CHAPTER XXV

_The Final Game_

A frantic outburst of applause, followed by the ripping, crashing Cascade yell aroused Larry Kirkland from the half daze in which he had moved since his fiery interview with Major Lawrence. For an hour he had been torn by a tumult of conflicting emotions in which he found it difficult to think clearly. The hot anger in which he had parted with his guardian had partially subsided and given way to stubborn determination to carry out his part of the program.

His mind was made up; Major Lawrence had called him ungrateful, a parasite and had hinted that he was incompetent to earn his own living. He would no longer accept alms, he thought bitterly. He realized that he had failed to lighten the supposed burden of woe for Helen Baldwin. She must bear it bravely for a little while and he would go out into the big world, fight the battles for himself and for her and return and claim her. His mind had traveled in circles over and over the same ground. Plainly he could not marry her at once because that would place him in a position where they must accept aid from either Major Lawrence or from the Baldwins—and to him the thought of either was hateful.

The roar of the crowd as the Cascade players trotted out onto the playing field broke in upon his tumult of thought. His brain cleared as if by magic, and a sudden grim resolve seized upon him. He would play that day as never before. It was his last game of ball and he would show them his ability. He jerked his belt more tightly and, diving sideways, fielded a hard-hit ball and tossed it quickly to Jacobs, who, pivoting as a dancer whirls, threw to first base. Another outburst of applause greeted the lightning-like handling of the ball and the applause was like balm to Larry’s sore nerves. The weariness from a sleepless night, the mental strain of the morning passed; he felt quick return of confidence in himself. He looked upon the crowd, volleying cheers back and forth across the arena, and smiled cynically. They were all his foes now—he was going to fight them all now, to force them to his own terms.

Larry found himself giving directions with a coolness that surprised him. His low-toned advice to Katsura and Winans was given with the air of one accustomed to commanding.

“These fellows have been hitting against speedy pitching all the time,” he said. “I do not think they can hit your slow twisters Katty, keep the fast curve low, pitch the javelin ball close to their hands and across their chests, and tease them into hitting the slow twisters.”

“No breaks to-day, boys,” he called as his team left the bench. “On the toes every minute. Remember, every man hits when he sees the runner moving and every base runner runs. Make Herron pitch all the time. Don’t hit until you have to, and then run it out to the limit.”

The spirit of the Cascade team was high and their confidence rising. Katsura, pitching easily, puzzled the heavy hitters of Golden in the first inning and three of them retired on easy chances.

“They’re swinging their heads off,” remarked Larry. “All three of them hit at the ball before it got to the plate. Mix them up in the next, Katty, and keep them guessing.”

Inspired by their success, Cascade rushed the attack. Jacobs, leading off, reached first, and instead of waiting for a sacrifice or a hit and run sign, he dashed for second; Dalmores swung viciously, missed, and Jacobs was out at second.

“Great work, Jake,” said Larry, although the Cascade crowd was groaning. “Keep it up and he’ll throw the game away.”

Dalmores went out and Trumbull, after hitting a hard single, was caught trying to steal on the third ball pitched.

The Cascade crowd was vexed, thinking that two chances had been wasted; but the players were satisfied. Katsura, cunningly mixing his “javelin” throw with his slow, twisting curve held Golden at bay in the second inning.

“Rush ’em again boys,” ordered Larry tersely. “Rush ’em. We’ve got to upset them and get a bunch of runs in one inning. Keep at ’em.”

In vain they strove to smash the defense of Golden, and the third inning passed, neither team having been able to gain any advantage. The crowd was in an uproar and the excitement was growing. In the fourth, Cascade had two men on bases, and both were lost in striving to take an extra base on hits. The fifth found them in a deadlock. Cascade had had six men on first base and each had gone out, four of them striving to steal bases, and the others in attempting to go from first to third base on short hits. Golden had only succeeded in reaching first base twice, and both runners were left standing still.

The Cascade contingent in the stands was beginning to complain that the players were throwing away their opportunities. They did not stop to think that only twice had they succeeded in making two hits in an inning, and that, had any runner succeeded in advancing an extra base, each hit would have meant a score.

To Larry, keenly watching, forgetful of his own troubles and thinking only of winning the game, it was evident that the rushing tactics of the players were bothering both Herron, the pitcher and Langham, the catcher. Herron was worrying as he pitched because he was constantly compelled to watch the runners, and Langham was overanxious, and leaping into position to throw with every ball that was pitched.

