Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Part 5

"He's had too little experience yet," he mused. "If I should put him in a game, he'd go up like a rocket, most likely. Them green pitchers can't be relied upon, even if he did fool Ainslee," and the veteran, in spite of his worry, was forced to smile over the memory of how Bert had struck the great coach out in practice.

Previous to the actual start of the game both teams had been warming up on the field, and each had won murmurs of applause from the grandstands.

To the wise ones, however, it was apparent that the Blues were a trifle shaky in fielding work, and many were seen to shake their heads dubiously.

"The youngsters will have to do some tall hustling if they expect to win from the visitors," one gray-haired man was heard to say, "but they say they have a crackerjack pitcher, that's one thing in their favor."

"Yes, of course," agreed his friend, "but it's not only that; the other fellows have had a whole lot more experience than our boys. And that counts an awful lot when it comes to a pinch."

"You're right, it does," acquiesced the other; "however, there's no use crossing the bridge till we come to it. We'll hope for the best, anyway."

After a little more practice both teams retired to the clubhouse to make their last preparations. Not many minutes later everything was in readiness, and the teams trotted into their positions. Of course, the visitors went to bat first, and then could be heard the umpire's raucous cry of "Play ball!" that ushered in the game.

A wave of handclapping and a storm of encouraging shouts and yells swept over the grandstand, and then ensued a breathless silence. The first two b.a.l.l.s Winters pitched were wild, but then he steadied down, and struck the first batter out. The second man up swung wildly, but after having two strikes called, popped an easy fly toward first base that d.i.c.k smothered "easier than rolling off a log," as he afterwards said. The third man met with no better fate, and Winters struck him out with apparent ease.

As the fielders trotted in, the elderly gentleman who had entertained such doubts before chuckled, "Well, now if our boys can only get in a little stick work, and keep on holding them down like this, it looks as though they might win, after all."

Tom was the first man up at the bat for the Blues. But the pitcher opposed to him had lots of "stuff" on his delivery, and the best Tom could do was to lift an easy foul that dropped into the catcher's glove.

The next man up was struck out, as was also the third, and the inning ended without a run for either team.

From his seat on the subst.i.tutes' bench, Bert had watched the game up to this point with eager eyes, and had felt that he would almost have given ten years of his life to take part in it. He knew there was practically no chance of this, however, and so with a sigh of regret settled back to watch the further progress of the game.

The next two innings also pa.s.sed without a run scored on either side, and it became more and more evident as the game went on that this was to be a pitchers' battle.

The first man up at bat for the visitors at the beginning of the fourth inning was considered their heaviest hitter, and as he walked up to the plate he was swinging two bats, one of which he threw aside as he stepped to the plate. From the way he crouched in readiness for the ball it could be seen that he meant business, and the coach called Winters over to him.

"You want to be mighty careful what you feed this man," he whispered, "and whatever you do, keep them low. He likes high b.a.l.l.s, and if you give him one up as high as his shoulder, he'll swat it, sure."

"Oh, you can bet he won't get a hit off me," replied Winters, carelessly.

"I've got that team eating out of my hand."

"Don't be too sure of that, my lad," warned the coach, but Winters only smiled in a superior fas.h.i.+on and strolled back to the box.

The first ball he pitched was an incurve, but it looked good to the batter, and he swung at it viciously. He missed it clean, and the umpire shouted, "One strike!"

This made Winters a little careless, and the next ball he pitched was just the one that the coach had warned him against. The batter took a step forward, swung fiercely at the ball, and there was a sharp crack as the ball and bat connected. The ball shot back with the speed of a bullet, and the outfielders started in hopeless chase. Baird, the batter, tore around the bases, and amid a veritable riot of cheering from the visiting rooters and a glum silence from the home supporters, charged across the sack for a home run!

Too late now Winters thought of Reddy's warning, and wished he had given it more heed. He knew that in so close a contest as this promised to be, one run would probably be enough to win the game, and this knowledge made him nervous. The breaks from training that he had been guilty of lately began to tell, also, and he commenced to lose confidence, a fatal thing in a pitcher. However, he managed to get through the inning somehow, and walked to the bench with a crestfallen air.

