CHAPTER XIX

THE HOME RUN

Events were crowded thickly into the next week. Gardiner returned to the Academy on Monday and shook up football affairs in a way that surprised even Paddy. On Tuesday two more graduates put in an appearance on the campus and with most terrifying scowls proceeded to work miracles, one with the sprinters and the other with the baseball candidates. The latter coach reached the scene none too soon, for the next day Shrewsburg sent down an aggregation of hard-hitting young gentlemen who had already earned a reputation that reached up and down the valley. Most of the fellows turned out for the game and cheered lustily for the crimson-stockinged youngsters, but despite the support of the grand stand Hillton put up a ragged kind of ball, and at the end of the sixth inning the wearers of the green S were five runs to the good and their earning capacity seemed still unlimited.

Wayne and Don and Dave saw most of the contest from where the former was putting Perkins over the high hurdles in a fraction over record time. Later they adjourned to the stand and Don took a hand in the cheering with encouraging results. Hillton went to bat in the first of the seventh amid a loud chorus of cheers only to retire in one-two-three order. Then the coach asserted authority and a new pitcher went into the box, a lower-middle-class boy, Forest by name, who had gained some success with his class nine the preceding spring. He had a fresh, smiling, and ingenuous countenance, and he delivered nice straight balls that went so fast that the first two Shrewsburg batters went out on strikes and the third one reached first base through the medium of a short grounder that seemed to belong to nobody in particular, and for which nobody tried. But the side was out in the next moment, for the fourth batsman struck up a nice clean fly that settled cosily into the right-fielder’s hands, and the crimson stockings trotted in under a salvo of applause.

“Say, where’s Paddy?” asked Wayne, while the first man at bat was recovering his equilibrium after striking unsuccessfully at a deceptive drop. Dave grinned.

“Paddy’s busy. Gardiner’s got every candidate, new and old, back of the gym teaching them to pass. And Gardiner’s so full of new ideas that Paddy’s head is in a whir all the time. I fear he’ll have brain fever soon.”

“There’ll be two of us,” said Don feelingly, “unless Middleton goes out of training. He knocked over every hurdle to-day except the last three. I don’t understand how he came to miss those.”

“Side’s out,” interrupted Wayne. “This is the last of the eighth, isn’t it?”

“Yes, let’s get the fellows to cheering.” Don got up and encouraged the stand to renewed efforts, and the Shrewsburg captain went to bat.

“Twelve to seven,” muttered Dave. “I guess we don’t want this game.”

“Nine’s awful rocky this year,” said Don. “But I’ll bet Kirk will teach ’em something before the first St. Eustace game.”

“Good work, Gray!” yelled Wayne, as the Hillton first baseman captured a liner hot off the end of the Shrewsburg captain’s stick.

“Is that Carl Gray?” asked Dave.

“Yes; I guess he’ll get on to the team. He’s made two of the seven runs so far.”

Once more the Shrewsburg batters failed to make a safe hit, and Forest got a good hearty cheer all to himself as he threw down the ball and went to the bench. It was the first of the ninth now and the home team’s last chance to tie the score or win, either a difficult task. But the cheering became continuous, and the first man at bat, obeying instructions, waited patiently for his base and got it on four balls. Then a batting streak came to the Hillton players, and the next fellow at the plate struck the first ball delivered safely just inside of the third baseman. The next batter also found the ball and knocked it hotly to shortstop, who fumbled it; and the bases were full. But the Shrewsburg pitcher settled down to work and the following Hillton man went out on strikes. And then happened a most unfortunate incident for Shrewsburg. The coachers were busy back of first and third bases, and the Shrewsburg pitcher allowed the noise to worry him a little, just enough to turn an inshoot into a catastrophe. The ball struck the batsman on the hip, and he limped to first, the men on bases moved up, and Hillton scored her eighth run, amid quickly suppressed applause from the seats. The pitcher lost his nerve then and delivered a straight ball, shoulder high, which lit on the center of the bat and went sailing just over his head, bringing another runner in and reaching first too late to put the batsman out. The bases were still full, with but one out, and the grand stand was wild with excitement. The next fellow at the plate, perhaps determining to profit by the pitcher’s collapse, allowed the first two balls to go by unnoticed. Both were strikes. He looked worried for an instant as he tapped the plate with his stick and again faced the pitcher. The third delivery was a ball, and the batsman smiled.

“Hit it, Jim!” shrieked a friend in the audience, but Jim merely broadened his smile into a grin, and the umpire called “Two balls!” Again he remained motionless. “Three balls!” Fellows on the seats began to breathe hard and lean restively forward. The Shrewsburg pitcher glanced around the bases, wiped the stained leather sphere pensively on his gray trousers, shot his hands upward, and sent a straight ball waist-high over the plate. The batsman tossed aside his stick and took a step toward first base.

“Striker’s out!” called the umpire.

A howl of derision went up from the watchers as the youth turned back and walked toward the seat with a pained expression on his face. “Idiot!” commented Dave.

But there was yet a chance. A three-bagger would tie the score. A slightly built boy selected a bat and took his place at the plate. Simultaneously the pitcher turned, waved his hand, and the fielders scattered farther away. Some one started a cheer.

“’Rah-rah-rah, ’Rah-rah-rah, ’Rah-rah-rah, Gray!”

“There’s your friend, Wayne,” said Dave. “Hope he’ll swipe out a home run.”

“So do I. But no such luck, I’m afraid.”

