Part 18 (1/2)

Phil sat down on the bench, throwing his sweater over his arm for protection. The umpire called, ”Play,” and Nelson, cheered by the little crowd from Oakdale, stepped out with his bat.

The Oakdale captain found a place at Springer's side. ”Phil,” he said in a low tone, ”I want you to be ready to go in any time. I've decided to start the game with Grant, but we may need you any moment.”

CHAPTER XVII.

THE BOY ON THE BENCH.

For a moment Phil was dazed; then a sudden feeling of relief flashed over him. He would not have to face those dangerous Clearport batters unless Grant should be knocked out, in which case, no matter what happened after he went in, all the blame could be thrust upon Rodney.

But this feeling of satisfaction lasted only a few seconds; gradually resentment and wrath crowded it out, and he sat there eaten by the bitterest emotion. Not for a moment had he dreamed Eliot would think of starting the game with the Texan on the slab, for this day he, Phil, was to be given the opportunity to redeem himself. It was an outrage, an injustice of such magnitude that his soul flamed with wrath. What if Grant were to succeed in holding the Clearporters down? In that case, of course, Eliot would permit him to pitch the game through to the finish, leaving on the bench the lad who had expected to do the twirling. And that would mean further glory for the chap Springer had thoughtlessly coached for the position of second pitcher; would mean that, if he pitched at all in future games, Phil himself would be the second string man.

Feeling that he could not contain himself, he was turning to Eliot when, to his amazement, he saw the fellows rising from the bench and starting toward the field; for while he had been thus bitterly absorbed the first three Oakdalers had faced Oakes, the Clearport pitcher, and not one of them had reached first base. Phil could scarcely believe it possible that the riotous condition of his mind had prevented him from realizing that the game was in progress, but such had been the case.

And now, hot and cold by turns, he saw Rod Grant fling aside his brand-new crimson sweater and jog forth, smiling, to pit his skill and brains against the local sluggers.

”I hate him!” hissed the miserable lad beneath his breath. ”I hope they pound him to death right off the reel.”

A few moments later his heart gave a tremendous leap of joy, and he almost shouted with satisfaction when Boothby led off by smas.h.i.+ng the first ball Grant handed up. It was a terrific long line drive to center field, but Stone took the ball on the run, and the Clearport sympathizers groaned and cried, ”Hard luck!”

”It _was_ hard luck for Boothby,” muttered Springer. ”If he'd placed that drive farther to the left it would have been good for three sus-sacks. It was a fearful slam. Oh, they'll hand it to Mr. Grant, all right!”

The next batter, Long, likewise hit the ball, driving it buzzing along the ground, and again the crowd groaned; for Nelson made a hair-raising, one-hand, diving jab and got the sphere. He nearly sprawled at full length upon the ground in doing this, but finally regained his equilibrium in time to toss the ball to Crane for the second put-out.

”Right fine work, Jack,” praised Grant. ”That was just about as fancy as anything I ever saw.”

”It was a fuf-fine thing for you, all right,” whispered Springer to himself. ”Robbed Long of a hit. Oh, they're going to hand you yours!”

”You're playing ball to-day, fellows,” smiled Eliot, readjusting the catching mask. ”That's the stuff!”

Barney Carney, Clearport's lively young Irishman, danced forth with a bat.

”Just be after letting me put me s.h.i.+llaly against one of them,” he chuckled. ”Ye'll find it over in the woods yonder.”

After making three fouls, he hit the ball, hoisting it so high into the air that it seemed to dwindle to a quarter of its usual size. Cooper, coming into the diamond, gave no heed to the shouting of the crowd.

”I'll take it!” he yelled, as the ball fell swiftly. And take it he did, freezing to the horsehide with a grip like grim death.

”You're wearing horseshoes all over you to-day, Mr. Grant,” growled the watching lad on the bench. ”But there'll come a change; this can't keep up.”

It was impossible for him to wear a pleasant face as his teammates gathered about him, even though he tried, in a measure, to hide his chagrin. Silently he watched Stone lead off with a safety, and saw Eliot unhesitatingly sacrifice Ben to second. Nor did he move a muscle when Sile Crane slashed one into right field and Stone won the approval of his comrades and awakened the enthusiasm of the little crowd of Oakdale rooters by making a marvelous sprint over third and a slide to the plate that brought him to the rubber ahead of the ball.

Oakes, taking a brace, disposed of Cooper and Piper in double-quick time; and the visitors were forced to remain content with a single tally in the second.

Clearport again came to bat in a business-like manner, and in almost every detail the home team duplicated the performance of Oakdale.

b.u.t.ters, picking out a bender to his fancy, straightened it for a single.

”Good bub-boy!” mumbled Springer.

Stoker bunted, letting b.u.t.ters down to second while he was being thrown out at first. Merwin got a Texas leaguer, on which b.u.t.ters took a chance--foolishly, it seemed--and was saved by a wild throw to the pan that let him slide under the catcher.