CHAPTER XXX.

IN THE FACE OF DEFEAT.

The first score had been made off a muffed ball by Mason. True it was thoroughly excusable, but the fact that Mason made it caused many to look at it in a different light.

“There he goes!” growled Gil Cowles. “Now will Merriwell pull him out?”

“He made a good bid for it,” said Nash.

“But he didn’t get it,” sneered Cowles. “He simply knocked his ball aside so that it was lost, which gave Walpole a chance to score. Mason is directly responsible for the first score made by Princeton. In the last game he was responsible for more than half the scores made!”

“Merriwell will have to take him out now,” said Mullen.

But Frank Merriwell had no thought of taking Mason out for that piece of work. He knew there was not one fielder in twenty who could have touched that ball. Mason had come very near getting it. Had he caught it, it would have been one of the most remarkable and sensational outfield plays of the season.

Hodge said not a word, but he did look toward Frank inquiringly. Starbright’s face wore an expression of disgust.

“Hard luck, boys; that’s all,” said Frank quietly.

“Take him out!” shouted somebody on the Yale side.

Mason heard that cry, and it cut him like a keen knife.

“Gods!” he growled, through his teeth, “I’d never have been here if Merriwell hadn’t insisted. Luck is against me, that’s all!”

Merritt, the next batter, was one of the heavy hitters of the Princeton nine. He picked out a good one and lammed it hard. It went sailing away toward left field.

Starbright was being hit rather freely.

It seemed that Gamp would have difficulty in getting under the ball, but he tore over the earth and pulled it down with one hand while at full speed.

That electrified the Yale side, and the crowd of witnesses on the blue bleachers rose up and howled.

“There’s the man to put in center field!” shrieked somebody.

The Yale team came in from the field, Mason’s face looking hard and grim.

“You made a good bid for that fly, Hock,” said Merriwell openly. “If you’d held it, it would have been a marvel.”

This brought a bit of color to the fellow’s cheeks. Ready advanced to the plate.

“Move your outfielders back,” he chirped. “Enlarge the enclosure. I am going to disturb the atmosphere with a severe shock. Now, watch out.”

Vinton’s lips curled, and he gave Jack a slow out curve.

Ready had a long bat, and he reached for that ball, caught it on the tip of the “slugger,” and sent it whistling over the head of the second-baseman.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Jack, as he pranced down to first. “Also ho! ho! That’s the time you found yourself up against the real thing, Vinton, old mark. Just give me one of the same every time I come to bat, will you?”

Vinton shrugged his shoulders, but seemed to give Ready no further attention. However, as Jack played off, the pitcher suddenly snapped the ball over to first in an attempt to catch him.

Ready got back.

“Slow, Vint,” he said. “You seem to be in a trance. Can’t you move quicker, old cinch?”

Vinton kept Jack dodging back to the base for some seconds, but Ready attempted a steal very promptly on the first ball delivered. He might not have reached second in safety, but the catcher was bothered a little about throwing, which gave the runner barely time to slide down.

“Slow again!” chuckled Ready, as he lay on the ground with his hand on the bag. “Oh, I’m harder to catch than the elusive will-o’-the-wisp. La! la! What an easy thing this game is going to be!”

But Jack could not steal third, and he was not taking another desperate chance just then. He had reached second to prevent a double play, and it was lucky that he did so, for Carson batted a grounder straight into Clackson’s hands and was thrown out at first with ease. Had Ready been forced on that hit, both men must have been put out.

Browning hit the second ball pitched and sent it flying past the head of Walpole out into extreme right field. That let him down to first, while Ready took third.

It was Starbright’s turn.

“Here is where we tie the score without an effort,” declared Ready. “Oh, luddy me! What a good, soft thing this is!”

Browning was not a great base-runner, but he took chances and stole second on the first ball pitched. The catcher threw to the short-stop, who came in to take the throw and cut Ready off if he tried to score. But Jack was onto that game, and he pranced off third only to prance back again, with a merry ha-ha.