Larry, glancing toward the stands, saw Major Lawrence sitting with Paw Lattiser. His face was purple from cheering and he applauded every play, good or bad and keeping the spectators near him convulsed with laughter by his display of ignorance of the game. Not far from them he espied Helen Baldwin, surrounded by a bevy of St. Gertrude girls. She waved a cane garnished with Cascade colors.

“She hides her troubles better than I do,” reflected Larry, watching her gay chattering with her companions.

In the sixth inning, with two out, little Atchison reached first base for Golden. Katsura, after having two strikes on Mortimer, tried his javelin ball, and the big outfielder, lunging at the first fast ball he had seen all day, drove it far to the right field corner of the field, and scored behind Atchison.

The Cascade throng sat silent, while a sudden tempest seemed lashing into golden waves the stands in which the University supporters sat.

“That’s all right,” called Larry. “We’ll get them back and then some. Keep right at them. They’ll break soon.”

He glanced toward the stands, where Major Lawrence was protesting frantically that the hit was foul by ten feet and, as he gazed, he saw Helen Baldwin standing and waving a streamer of Golden ribbons that she had snatched from one of her companions. The sight of this display of disloyalty aroused him to the fighting point. He raced to the coacher’s lines and led the team, cheering, coaching, pleading with them to get on first base. Katsura managed to draw a base on balls. On the first ball pitched, the fleet little brown boy was off far ahead of the pitch, and he slid safely into second, only to be left.

Golden, scenting victory, attacked with new vigor; but Katsura, pitching steadily and cunningly, prevented scoring, and the end of the seventh saw the Cascade team seemingly beaten 2 to 0.

“Hit every ball he pitches now, fellows,” cautioned Larry quietly. “Hit any ball he puts over the plate and run it to the limit. Don’t stop until the ball is ahead of you.”

Dalmores was first. He rushed to the bat, smashed the first ball pitched hard to left field. The fielder picked up the ball quickly and threw back to the pitcher, over the shortstop’s head. Dalmores turned first base in his stride and, before the pitcher could get the ball and throw it back to second, he slid in safely and the Cascade “Waterfall yell” arose in challenge to the waving of the golden banners. Trumbull hit the ball viciously, Golden’s shortstop fumbled and he was safe on first, with Dalmores perched on second. Winans hit a hard-line drive, straight at Golden’s shortstop, and both base runners were compelled to dive back to the bags to avert a double play.

Larry Kirkland came to bat with Cascade cheering wildly. He walked slowly to the plate, determined to turn the tide. He sent a long foul down the left field line. On the next ball he stepped forward, hit a curve as it broke and as the ball flashed over the third baseman’s head, he sprinted as never before. Dalmores scored and Winans, running at a terrific pace, reached third. Larry by a desperate slide, reached second in safety.

A hit meant the lead for Cascade and a sudden silence fell over the contending forces. In the crisis, Torney flied out to the first baseman and the chances seemed lost. Allen, the next batter was a poor hitter. Larry was desperate. He was ranging up and down, almost to the shortstop. Suddenly he called out and at that instant Herron, already goaded and worried by the aggressive base-running attack, whirled and threw the ball to the second baseman. Even as he threw Winans dashed for the plate. Larry stood still until he saw the second baseman hurl the ball back to the catcher to shut off the run. Then he raced for third. Winans had slid safe to the plate with the tieing run and Larry, sprinting at top speed, whirled around third, and racing twenty feet toward the plate, suddenly stopped, dodged as if to return to the bag and hesitated. Langham saw him and with frantic haste hurled the ball to the third baseman hoping to trap the runner. As he threw, Larry whirled again and was in full flight toward the plate. The third baseman, leaping, dragged down the high-thrown ball and hurled it back to Langham, low and wild, and as Larry slid across the plate the Cascade yell poured down from stands and bleachers, and the Golden banners dropped.

Golden, in panic and broken by the dazzling, daring base-running attack, went to pieces. Before the rushing assault ended, two more runners had crossed the plate, and in the eighth inning Larry led the assault with a three-base hit that gave Cascade the victory 7 to 2.

Cascade was the champion. Years of defeat at the hands of Golden University were avenged. The Cascade crowd swarmed upon the field, even while the players were cheering their overthrown rivals, and Larry Kirkland found himself borne aloft and carried around the field on the shoulders of the students, he found no joy in it. The reaction had set in and with a rush he recalled his troubles. The victory seemed a hollow one.