The coach forbore to reproach him just then, as he knew that it would probably do more harm than good. However, he kept a sharp eye on him, and inwardly was very much worried. He knew that Benson was not speedy enough to stand much chance against as strong a team as they were now playing, and though a great admirer of Bert, he did not know whether he had the stamina to go a full game. He resolved to give Winters every chance to recover himself, and prayed that he would be able to do so.

The first man of the home team to go to bat struck out on the hot curves served up to him, but d.i.c.k connected with the ball for a clean two-base hit. A great cheer went up at this feat, but it was destined to have little effect. The second man fouled out and the third raised an easy fly to the pitcher's box, and so d.i.c.k's pretty drive did them no good.

In the fifth inning Winters' pitching became more and more erratic, and to Reddy's experienced eye it became evident that he would soon "blow up." So he strolled over to the subst.i.tutes' bench and sat down beside Bert.

"How does your arm feel to-day, Wilson?" he inquired. "Do you feel as though you could pitch if I happened to need you?"

Bert's heart gave a great leap, but he managed to subdue his joy as he realized the trainer's meaning, and answered, "Why, yes, I think I could make out all right. Do you think you will need me?"

"Well, there's just a chance that I may," replied Reddy, "and I want you to be ready to jump out and warm up the minute I give you the signal."

"I'll be ready, sir, I can promise you that," replied Bert, earnestly, and the trainer appeared a little more hopeful as he turned away.

"I can at least count on that young chap doing the best that is in him, at any rate," he thought; "he certainly doesn't look like a quitter to me."

In their half of the fifth inning the home team was unable to make any headway against the opposing pitcher's curves, which seemed to get better and better as the game progressed. d.i.c.k felt, in some mysterious way, that his team was losing heart, and his one hope was that the coach would give Bert a chance to pitch. The boys, one after another, struck out or lifted easy flies, and not one man reached first base.

The visitors now came to bat again, and the first ball Winters pitched was slammed out into left field for a two-base hit. The next batter up stepped to the plate with a grin on his face, and one of his teammates called, "Go to it, Bill. Eat 'em alive. We've got their goat now."

The man thus adjured leaned back, and as Winters delivered a slow, easy ball he swung viciously and sent a smoking grounder straight for the pitcher's box. The ball pa.s.sed Winters before he had time to stoop for it, but White, the shortstop, made a pretty pick-up, and slammed the ball to d.i.c.k at first. The ball arrived a second too late to put the runner out, however, and in the meantime the first man had reached third. Now was a crucial moment, and everything depended on the pitcher.

All eyes were fastened on him, but from something in his att.i.tude Reddy knew that he was on the verge of a breakdown. Nor was he mistaken in this, for out of the next five b.a.l.l.s Winters pitched, only one strike was called. The rest were b.a.l.l.s, and the umpire motioned to the batter to take first base. Of course this advanced the man on first to second base, thus leaving all the bases full and none out.

As Winters was winding up preparatory to delivering one of his erstwhile famous drops, Reddy motioned to Bert, and in a second the latter was up and had shed his sweater. He trotted over to where Reddy was standing, and said, "You wanted me, didn't you?"

"Yes," replied Reddy, in a tense voice; "get Armstrong there"--motioning toward the subst.i.tute catcher--"and warm up as quickly as you can. Take it easy, though!" he commanded; "don't start in too hard! You might throw your arm out on the first few b.a.l.l.s. Just limber up gradually."

"All right, sir," replied Bert, and called to Armstrong.

In the meantime Winters had pitched two wild b.a.l.l.s, and the visiting rooters were yelling like maniacs. The third ball was an easy inshoot, and the batter, making a nice calculation, landed it fair and square. It flew over into left field, between the pitcher's box and third base, and before it could be returned to the waiting catcher two runners had crossed the plate. This made the score three to none in favor of the visitors, with two men on base and none out. Matters looked hopeless indeed for the home team, and one of the spectators groaned, "It's all over now but the shouting, fellows. Winters is up higher than a kite, and we've got n.o.body to put in his place. This game will just be a slaughter from now on."