Starbright, however, although a good hitter, could not meet the ball fairly, and he went out on a foul fly.

Morgan walked up to the plate, ready for anything. Morgan was a good hitter, and Vinton knew it, so the Princeton pitcher became too cautious, with the result that Morgan, who waited well, got his base on balls.

Gamp was a long hitter, and the outfielders moved back a little for him. He did his best to clean the bases and bring every man home by slashing a terrible fly into deep center. The fielder, however, got under it and pulled it down, which retired Yale without a score and gave the Princeton rooters a chance to cheer and cheer again.

The second inning was in some respects a repetition of the first. Princeton obtained one score, but this time it was Benson who muffed the fly, instead of Mason, letting in the runner.

“Oh, Lord!” gasped Nash. “Wasn’t that a shame!”

“How in the world did Lib do it?” growled Cowles, in deep disgust. “But that is the first one he has dropped for a long while.”

“It’s a shame!” said Webb. “Now, if it had been Mason again----”

“We’d all raised a howl,” said Mullen dryly.

The scoring stopped right there, for Starbright struck out the next two men.

Benson was sore enough with himself, but he said nothing.

Yale did her level best to score, but Vinton was in first-class form, and not a tally was made.

The third inning proved to be a whitewash for both sides.

Then came the fourth, and a combination of errors and hits gave Princeton two more runs, besides filling the bases after that.

Then Merriwell was forced to pull Starbright out again and go into the box himself. The Yale crowd rose up and greeted Frank with a wild roar of satisfaction and relief.

For the time Merry put all thoughts of Inza away from him. He was compelled to do so. Thus far Yale had not made a run, while Princeton had four to her credit. This game must be won somehow.

One man was out when Merry entered the box. Hodge was in fighting humor, as Frank saw by the black look on his face.

Merry called Bart down, and they met to have a few quiet words.

“Keep cool, old man,” said Merry. “We’ll win this game. The boys have not struck their gait yet.”

“They never would if you had remained on the bench,” growled Bart. “In some things, Merriwell, you do have bad judgment. You knew just what this game meant to us, and yet, after keeping one man on the team against protests, you let Starbright go in to pitch. Why in thunder you did it no man knows!”

“I know,” said Frank quietly.

He had not told Hodge of the news from Inza. Merry went back to the box and began to use the double-shoot without delay; but Hodge was so irritated that he could not hold it. Twice he let the ball drop to the ground, and once it twisted off to one side, nearly giving the man on third an opening to come home.

Frank frowned, for he was getting worried. Plainly the whole team was in a bad way, but Hodge was worse than any of the rest.

A rise caused the batter to lift a high fly foul, and the third-baseman captured it.

Two men were out.

Frank tried speed, giving Hodge something to do to hold the terrific pitching. This made Bart angrier than ever, and he closed his teeth and froze onto them.

With the aid of good head-work, Merriwell was able to strike out the last man, which kept Princeton from getting any more scores.

Merry tried to arouse his men, but still Vinton worked them cleverly and kept them from scoring.

By the time the fifth inning began Hodge had cooled down, and he could take Merriwell’s pitching in handsome style. Then, in his usual form, Frank struck out three men straight, which set the Yale bleachers wild with joy.

Still, though a runner reached third, Yale could not score. For five straight innings she had been whitewashed.

The crowd on the Princeton bleachers were singing “The Orange and the Black,” and everything looked gloomy for Yale. However, the Yale side kept up the cheering.

In the sixth, Princeton came near squeezing in another run, but a great throw from Gamp cut the runner off at the plate.

Frank congratulated Joe when the men came in from the field.

Still Merriwell himself was worried, although he tried not to show it. His mind was inclined to wander, and he feared he might give some batter the kind of ball he was looking for, which would result in more scores for the enemy.

But Princeton had enough already if she could hold Yale down.

Frank led the batting in the sixth, and he obtained a clean two-bagger.

