CHAPTER II

A WARM BEGINNING FOR CODDLING

A groan went up from full twenty throats, at this dismal announcement.

“What shall we do? We can’t just float down like this. It would look as if we were whipped before we began to play!” sang out Jack Comfort, almost in a whine.

“We’ve just got to swim for it, that’s all! Me for the cool drink!” said Lanky, pretending to poise on the bow of the boat as if for a plunge.

Frank looked serious indeed, but it was something more than the fact of the breakdown that worried him. He had reason for suspecting that Abner Gould must have done something to bring about this condition of affairs!

Still, he said nothing about it, not being sure. But he could not help remembering that this man had a brother who was known as something of a sport, and made himself conspicuous at many of the baseball games by his disposition to bet upon the result, something that the faculty of the several schools very much objected to, though unable to stop fully.

Dimly Frank could see how there might be some connection between this circumstance and their sudden delay. If Watkins Gould had been wagering heavily against the Columbia team winning, everything that helped disconcert them, and make them unduly anxious, was to his credit. And Abner did not have a face that Frank thought could be trusted.

“Don’t worry, boys,” he said, as the others crowded around, “there are more ways than one for getting to Bellport. If necessary we could go ashore and take the trolley.”

“You might if they let us climb on the roof, for every car is loaded down with people,” observed Paul Bird, Frank’s chum and catcher.

“All right. Here comes Mr. Garabrant in his launch. Possibly he may be glad to give us a tow.”

Frank, as he spoke, kept his eyes on the face of the man who had charge of the motor. He felt positive he saw a sudden look of keen disappointment come upon it, though Abner, upon noticing that he was being observed, tried to look pleased.

“He did it, I’m dead certain!” was what Frank was saying to himself, as a thrill of indignation passed over his frame.

He could stand honest defeat, but when trickery was brought into play it made him angry. At the same time he did not dream for a moment that any one on the opposing team could have had a hand in this mess.

Herman Hooker immediately got his megaphone into service.

“Ahoy there, Mr. Garrabrant! Will you kindly head this way?” he shouted.

The other launch immediately changed its course and approached. There was quite a little company aboard, and evidently the party was headed for the athletic field of Bellport, to witness the great game.

“What’s wrong here?” asked the gentlemanly owner, as he stood up, the better to see.

“A breakdown, and we have really no time to monkey with repairs. Could you give us a tow, sir?” asked Frank.

“Only too glad, boys. It’s very evident that unless I do there would be small chance for a game to-day. Hand us a painter, and we’ll make fast to a cleat at our stern,” replied the Columbia business man, readily.

This being quickly adjusted, progress was once more resumed. Perhaps they did not move quite so fast as before, but that was a matter of small moment. Once more the cheer captain led in vigorous shouts that rang over the water, and brought answering cries from either shore.

“There’s Bellport!” said Frank, directing the attention of Ralph to the numerous tall chimneys that marked the manufacturing town; but they were belching out no smoke this afternoon, for the plants lay idle, with the vast majority of the busy workers in holiday attire heading toward the athletic field.

A landing was made, and jumping ashore, the boys gathered their material of war, after which the march was taken up for the scene of battle.

And when they turned a bend in the road, with the fine field spread before them, every fellow was thrilled to note the tremendous throng that had gathered to see the game, and shout for their respective team.

“Whew! where did they all come from?” gasped Lanky, as he gaped at the host of waving handkerchiefs and hats that greeted their arrival.

“The whole country is baseball mad, that’s what,” remarked Paul, as he strode along at the side of the pitcher.

“It’s a grand sight, and ought to spur every fellow to doing his level best,” remarked the other, drawing in a big breath, for he had never before known such a gathering to greet the Columbia High team, at home or abroad.

As usual, some of the boys began to pass balls as they moved across the diamond. This was done to wear away any nervousness that the sight of the immense crowd might have aroused.

The Bellport team had been practicing for some time now, and were ready to give up the diamond to the visitors. As the time for the commencement of the game was not far away, Captain Seymour sent his men out, and started Frank to warming up.

The grandstand fairly swarmed with people, and the bleachers were packed. Indeed, ropes had to be used to keep the crowd off the diamond, and hundreds sat beyond the right field, where there happened to be some shade.

It sounded like Bedlam broke loose, what with the various school yells, the cat-calls and shouts, and now and then a song breaking above the clamor. Herman Hooker had hurried over to where his shouting clan awaited him. They had kept a seat for him in the front row, where he could jump up at the proper time, and lead the cheering with that astounding foghorn voice of his.

Frank noticed as he passed the ball in to Paul that Watkins Gould was present, and apparently boldly seeking bets on the game. The bleachers were occupied for the most part with the factory workers, a rough crowd, and many of them ready to take a chance on their favorite team.

When finally the Columbia boys came in after a strenuous practice covering about a quarter of an hour, the many-colored flags fluttered from the hands of those in the grandstand until the structure looked like a great bunch of flowers; while from hundreds of lusty throats rose the various class and school cries, blending in a surge of sound.

Then Bellport took the field, their going out being the signal for a tremendous ovation, for they had the full support of their town.