The pitcher was evidently afraid of Gray’s prowess with the bat and went to work skillfully to deceive him by all his arts. But Gray was cool and used the best of judgment. The first ball sped slowly by and resolved itself into a wide outcurve. “One ball!” droned the umpire. The catcher protested loudly, indignantly. Then he marched forward and held a whispered conversation with the pitcher, while the audience laughed derisively.

“No secrets!” bawled a small junior.

The catcher returned, and, leaning far to the right, smote his glove disconcertingly. But Gray refused to glance around or lose his head. The pitcher’s wonted skill and coolness had returned to him. The men on bases were playing far off, ready to take advantage of anything in the shape of a hit. Up went the pitcher’s hands, forward shot his arm, and Gray leaped desperately backward.

“Strike!” called the umpire.

Gray looked disconcerted for an instant. Then he tapped the plate resolutely and again faced the pitcher. The next ball was far out and the boy at bat made no offer at it.

“Two balls!”

Again the chap with the great green S decorating his jersey went through his contortions, and the sphere sped forward. Gray struck at it with all his force and spun around on his heel. The catcher dropped to his knee and picked the ball from the dust. It was a most deceptive drop and the waiting batsmen on the bench nodded their heads in approval.

“Two strikes!”

A little spot of deeper red shone on Gray’s cheek now and he moved his stick a bit nervously behind his shoulder. The pitcher stepped back into his box, nodded to a sign from the catcher, and let drive. Then there was a sharp report as Gray’s bat struck the speeding sphere, the grand stand was on its feet, the three men on bases raced home almost in a bunch, and Gray was rounding first base at a desperate pace!

High and far sped the ball. The left-fielder was racing back down the field. Would he catch it? Pandemonium reigned in the grand stand. Wayne and the others were on their feet, shouting wildly and waving their caps. Gray reached second base, cast a glance toward left field, and came on. The fielder turned almost under the ball and reached upward, leaped back a step, clutched wildly, and fell. The ball, tipping his fingers just beyond his reach, dropped to earth. And Gray, panting and happy, crossed the home plate into the arms of his exultant friends.

The score was now in Hillton’s favor by one run: thirteen to twelve. The half was soon over. The next man struck a short grounder and was out at first. And Shrewsburg went to bat, desperate resolve written large on every face.

“Say, that friend Gray of yours is a great little boy!” exclaimed Dave, as he pulled his cap on again and pounded his feet in time to the refrain of Hilltonians, which the audience had started to chant.

“That’s the finest home run that’s ever been seen on this field since I’ve been in school,” said Don. “And it was needed, too. A home run in time saves the nine.”

“I hope it’ll save this nine,” laughed Wayne. “But those chaps look as though they meant business. One run will tie us; two will beat us.”

But fortune proved a friend to Hillton, and Gray’s wonderful hit saved the day, for Forest worked like a veteran pitcher and struck out the first two Shrewsburg men in short order. The next batter wrote finis to the game by sending a high foul into the first baseman’s gloves, and the grand stand was emptied of its throng. Shrewsburg accepted defeat manfully, answered the Hillton cheer with one equally hearty, bundled itself into the waiting coach, and took its departure with much good-natured defiant flaunting of green banners. Gray, by one brilliant stroke, had achieved a much-coveted position on the nine and was a school hero for many weeks.

The following day Wayne again sped over the mile while Professor Beck held the watch on him. But something was wrong. The professor gave him the result with ill-concealed displeasure.

“Five minutes twenty-three seconds. That’ll never do. You must cut off fifteen seconds, Gordon, if you expect to make the team. What’s the trouble?”

But Wayne couldn’t tell. He had done his best, he thought, and asserted positively that he could run the distance again without feeling it, which feat was naturally not allowed.

“Take a rest to-morrow,” counseled the professor, “so that you’ll be in good condition for Saturday. For I’ll tell you frankly that if you don’t mend that time in the handicaps you’ll find yourself out of it.”

And Wayne jogged back to the gymnasium feeling very forlorn and discouraged. But after his bath and rubbing his spirits returned and he vowed to open the professor’s eyes next time. He had entered for both the half and the mile, the former on Professor Beck’s advice. “For,” said the latter, “the races are far apart, and you’ll get over the effects of the half before the mile is called. And the half may limber you up for the longer distance.”

Wayne spent the next day in rest. Don, too, was idle, as were most of the boys who were to participate in the handicaps, and he and Wayne took a short walk along the river in the afternoon and returned at dusk in time for an hour’s study before supper. The handicaps were announced that evening, and, as is usual in like cases, there was some dissatisfaction expressed by contestants. Wayne found that he was to be allowed twenty yards in the half mile and was to run from scratch in the mile, and was quite satisfied. One thing that told its own story was the announcement that Merton would receive an allowance of eight feet in the hammer throw.

“Poor old Dave!” said Don. “That’ll cut him up like anything. I suppose it means that Hardy has turned out to be a better man, for you see he’s down for scratch. Hello! they’ve given Middleton four seconds in the one-hundred-and-twenty-yard hurdles; well, he ought to come somewhere near winning with that allowance.”

Wayne went to bed that night filled with determination to win on the morrow. He was not the sort of lad that allows the thought of coming events to keep him awake, and he was soon fast asleep; nerves were practically unknown to Wayne. But his brain proved more troublesome and continued its labors after the body had gone to rest, with the result that his slumbers were disturbed by dreams in which he seemed to be trying to win the mile race with Professor Beck perched like an old man of the sea on his shoulders, and Don continually thrusting hurdles in his path.