CHAPTER XII.

GETTING OUT OF A TIGHT PLACE.

The astonished St. Paul men gathered round the jay pitcher at the bench, Captain Trueman excitedly asking:

“Good gracious, man; can you keep that up?”

“I dunno,” was the answer. “Mebbe I can’t. Ye see, I fooled ’em that time cause they thought I was sech a darn easy mark.”

“It wasn’t that,” said Keen. “By Jove! you’ve got the greatest speed of any man I ever saw when you let it out! What in thunder have you in that arm--a lot of springs?”

“Oh, I ain’t begun to speed ’em,” declared the stranger.

“Then, for the love of goodness, don’t! Those hot ones burned right through the mitt.”

“My arm ain’t feelin’ jest right to-day,” said the stranger. “It’s ruther stiff. Sometimes when it’s all right I do have purty fair speed.”

“More than to-day?”

“Ruther more.”

“Well, can you find anybody to hold you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re lucky.”

“It’s all in gittin’ used to a thing. When I’m all right I ain’t very wild, an’ that makes it better for a ketcher.”

The St. Paul men muttered among themselves, and one of them told Trueman to sign the stranger if he could keep that work up.

St. Paul again went out in order, and the new pitcher once more ambled awkwardly out to his place. This time, however, instead of being greeted with howls of derision, he was given a round of applause, in recognition of which he touched the brim of his old hat, saying:

“That kinder makes me blush. I wisht they wouldn’t pound their hands at me that way.”

The first Minneapolis batter to face the stranger was anxious, but, after a ball was called, he succeeded in hitting for a clean single. The crowd shouted.

“It’s all over now,” said the man with the pale face. “They will fall on that farmer like a load of brick.”

“I think so,” nodded his dark companion. “His queer movements bothered them at first, but they won’t be troubled by them now.”

The pitcher seemed to get rattled, for he put a beauty over the plate, and the next hitter drove one to left field, though the ball fell so short that the runner on first could not reach third.

“Everybody hits him!” yelled the coachers. “Why, we’ll make a hundred right here!”

Although the jay grinned, he was very wild, and the next batter, being a good waiter, was given his first on balls.

The bags were full.

Now the spectators broke out in derision of the new pitcher, who grinned and waved his hand.

“I ain’t seen no runs comin’ in yit,” he said, apparently not much disturbed.

“Take him out, Trueman,” advised the second-baseman.

But the captain shook his head.

“Nobody to put in,” he said.

The next hitter was caught by a sharp drop to start with, and fanned once. Then came one that looked fine, but it was a rise, and the batter struck under it. That meant two strikes and no balls.

Immediately the pitcher began to try all kinds of coaxers, but the batter declined to hit at any of them. Three balls were called.

“Now he’s in a hole!” cried one of the coachers. “He’s wild! He’ll never get it over!”

The batter appeared anxious to hit, but the jay decided that the fellow was not nearly as anxious as he looked. The queer fellow grinned at the batter, took all the time permissible, then seemed to throw the ball straight at him, uttering an exclamation as it left his hand.

The batter sprang back. He was too late; he saw the ball take a curve and pass over the plate.

“You’re out!” cried the umpire.

The St. Paul players gasped. This was something entirely unexpected.

“Good luck!” breathed the short-stop.

“A-haw! a-haw!” laughed the jay. “That was the time I fooled him fine! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!”

“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” came the echo from the bleachers, and the stammerer was seen holding onto his sides and roaring with laughter.

“How was that, Joe?” cried the pitcher.

“Sus-sus-sus-slick as goose-grease,” came back the reply. “Dud-dud-do it ag’in!”

“Yes, do it again!” grated the next batter, as he came up to the plate. “I’d like to see you!”

“Keep watch,” advised the pitcher. “You won’t need eny spectacles. Here we go!”

He whistled over a high one, and the batter tried for it, but missed cleanly.

Luckily, the ball did not get far away, though Keen was unable to hold it. As the ball bounded from the catcher’s hands the countryman came rushing up to cover the home plate.