Roderic Seymour had changed the batting list somewhat since the last game played with Clifford. To Ralph was given the honor of leading off, since he was playing in place of Ben Allison. The order ran in this fashion:

Ralph West--Left field. “Bones” Shaddock--Third base. Jack Comfort--Center field. Lanky Wallace--First base. Buster Billings--Right field. Tom Budd--Shortstop. Roderic Seymour--Second base. Paul Bird--Catcher. Frank Allen--Pitcher.

Ralph was a fair batter, but a better waiter. For this latter reason he had been given orders to take his time, and as he faced the opposing pitcher, Coddling, who was said to be the best twirler Bellport had ever turned out, he assumed a position of eagerness and expectancy, as though burning with anxiety to strike.

Coddling had never played against any of these fellows before. He was therefore forced to depend entirely on what his catcher signaled. And Clay, while on the team the preceding year, knew nothing about the weaknesses of this new batter.

Consequently Ralph got his base, after two strikes had been called on him, one of which was really a miss at an outcurve.

Of course the excitement began at once. A hum went around the field, and Columbia stock arose, with mocking cries hurled at the local adherents.

Shaddock was a good hitter as rule. He had made something of a record on the team the preceding year. The best he could do now, after knocking three fouls, was to send one into the hands of the shortstop, who failed, however, to double Ralph at second on account of a fumble.

Intense interest was taken in the coming to bat of Jack Comfort.

“Lace one out, old boy!” howled the Columbia bunch in the center of the bleachers, where they had gathered to fairly split the atmosphere with their shouts.

“You can do it if you try! Over Lacy’s head, Jack!”

Jack thereupon did try. Three times he swung on the ball, and as often it came with a dull, sickening thud in the catcher’s big mitt, while the grin on the face of Smith, Sr., the tall first baseman, was most exasperating.

A roar went up as Jack walked back to the bench shaking his head. Those elusive “spit” balls of Coddling had him guessing, and silently he stared at the slim pitcher who had proved his right to the name of wizard, as if trying to fathom where his own efforts fell short.

Now came Lanky Wallace. He was warmly greeted by friend and foe alike, for somehow everybody knew the elongated Columbia first baseman always did his level best, and played a clean, square game.

Lanky was more fortunate than Jack, for he hit the second ball Coddling floated up, hit it with a vim that sent the sphere whistling out toward left, much to the surprise of the pitcher, and the delight of the crowd.

As a man the entire mass swung to their feet to follow the course of the ball. Smith, Jr., so called to distinguish him from his brother, was covering ground at a great rate, in the hope of getting his hands upon the flying horsehide ere it went past.

“He’s got it!” whooped the Bellport enthusiasts, as the left fielder made a fine leap in the air, and apparently snatched the ball down.

“Not much he has! Go it, both of you! He knocked the ball down, but never held it! Run, you lazybones. Make a homer of it, Lanky!”

It seemed as though two thousand people were madly shrieking as the runners sped around the bases. Smith, Jr., had recovered the ball, and was relaying it home in the effort to catch Ralph at the plate. A great slide, however, allowed the Columbia man to get his run. Meanwhile, Lanky had reached third, and was held on that bag by the coach.

With two out and a man on third Buster Billings swung his bat as if ready to put the ball over the head of Snodgrass in right field.

“Give me an easy one, Mr. Pitcher. I’m only learning how to swing on ’em. Coach Willoughby says----” and then Buster hit it!

The ball took an awkward turn, so that although both the pitcher and second baseman made a dive at it neither was fortunate enough to fork the elusive sphere. Amid a frightful clamor the fat Columbia student managed to get to first, where he presently stood, wiping his red face with a bandana.

Of course Lanky easily came in, and the score had been raised to two, which was an encouraging start for the visitors, considering who was doing the pitching.

Tom Budd proved an easy victim, however. Coddling took a brace, and although the Columbia shortstop certainly tried his best to connect with one of the bewildering drops which were handed up to him, he never touched the ball.

So the inning ended for Columbia, and they took the field. Confidence had, however, been installed in their hearts, for it seemed as if the terrible Coddling might after all not be so very hard to get at.

Frank had been up against most of these fellows before. He knew that they had a reputation as heavy hitters, and once started were hard to stop.

Snodgrass, the first man up, usually managed to draw his base. His very attitude at the plate bothered a pitcher, which was just what he meant it to do.

But Frank was determined that he should strike, and sent swift balls directly over until he had managed to get the other just where he wanted him. Then a well directed outcurve deceived Snodgrass. He went back to the bench amid the groans of the crowd.

Then up rose Hough, the doughty second baseman, who was playing in place of Captain Cuthbert Lee, on the sick list, with his trusty bat. He knocked imaginary dirt from the soles of his shoes and took his place. Hough had a good batting eye, and could pick one out all right.

Two balls and one strike had been called when he swung viciously. The sound of the connection was like a rifle report, and instantaneously the immense crowd gave a howl of delight.

Again was there an upheaval, as every eye tried to follow the flight of the rapidly shooting ball.

It was headed for the territory of Buster, and the fat fielder was straining every nerve to get within reaching distance of the flying sphere!