"How about young Wilson?" asked his friend. "I heard the other day that he had showed up pretty well in practice. It looks now as though Reddy meant to put him in the box. See, he's warming up over there right now."

"Ye G.o.ds and little fishes!" lamented the other. "Now we are cooked, for fair. It was bad enough with Winters pitching, but now when they put that greenhorn Fres.h.i.+e in, we'll just be a laughing stock, that's all.

Why doesn't the band play the funeral march?"

"Aw, wait and see," said the other. "I don't suppose we've got the ghost of a show, but d.i.c.k Trent was telling me of some pretty good stunts this boy Wilson has pulled off before this. He was telling me about a race in which Wilson drove a car across the tape a winner after a d.i.c.kens of a grilling race. Any fellow that's got nerve enough to drive a racing auto ought to be able to hold his own at baseball or anything else. You just sit tight and don't groan so much, and he may show us something yet."

"Forget it, Bill, forget it," returned the other. "They've got our team running, and they'll keep it running, take my word for it."

"That's right," agreed another, "we might as well go home now as to wait for the slaughter. This game is over, right now."

"Hey, look at that!" yelled the first speaker, excitedly. "There goes Wilson into the box. Three cheers for Wilson, fellows. Now! One! two!

three!"

The cheers were given by the faithful fans, but they had given up hope.

It was indeed, as the rooter had said, however, and Bert was actually being given an opportunity to pitch in a big game, when he had only been with the team a few months! Many a pitcher has been a subst.i.tute until his junior year, and never had a chance like this one. And, to tell the truth, Reddy himself would have been the last one to put what he considered an inexperienced pitcher into the box, if he had had any alternative. Now, however, it was a case of having no choice, because he knew that the game was irretrievably lost if Winters continued to pitch, so he put Bert in as a forlorn hope, but without any real expectation that he would win.

As he noticed the confident way in which Bert walked to the box, however, he plucked up courage a little, but immediately afterward shook his head.

"Pshaw," he thought, "they've got too big a lead on us. If Wilson can only hold them down so that they don't make monkeys of us, it will be more than I have a right to hope."

For all Bert's nonchalant air, however, it must not be thought that he was not excited or nervous. He had had comparatively little baseball experience in such fast company as this. He had learned, however, to keep a cool and level head in times of stress, and he knew that everything depended on this. So he just gritted his teeth, and when he motioned to the catcher to come up and arrange signals, the latter hardly suspected what a turmoil was going on under Bert's cool exterior.

"Just take it easy, kid," he advised. "Don't try to put too much stuff on the ball at first, and pitch as though we were only practising back of the clubhouse. Don't let those blamed rooters get you nervous, either. Take your time before each ball, and we'll pull through all right. Now, just get out there, and show them what you've got."

Bert took his position in the box, and the umpire tossed him a brand new ball. Remembering the catcher's advice, he wound up very deliberately, and pitched a swift, straight one square over the middle of the plate.

The batsman had expected the "greenhorn" to try a fancy curve, and so was not prepared for a ball of this kind. "One str-r-rike!" yelled the umpire, and the catcher muttered approvingly to himself. The batter, however, took a fresh grip on his bat, and resolved to "knock the cover off" the next one. Bert delivered a wide out curve, and the batter swung hard, but only touched the ball, for a foul, and had another strike called on him. "Aw, that kid's running in luck," he thought. "But watch me get to him this time."

The next ball Bert pitched looked like an easy one, and the batter, measuring its flight carefully with his eye, drew his bat back and swung with all the weight of his body. Instead of sending the ball over the fence, however, as he had confidently expected, the momentum of his swing was spent against empty air, and so great was its force that the bat flew out of his hand. "Three strikes," called the umpire, and amid a riot of cheering from the home rooters the batter gazed stupidly about him.