“Here is where we start!” cried Ready.

But it proved to be where they stopped, for Morgan put up a fly that was easily captured, Gamp followed suit, and Mason struck out.

“That man can’t play a-field and he can’t hit the ball!” growled Gil Cowles. “He lost the last Princeton game, and I count him as the loser of this game. He gave them the first run.”

“Oh, the game isn’t lost yet,” said Nash.

“It is,” asserted Cowles. “I’ve got that feeling in my bones. We can’t win. It’s tough on Merriwell, but he brought it on himself by sticking to Mason against the advice and protests of everybody. His own bad judgment has brought him defeat.”

The spell was broken in the seventh, for Yale squeezed in a single score.

In the eighth Princeton got another, making five in all, and seeming to clinch the game.

Yale put up a desperate fight in her half, but one score was the best she could do, leaving the Tigers still three in the lead.

“Alas!” said Jack Ready.

Merriwell never gave up hope, but he could see that his men were feeling that defeat could not be averted, and he knew that was a bad way for a nine to feel.

The first man got his base on balls. A double play should have followed, but, instead of that, Ready fumbled and permitted the man on first to reach second and the batter to get down to first.

“Oh, wow!” gasped Jack. “I’m it! Refuse me! I’ll have to look for a small hole to crawl into after this game.”

Frank was cautious now, but the umpire would not give him the corners, so that the next batter got a “life” on balls and the bags were filled.

Merry used the double-shoot.

“One strike!” called the umpire.

The next one whistled.

“One ball.”

Frank tried a drop.

Out in deep center something started Hock Mason to running in just as Frank delivered that ball. When the game was over Hock could not explain how it happened that he started so soon, but he knew he was running before the bat met the ball.

Crack!--the batter hit it.

Every man ran, for it seemed certain that the hit was safe, going over second, but being bound to drop far inside the reach of the outfield.

In truth, had not Mason obtained his start just when he did, and had he not started in the right direction, he never could have touched that ball.

Of course, he was seen running for it, but no one reckoned he had obtained such headway, and so it was thought he would not be within a rod of it when it touched the ground.

Never in all his life had Mason covered ground so fast. He fairly flew along. He saw the ball dropping, and, with a great forward diving leap, he scooped it up just before it touched the ground.

Being unable to stop, Mason held fast to the ball and ran over second with it in his hands, thus putting out the batter and the runner who had left second.

But the runner on third had been sent home, which he had reached by this time. A howl went up for him to go back, but he could not comprehend what it meant, for it had seemed to him that no man could catch the ball.

Straight on toward third ran Mason, having taken a single glance to see if the runner was trying to get back. With the ball in his hands he touched third, thus making one of the most astonishing plays ever witnessed on a ball-field, for, unassisted, he had put out three men and retired the side!

When the spectators understood this there was a thunderous uproar. A triple play unassisted was a marvel indeed. Yale cheered and cheered, ending with the name of Mason.

Frank Merriwell looked pleased, while the bewildered Princeton players could not realize that the side was out.

But now came the last half of the ninth, and Yale was three scores behind. Carson was the first batter up. He shut his teeth and picked out a good one, off which he made a single.

Then came Browning, but in this emergency Bruce fanned.

Merriwell longed to hit it out, but he played a waiting game on Vinton, who was afraid to give Frank just what he wanted, and so Merry got his base on balls.

Morgan was nervous. He was seen to tremble, but he made a desperate bid for a hit, which Clackson succeeded in getting. Two men were out.

“It’s all over!” shouted somebody on the Princeton side. “Too bad. Poor old Yale!”

Gamp had a wild glare in his eyes when he came up to strike. He looked toward Frank and received a signal to play a waiting game.

Vinton was cautious, and Joe, though longing to baste the ball, obeyed instructions, with the result that he was given four balls.

The bases were filled.

“Oh, for a home run now!” exclaimed Irving Nash.