“Squeeze um,” he admonished.

The catcher called for a drop, and it came, causing the batter to swipe for it with a swinging movement. He touched it and a second strike was called.

“I don’t think you’re very hard,” grinned the pitcher. “Try this one.”

But the batter would not be pulled, and a ball was called.

“Purty good one, Mr. Empire,” said the jay. “It cut a corner.”

“Play ball!” said the umpire.

“All right; I’ll cut the darned old rubber in halves!”

He did so, and the batter struck out. Two men had gone.

When the next hitter came up the man on third proceeded to take long chances in hopes of scoring. The first one was a ball, and the runner on third went back quickly.

The jay faced the batter, rubbing his hands as if to dry them, with the ball under his arm. He then took the sphere and seemed about to start his swinging movements for delivery.

The runner on third got off. Like a flash of light the pitcher threw to third.

The baseman caught the ball and put it onto the runner as the latter tried to get back.

“Out at third!” cried the umpire.

The home team had not scored after filling the bases.

“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” laughed the jay.

“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” roared his stammering friend on the bleachers.

The spectators were astonished by this sudden play, and then the visiting crowd from over the river broke into a wild shout of satisfaction and applause.

The jay ambled in toward the bench, his arms swinging awkwardly, while his gait seemed to indicate that he was used to walking over rough ground behind a plow. He grinned in the same half-idiotic manner, nodding to the shouting spectators.

Trueman rushed up and caught the fellow by the hand, exclaiming:

“You got out of that hole splendidly! I thought those men would get in one score, at least.”

“They never could have done northing of the kind if the ketcher could hold me. I don’t dare to more’n half let myself aout.”

“You don’t mean that you have still greater speed?”

“I mean that I’ve gut a few things up my sleeve that them other chaps never seen, b’gorry! I ain’t tried to use my best curves at all. I don’t darst to do it for fear of havin’ a parst ball.”

Trueman looked at the strange fellow, wondering if he could be joking; but the jay seemed perfectly serious, as if he actually meant every word he said.

“What kind of curves can you have that are so wonderful?” exclaimed the captain of the St. Paul team.

“I gut a gol-ding funny ball,” was the answer. “It curves both ways.”

“Curves both ways? What do you mean?”

“In an’ aout.”

“An in and out? On one pitch?”

“Yep.”

“Say!”

“What?”

“What are you trying to do--string me?”

“Not a gol-darn bit,” answered the countryman, as he took a seat on the players’ bench. “I kin do it.”

“Why, that’s the double-shoot!”

“That’s jest what it is.”

“There’s only one man in the country who can throw it, and I have my doubts about his doing the trick. That man is Frank Merriwell, and I’ve been trying to get in communication with him for a week. I’ll give him any kind of money to pitch for St. Paul the rest of the season.”

“You say there ain’t but one man kin throw the double-shoot?”

“Yes.”

“An’ he’s Frank Merriwell?”

“Yes.”

“Well, by gum! I’ll make ye change your mind if your ketcher kin hold me. The next feller I have ter pitch to will get the double-shoot, an’ don’t you fergit it.”

Already the first batter was up to the plate, and Webber was ready to deliver the ball. The visitors were desperate.

Webber’s first one was an out drop, which the batter caught and lifted over the infield for a clean single. Then the coacher opened up by first, and the excitement again grew feverish.

The rivalry between St. Paul and Minneapolis was intense, and this kind of a game was nerve-straining for the spectators.

Webber was angry because he had been hit by the first man up, and he settled down to “burn ’em over.”

The next batter was eager to hit, and he fanned at a high one. Webber fancied he had the fellow “going,” and so he continued to work the high ball; but the batter grew wise suddenly and refused to bite. Three balls were called.

Webber had been holding the man on first close to the bag, giving him no chance to steal. But now the pitcher seemed to be in a bad hole. The coacher was whooping things up in great shape.

