Part 14 (1/2)

Gus went to bat and struck out. Little Kerry lifted a fly to left field that the fielder m.u.f.fed and let roll, so that Kerry slid into second when the sphere was coming back again. Morton, a new man, struck out as though he were not sure whether he was fighting bears, or was merely in a debate, and Dixon hit a grounder to second and was caught out on first. Still no runs.

Gus always had the short step forward, always the uplifted arm that did not double forward at once. It was possibly confusing, instead of a notice to the batter to get ready, as one might have imagined. Quite a number of b.a.l.l.s were called against Gus--fast, slow ones, up-shoots--but never four. Three batters went out in quick succession.

In the third inning Maxwell slowed up a little and the scrubs became wider awake. One of the new men who had, he declared, played ball very little and never shown a genius for hitting, sent a liner between pitcher and first that put him on his base. One of the regulars' former subst.i.tutes. .h.i.t another grounder that let him on first and the new man on second. The third and fourth man, their second time at bat, struck out again and then came big Sadler to the plate. His very first crack sent a fly so high and wide that the center and left fielders fell all over themselves in their effort to get it, while the center man made a wild throw, so that Sadler rather easily accomplished a home run.

It was three runs for the scrubs, as Gus again struck out. The third at the bat for the regulars proved to be ”ancient history,” another expression of Sadler's, with this difference: Siebold took his base on four b.a.l.l.s, but he didn't get any farther than first.

Little Kerry knocked another liner and this the man on second dropped, the short-stop getting it too late to first. Morton again went out.

Dixon hit a liner for two bases that let Kerry in and again the new genius proved himself such by getting in a fly that on errors put him on third. Once more a subst.i.tute who after two fouls knocked a ball almost within reach over the first baseman's head, made another home run on errors. The fourth was caught out on a foul, the fifth struck out and Sadler knocked another fly that was caught. Six runs for the scrubs--the regulars nothing.

Smiling, Gus came again to the box. Three batters in quick succession, after only three b.a.l.l.s were called for two of them, struck out. They seemed to have no idea where the b.a.l.l.s were pa.s.sing, and little Kerry staggered back with every one sent in, though he, too, was smiling. And then, before the regulars could again take their places, something else occurred.

Siebold merely said: ”Hold on, fellows!” He walked straight up to Gus, caught him by the arm and pulled him over toward Bill and Mr. Gay.

”See here,” said Siebold; ”I'm no piker. I've been dead wrong and n.o.body has to tell me. So, Grier, honestly I never saw such pitching outside of the national leagues. And if you'll let me, I want to be friends, and I want you on the team. Mr. Gay, you're right: Maxwell on first and you, Grier, in the box. Are you with us?”

Siebold extended his hand and Gus shook it warmly. The captain turned to Bill. ”You, too. We have to thank you for this business, the best stroke of luck we have ever had.”

Bill shook Siebold's hand with as much gusto as he would have that of any downright hero. A fellow who could muzzle his pride and do the square thing in this manner, especially after he had been licked in a way that hurt, was a real man.

”And look here, Brown! I've generally messed up this captain business and the managing too; and you have got together a team in short order that I wouldn't have believed could have slammed us for six runs. Will you manage us? I'll see that you are elected. Grier can be cap----”

”No, sir,” said Bill. ”Gus doesn't want to be captain. You'll remain captain, Siebold, or we'll both take our doll clothes and go home. But I will try my hand at advising, if you wish. 'Two heads,' you know----”

”Hurrah!” shouted Siebold. ”Brown is manager! And we've got a pitcher now! We're going to lick those Guilford fellows so bad they'll think they've got brain fever!”

CHAPTER XX

MARSHALLTON _versus_ GUILFORD

Bill for once laid aside everything but his studies to give his attention to the game with Guilford Academy, the last athletic contest of the school year. It was played at Guilford, where the grounds were fenced in and tickets of invitation given. As manager of the visiting team, Bill had his quota to distribute in and outside of the Tech. With his characteristic thoroughness he saw that no one was slighted who was at all worthy, rich or poor. This was not so liberally managed at the Guilford end.

The grand stand was pretty well filled, but Bill had reserved some good seats and to these he conducted the Farrells and their niece, stopping to tell them that Gus was pitching and that they must root for Marshallton, which of course they did. After this, with some tickets left over, Bill went outside and skirted the grounds, finding a dozen youngsters hunting holes in the fence, and to these he gave his remaining tickets. Not so long ago, he had been just such a youngster himself, and he had an abounding sympathy for those who possessed the keenest capacity for enjoyment, but were excluded without just reason.

The game was typical of such contests between schools of the kind in all except the performance of Gus in the box. That youth, always smiling, never self-conscious enough even to acknowledge the plaudits meant for him, not only pitched with professional skill, but in his every movement showed a grace which demanded attention.

From the first inning the result was a foregone conclusion. The home team held the visitors to no runs and went to bat with the utmost confidence, only to be retired, one, two, three, on strikes. They shut the visitors out again, and two of them got on bases to remain there and die. They let Siebold come home on Wilde's fly and errors and were again fanned.

They repeated this, with little Kerry at bat and only one of them made a hit, the ball lodging in the pitcher's extended hand. They fought hard and retired the Techs for three more innings, meeting the same fate themselves. Then their pitcher weakened and the team went to pieces, with three men on bases, and Wilde let them all come home on a long grounder, but himself died on second, with two others out on strikes.

They went to pieces again when Sadler knocked a fly over the fence and made a home run, or rather a home walk, and they again were retired in rapid succession. Score, six to nothing, and the Marshallton crowd, including the dignified president of Tech, the instructors to a man, the Farrells and a lot of other sympathizers yelled their throats sore, a bunch of fans going for Gus, hoisting him on high and marching around with him, singing a school chantey:

”He's the stuff, He treats 'em rough, He gives 'em easily more than enough.

He's awful tough He is no bluff, He made 'em look like a powder puff.

He's fast and quick, They couldn't handle ball or stick.