“The game is lost!” asserted Gil Cowles. “Mason is the hitter. He’s as good as cooked.”

Mason was given a cheer as he came up, which seemed to rattle him, for he slashed at a very wild one on the very start.

“All over!” asserted Cowles. “He has done all he can do to-day. With a good man in his place there might be a show.”

Mason was pale as death. He knew all eyes were on him, and it was the desire of his soul to get a safe hit. Still, he knew he had made a fool of himself by striking at the other ball, and he let the next one pass.

“Two strikes,” announced the voice of the umpire.

A cold sweat broke out on Mason. In that moment he suffered untold tortures. He felt that he would give his very life for a good clean hit.

The next ball was an out curve, and Hock started to swing at it. Seeing it was going wide, he stopped, but he shuddered for fear the umpire would call it the third strike.

“One ball,” said the umpire.

The heart of the Southerner gave a great choking throb.

The next one was too close, and he did not offer at that.

“Two balls.”

“Now Vinton will put one over,” said Cowles. “It’s all off. Let’s get away, fellows.”

“Hold on,” urged Nash. “An accident may happen. Heaven knows I am praying for one!”

Vinton, however, did not get the range of the plate, and still Mason remained motionless.

“Three balls,” said the umpire.

Then at that moment a great calmness came on Hock Mason. He knew Vinton must put the next one over, and he gripped the bat hard.

Vinton did it, and Hock hit the ball fairly. It did not seem to him that he hit it very hard, but that ball shot off straight as a bullet from a gun.

Then a frightful uproar arose, and every runner started. Mason ran as if his life depended on it. And the Yale bleachers were in such a mad tumult that it seemed as if a mob of maniacs were trying to destroy each other.

The ball was not caught, and out into the field it bounded, with a fielder chasing it.

Mason kept on to second. He could not hear the coachers, but he saw somebody at third wildly beckoning for him to come on. With a haze before his eyes he dashed for third. When he got there he seemed to see those arms waving him toward home. He did not stop. Into his head came a wild thought of the glory of this achievement, and he felt that he would willingly drop dead on the home plate if he could reach it in safety.

How the Yale men thundered and shrieked and screamed and went mad, as Mason tore down to the home plate.

Hock did not hear anybody tell him to slide, but he felt the danger, saw the catcher ready to take the ball, and threw himself along the ground.

The ball reached the catcher, who swept his arm round with it in his grasp.

Too late!

Mason’s breast was on the rubber plate, and Yale had won by a score of six to five.

Then the crowd came down into the diamond and picked Mason up. Tears ran down his face as they lifted him to their shoulders and roared his name again and again. Frank Merriwell was lifted beside him, and Frank smiled upon him.

Never again as long as he lived would Hock Mason experience the untold joy of that thrilling moment.

THE END.

No. 72, of the MERRIWELL SERIES, entitled “Frank Merriwell as Coach,” by Burt L. Standish, tells of a great game between rival college teams, with victory for the nine coached by our young hero.

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Transcriber’s note:

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

The cover image was repaired by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

Pg 26: ‘Had he possesed’ replaced by ‘Had he possessed’. Pg 54: ‘to do someting’ replaced by ‘to do something’. Pg 133: ‘It that right?’ replaced by ‘Is that right?’. Pg 151: ‘shut the nozle’ replaced by ‘shut the nozzle’. Pg 170: ‘My goodnes!’ replaced by ‘My goodness!’. Pg 171: ‘These litle quivers’ replaced by ‘These little quivers’. Pg 192: ‘had a very atractive’ replaced by ‘had a very attractive’. Pg 207: ‘Boltwod, whose long’ replaced by ‘Boltwood, whose long’. Pg 210: ‘carrying Boltwod off’ replaced by ‘carrying Boltwood off’. Pg 295: ‘Meriwell believed in’ replaced by ‘Merriwell believed in’. Pg 299: ‘Grady, 3r b.’ replaced by ‘Grady, 3d b.’.