thrown himself headlong for the bag, but that swiftly-sent sphere was there just before him!

The umpire made a sweeping motion of his hand. Paul was out, and consequently Bellport had won the game by making a wonderfully clever triple in the last inning!

Bedlam broke loose right then and there, and the crowd surged over the field, whooping and howling their various class yells. Herman led in a volcanic cheer for the clever players who had managed that remarkable play; and followed this with shouts for both teams. Then songs were sung, and the boys fraternized.

It had been a splendid exhibition of work on both sides. No one need be ashamed of having lost such a game as that, as Frank hastened to assure Ralph, who was naturally feeling a little sore over such a sudden downfall to his high hopes.

“The fortune of the game, old chap! Got to get used to it. Why, just before Ben knocked into that triple it looked as if we had ’em dead easy. Oh! why couldn’t he have pulled off one of his favorite little flies just over second! But what’s the use crying over spilt milk? You did great work in the box! Every one is saying we picked up a prize when we came across you, Ralph.”

By this time Ralph could himself smile a little.

“After all, I came out twice as well as I expected. If you don’t think my work was the cause of the defeat I ought to be satisfied. I thought that bull coming on the field broke me up a little. But, then, they didn’t make another run,” he said.

Frank threw an arm around his friend and walked away with him. He wanted to get out of the crowd so that they could talk. He had heard what Ralph told Captain Seymour, and was naturally curious to learn about the little adventure that had delayed the arrival of the new pitcher.

Besides, there had been those thrilling words spoken by Ralph in connection with something that bore upon his own tangled fortunes. What could have happened?

“Now, you know I’m just burning up with curiosity to hear what’s been going on, Ralph. What about this little child you carried home after she hurt her hand; and how does that happen to have any connection with your own matters?” he remarked, when they found themselves removed to some degree from the crowd that was swarming along the road back to Columbia, some to take the trolley for Bellport, others river conveyances for Clifford and beyond.

Ralph turned a glowing face upon his friend.

“Oh! Frank, I can hardly believe it even now, it seems so very strange! Just to think, because I wouldn’t believe some fellows were trying to get me in the bushes, where they could keep me from showing up, I’m going to hear the truth about the past, and who I really am!”

“Hurrah! that’s great news you’re telling me, and I’m sure as glad as if I’d found another dad myself!” exclaimed Frank.