Part 18 (1/2)

”Smas.h.!.+”

”Oh, what a hit!”

”He leaned way out, and took a wide curve right on the nose!”

”Look at her go, would you!”

”A home run hit, fellows; bully for Lil Artha! He's all to the good!”

”What would he do if he was twice as tall, hey, tell me that?” demanded a disgusted Fairfield backer, as he watched the two figures careering around the circuit.

”Watch him run, boys! Why, he could get home ahead of Toby. There they come in, neck and neck!”

”But where's the ball?” demanded one fellow.

”McDowd is chasing it yet. He'll get it after a while. There never was such a long hit made on these grounds, that's dead sure. It was a peach!”

Two runs looked pretty big in such a bitterly contested game.

”Even if we don't get another, that ought to win, if Elmer can keep up his fine work,” Mr. Garrabrant declared, as he sat in the midst of his boys, and shook hands with the tall panting first baseman as he dropped down.

”Then we've just got to work to hold them, see?” said Red, who was picking out a hat, as Chatz had stepped cut to the rubber.

”Oh, don't got that notion in your heads, boys,” laughed Elmer. ”Perhaps we can add a few more for good measure. Matt may be rattled after those two screamers. Try and hit her out, Red.”

But Matt Tubbs instead of being upset by his misfortunes seemed better than ever. He easily disposed of Chatz; and while Red did get on first through an error of the shortstop, who threw wide, he died there. Ty shot up a zigzag foul that Ballinger managed to just grasp, after staggering back and forth like a drunken man in the effort to judge its eccentric motions; and Matty's offering was taken by Cook in left field.

So the seventh began. The Fairfield rooters, faithful to their team, began to call out encouraging words, such as the ”lucky seventh.”

McDowd started out well. He drew a pa.s.s by refusing to try to take the slow one that just failed to cross over the rubber. Then he stole second, though Mark got the ball down to Red in good style; but a great slide saved the runner, according to the umpire, who was on the spot.

There was no protest against the decision, even though most of the Hickory Ridge players thought the man was fairly out. They were much too game to show that they could not take their medicine when the decision went against their side.

Elmer put on a little more speed.

”Hey!” called out Mulligan as he stood there and heard a strike called: ”what're ye thryin' to do wid me, Elmer? Sure that wan had whiskers on it: I heard 'em brush past me leg. Thry it again, me honey, and see what I do.”

He tried to bunt the next one, but made a failure of the job; for Elmer had readily guessed that such must be his orders, with that man on second.

So Mulligan pa.s.sed away, being fed one of the teasers that he tried to meet by stepping forward, but without the slightest success.

Next came Ballinger, the catcher. Like most men behind the bat, accustomed to seeing all manner of b.a.l.l.s coming toward men throughout the whole game, Ballinger was a fairly good man with the stick. He believed he could pick out a good one, and do something worth while.

His best was a high fly that Ty gathered in away out in deep center; but after the ball settled in his hands McDowd managed to make third, again by a slide, at which he seemed particularly clever.

It was now up to Matt Tubbs. Adopting the tactics of his rival when Lil Artha was at bat, Elmer sought to pa.s.s the hard-hitting pitcher of the Fairfields. He had given two b.a.l.l.s when Matt reached out, and took one that was intended as a wide curve.

It shot past Matty near second, and went buzzing out into the field.

Even then it was tagged with so much speed that before it could be sent in home McDowd had scored, and Tubbs was nestled on the second bag.

Then arose a fearful roar. If only Wagner had found his batting eye he would surely send his captain home with the tying run.