Merritt received the innocent-looking ball with a look of mingled disgust and fear, and he summarily ordered us to our positions.
Not far had we gone, however, when we were electrified by the umpire"s sharp words:
"Naw! Naw, you don"t. I saw you change the ball I gave you fer one in your pocket! Naw! You don"t come enny of your American dodges on us!
Gimmee thet ball, an" you use the other, or I"ll stop the game."
Wherewith the shrewd umpire took the ball from Merritt"s hand and fished the "rabbit" from his pocket. Our thwarted manager stuttered his wrath. "Y-you be-be-wh-whiskered y-yap! I"ll g-g-give----"
What dire threat he had in mind never materialized, for he became speechless. He glowered upon the cool little umpire, and then turned grandly toward the plate.
It may have been imagination, yet I made sure Merritt seemed to shrink and grow smaller before he pitched a ball. For one thing the plate was uphill from the pitcher"s box, and then the fellow standing there loomed up like a hill and swung a bat that would have served as a wagon tongue. No wonder Merritt evinced nervousness. Presently he whirled and delivered the ball.
Bing!
A dark streak and a white puff of dust over second base showed how safe that hit was. By dint of manful body work, Hooker contrived to stop the "rabbit" in mid-center. Another run scored. Human nature was proof against this temptation, and Merritt"s players tendered him manifold congratulations and dissertations.
"Grand, you old skinflint, grand!"
"There was a two-dollar bill stickin" on thet hit. Why didn"t you stop it?"
"Say, Merritt, what little brains you"ve got will presently be ridin"
on the "rabbit.""
"You will chase up these exhibition games!"
"Take your medicine now. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
After these merciless taunts, and particularly after the next slashing hit that tied the score, Merritt looked appreciably smaller and humbler.
He threw up another ball, and actually shied as it neared the plate.
The giant who was waiting to slug it evidently thought better of his eagerness as far as that pitch was concerned, for he let it go by.
Merritt got the next ball higher. With a mighty swing, the batsman hit a terrific liner right at the pitcher.
Quick as lightning, Merritt wheeled, and the ball struck him with the sound of two boards brought heavily together with a smack.
Merritt did not fall; he melted to the ground and writhed while the runners scored with more tallies than they needed to win.
What did we care! Justice had been done us, and we were unutterably happy. Crabe Bane stood on his head; Gillinger began a war dance; old man Hathaway hobbled out to the side lines and whooped like an Indian; Snead rolled over and over in the gra.s.s. All of us broke out into typical expressions of baseball frenzy, and individual ones ill.u.s.trating our particular moods.
Merritt got up and made a dive for the ball. With face positively flaming he flung it far beyond the merry crowd, over into a swamp.
Then he limped for the bench. Which throw ended the most memorable game ever recorded to the credit of the "rabbit."
FALSE COLORS
"Fate has decreed more bad luck for Salisbury in Sat.u.r.day"s game with Bellville. It has leaked out that our rivals will come over strengthened by a "ringer," no less than Yale"s star pitcher, Wayne.
We saw him shut Princeton out in June, in the last game of the college year, and we are not optimistic in our predictions as to what Salisbury can do with him. This appears a rather unfair procedure for Bellville to resort to. Why couldn"t they come over with their regular team?
They have won a game, and so have we; both games were close and brilliant; the deciding game has roused unusual interest. We are inclined to resent Bellville"s methods as unsportsmanlike. All our players can do is to go into this game on Sat.u.r.day and try the harder to win."
Wayne laid down the Salisbury Gazette, with a little laugh of amus.e.m.e.nt, yet feeling a vague, disquieting sense of something akin to regret.
"Pretty decent of that chap not to roast me," he soliloquized.
Somewhere he had heard that Salisbury maintained an unsalaried team.
It was notorious among college athletes that the Bellville Club paid for the services of distinguished players. And this in itself rather inclined Wayne to sympathize with Salisbury. He knew something of the struggles of a strictly amateur club to cope with its semi-professional rivals.
As he was sitting there, idly tipped back in a comfortable chair, dreaming over some of the baseball disasters he had survived before his college career, he saw a young man enter the lobby of the hotel, speak to the clerk, and then turn and come directly toward the window where Wayne was sitting.
"Are yon Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher?" he asked eagerly. He was a fair-haired, clean-cut young fellow, and his voice rang pleasantly.
"Guilty," replied Wayne.
"My name"s Huling. I"m captain of the Salisbury nine. Just learned you were in town and are going to pitch against us tomorrow. Won"t you walk out into the grounds with me now? You might want to warm up a little."
"Thank you, yes, I will. Guess I won"t need my suit. I"ll just limber up, and give my arm a good rub."
It struck Wayne before they had walked far that Huling was an amiable and likable chap. As the captain of the Salisbury nine, he certainly had no reason to be agreeable to the Morristown "ringer," even though Wayne did happen to be a famous Yale pitcher.
The field was an oval, green as an emerald, level as a billiard table and had no fences or stands to obstruct the open view of the surrounding wooded country. On each side of the diamond were rows of wooden benches, and at one end of the field stood a little clubhouse.
Wayne took off his coat, and tossed a ball for a while to an ambitious youngster, and then went into the clubhouse, where Huling introduced him to several of his players. After a good rubdown, Wayne thanked Huling for his courtesy, and started out, intending to go back to town.
"Why not stay to see us practice?" asked the captain. "We"re not afraid you"ll size up our weaknesses. As a matter of fact, we don"t look forward to any hitting stunts tomorrow, eh, Burns? Burns, here, is our leading hitter, and he"s been unusually noncommittal since he heard who was going to pitch for Bellville."
"Well, I wouldn"t give a whole lot for my prospects of a home run tomorrow," said Burns, with a laugh.
Wayne went outside, and found a seat in the shade. A number of urchins had trooped upon the green field, and carriages and motors were already in evidence. By the time the players came out of the dressing room, ready for practice, there was quite a little crowd in attendance.
Despite Wayne"s hesitation, Huling insisted upon introducing him to friends, and finally hauled him up to a big touring car full of girls.
Wayne, being a Yale pitcher, had seen several thousand pretty girls, but the group in that automobile fairly dazzled him. And the last one to whom Huling presented him--with the words: "Dorothy, this is Mr.
Wayne, the Yale pitcher, who is to play with Bellville tomorrow; Mr.
Wayne, my sister"--was the girl he had known he would meet some day.
"Climb up, Mr. Wayne. We can make room," invited Miss Huling.
Wayne thought the awkwardness with which he found a seat beside her was unbecoming to a Yale senior. But, considering she was the girl he had been expecting to discover for years, his clumsiness bespoke the importance of the event. The merry laughter of the girls rang in his ears. Presently, a voice detached itself from the others, and came floating softly to him.
"Mr. Wayne, so you"re going to wrest our laurels from us?" asked Miss Huling.
"I don"t know--I"m not infallible--I"ve been beaten."
"When? Not this season?" she inquired quickly, betraying a knowledge of his record that surprised and pleased him. "Mr. Wayne, I was at the Polo Grounds on June fifteenth."
Her white hand lightly touched the Princeton pin at her neck. Wayne roused suddenly out of his trance. The girl was a Princeton girl! The gleam of her golden hair, the flash of her blue eyes, became clear in sight.
"I"m very pleased to hear it," he replied.