“He’ll never put it over, Charley!” he cried. “Take one! Take another!”

Webber must have become rattled, for he hit the batter with the next ball pitched.

“Take your base,” directed the umpire.

In vain the Minneapolis men protested that the batter had made no effort to dodge the ball.

Now the excitement was feverish. Two men were on bases, and no one was out.

“Here’s where we win!” yelled the coacher, who went prancing down to the line by third.

“Gol-ding if it don’t look that way!” grinned the jay pitcher. “Who is the next batter?”

“Foley,” answered somebody. “You take his place. It’s your turn.”

“Then you jest watch me put the wood to the ball fer about two sacks,” laughed the odd fellow, as he began pawing over the bats.

While he was thus engaged Webber suddenly whirled and threw to first. The runner had been playing off, and he jumped to get back. The ball struck him and bounded away.

Instantly the coachers sent both runners. The baseman made a leap for the ball, got it, sent it to third. The runner was out easily, being tagged when at least four feet from the base.

Then the baseman threw to second. The runner from first would have been safe had he not made a slide that carried him past the bag, so that no part of his person was touching the base when the ball was put onto him.

“Out at third and second!” declared the umpire.

“Well, I’ll be dinged to goshfry!” gasped the jay, in deep disgust. “They hed to do it jest when I was going to ding the ball hard enough to knock the excelsior out of the old thing! Ain’t that the dad-ding-dest thing you ever seen!”

Webber laughed with satisfaction.

“It’s all over now!” cried the captain of the home team. “Strike out the Rube, Phil.”

Up popped the jay’s stuttering friend on the bleachers.

“I bub-bub-bub-bet any man tut-tut-tut-ten dollars that pup-pup-pup-pitcher carn’t sus-sus-sus-strike him out!” he yelled, wildly waving a roll of bills.

“Sit down!” cried twenty voices.

“I’ll sus-sus-sus-sit daown,” was the answer; “but you cuc-cuc-cuc-carn’t back me daown.”

“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” brayed the jay at the plate. “Ain’t no takers fer your money, Joe.”

Then Webber suddenly sent in a swift one, thinking to take the batter unawares.

Crack! the bat met the ball.

It did not seem that the jay swung on the ball at all. He simply gave a snap hit, but the ball went out on a line. Later, when the ball got past a fielder and went away down against center-field fence, from which it glanced to one side, the spectators realized that it had been hit “some.”

And the manner in which the strange pitcher sprinted round the bases brought the St. Paul crowd up yelling like madmen. Never before on that field had they seen such a speedy runner on bases. He seemed to pull his head down between his shoulders and fairly fly, his legs twinkling like the spokes of a swift-moving wheel. Over first and down to second he went. By that time the ball had rebounded from the fence, and the runner kept on to third. Before third was reached the fielder had the ball and was throwing it in to second.

“Whoa! whoa!” yelled the coacher at third, trying to stop the flying runner.

But somehow the fellow had stretched up his head and he turned his face for a look as he went over third without checking his speed.

The ball was in the air on the way to the second-baseman.

Then the witnesses saw a streak of boots and humanity going in to the plate from third. It seemed that all the condensed energy of the man was put into the effort to reach the plate ahead of the ball.

“See him go!” yelled the crowd.

The pitcher’s stammering friend was standing on the bleachers, waving his hat and howling like a wild man. In fact, it had been a cry from him that caused the runner to take such desperate chances instead of obeying the coacher at third.

The crowd roared and gasped and grew silent.

The second-baseman took the ball, whirled like a flash, and lined it to the plate. The catcher was there to receive it and stop the run.

The throw was shoulder-high, and the runner suddenly threw himself headlong for a slide. Never in the history of the great national game had there been such a beautiful slide on that ground. The fellow seemed to scoot over the ground, and he was resting with his hand on the plate when the catcher bored the ball between his shoulders.

“Safe!” declared the umpire.

What a roar went up! The strange pitcher had stretched an ordinary three-bagger into a home run.

And tied the score!