 CHAPTER VIII. CASTORIUS BLANKED THE WHEELING CLUB THE NEXT DAY, AND THE FOLLOWING DAY SPEAR WON HIS GAME. FINDLY PLAYERS HAD RETURNED TO THEIR OLD FORM, AND WERE GETTING INTO A FAST STRIED, SO THE CRONICAL SAID. THREE STRAIGHT FROM COLUMBUS WAS THE SLOGON. Mack had signed a new pitcher, a left-hander named Polk, from a nearby country village, and was going to develop him. He was also trying out a popular player from the high school team. Mack had ordered morning practice for the Columbus series of games. The players hated morning practice—drill, they called it—and presented themselves with visible displeasure. And when they were all on the grounds, Mack appeared with a bat over his shoulder, and with his two new players in tow. Polk was long and lanky, a sunburned rustic who did not know what to do with his hands and feet. Morning practice called out Mack sharply, ordering Polk to the pitcher's box. Polk peeled off his sweater, showing bare arms that must have had a long and intimate acquaintance with axe and railpile. "'Better warm up,' first said Mack. It developed that Polk did not need any warming. When he got ready he wound himself up, and going through some remarkable twist that made him resemble a cartwheel, he delivered the ball towards the plate. The pitcher just dodged in time to save his head. "'Speed! Wee! Wow!' exclaimed the players. "'Speed!' echoed Thatcher. Wait till you get up there.' Polk drove Thatcher away from the plate, and struck Meade out. "'Put him over,' said Benny, as he came up. The first ball delivered, hit Benny on the foot, and roaring he threw down his bat. "'You rube! You wild Indian! I'll get you for that!' Enoch Winters was the next batter. Say, you lean, hungry-looking rubber-neck. If you hit me,' warned Enoch in a soft voice. Polk struck Enoch out, and a retired chase on a little pop-up fly. Then Kass sonnered up with his wagon-tongue bat and a black scowl on his face. "'Steady up, steady up,' he said. Put him over. Don't use all your steam. "'Mr. I ain't commenced yet to throw hard,' replied Polk. "'Well, what?' yelled Kass. Are you kidding?' "'Slam the ball. Break your arm, then.' The rustic whirled a little further round, unwound himself a little quicker, and swung his arm. Kass made an ineffectual attempt to hit what looked like a white cord stretched between him and the pitcher. The next ball started the same way, but took an upward jump and shot under Kass's chin. Kass, who had a mortal dread of being hit, fell back from the plate and glared at Polk. "'You've got his alley, Polk!' cried the amiable players. "'Keep him under his chin,' Kass retired in disgust as Mack came trotting up from the field, where he had been coaching the high school player. "'What's he got?' asked Mack eagerly. "'What's he got?' yelled the nine players in unison. "'Oh! Nothing.' "'Step up and take a turn,' said Mack to his new player. "'No. Don't stand so far back. Here. Let me show you. Give me the bat.' Mack took a position, well up to the plate, and began illustrating his idea of the act of hitting. "'You see, I get well back on my right foot, ready to step forward with my left. I'll step just before he delivers the ball. I'll keep my bat over my shoulder and hit a little late, so as to hit to right field. That's best for a hit-and-run game. Now watch. See? Step and set. Step and set. The advantage of getting set this way is the pitcher can't fool you. Can't hit you. He'd never worry about being hit after you learn how to get set. No pitcher could hit me.' Then, raising his voice, Mack shouted to Polk, "'Hey! Polk up a couple. Speed him over, now!' Polk evidently recognized the cardinal necessity of making an impression, for he went through more wonderful gyrations than ever. He lunged forward with the swing he used in getting the ball away. Nobody saw the ball.' Bump! A sound, not unlike a suddenly struck bass drum, electrified the watching players. Then the ball appeared rolling down Mack's shrinking person. The little manager seemed to be slowly settling to the ground. He turned an agonizing face and uttered a long moan. "'My ribs—I—my ribs—he hit me!' gasped Mack, Chase, Polk, and the new man were the only persons who did not roll over and over on the ground. That incident put an end to the morning drill. After dressing, Chase decided to try to find Midi Maru. The mascot had not been at the last two games, and this fact determined him to seek the lad. So he passed down the street where he had often left Midi, and asked questions on the way. Everybody knew the hunchback, but nobody knew where he lived. Chase went on until he passed a line of houses and got into the outskirts of the town, where carpenter shops, oil refineries, and brickyards abounded. Several workmen he questioned said they saw the boy almost every day, and that he kept on down the street, toward the open country. Chase had about decided to give up his quest when he came to the meadows and saw across them the green of a line of willows. This he knew marked a brook or river, along which a stroll would be pleasant. When he reached the river he saw Midi Maru sitting on a log patiently holding a long crooked fish pole. Any luck, he shouted. Midi Maru turned with a start, and seeing Chase cried out, "'You old son of a gun! Trailed me, didn't you? What are you doing out here?' "'I'm looking for you, Midi. What fur?' Chase leaped down the bank and seated himself on the log beside the boy. "'Well, you haven't been out to the grounds lately. Why?' "'Ah, nothing,' replied Midi savagely. "'See here, you can't string me,' said Chase earnestly. Things aren't right with you, Midi, and you can't bluff it out on me. So I've been hunting you. We're going to be pards, you know. Are we?' Chase then saw Midi's eyes for the first time, and learned they were bright, soft, and beautiful, giving his face an entirely different look. Sure, and that's why I wanted to find you, where you lived, and if you were sick again. "'It's my back, Chase,' replied Midi reluctantly. "'Sometimes it hurts worse. Then it pains you all of the time,' asked Chase, voicing a suspicion that came to him from watching the boy. "'Yes, but it ain't bad today. Sometimes, hold on. I got a bite. See, it's a whopper. Thunder. I missed him.' Midi Maru rebated his hook and cast it into the stream. Fish in for mine when I can't get to the ball grounds. "'Do you like fishing, Chase?' "'Love it. You must let me come out and fish with you.' "'Sure. There's good fishing for catfish and suckers and once in a while a bass. I never fished any before I came out here, and I missed a lot. You see, moving round ain't easy for me. Gee, I can walk, but I mean playing ball or any games the kids play ain't for me. I take mine out and fishing. I've got so I like sitting in the sun with it all lonely around, except the birds and ripples. I used to be sore about my back and things, but fishing has showed me that I could be worse off. I can see and hear as well as anybody. There. I got a bite again.' Midi Maru pulled out a sunfish that wriggled and shone like gold in the sunlight. "'That's enough for today. I ain't no fish-hog. Chase, if I show you where I live, you won't squeal. Of course you won't.' Chase assured him he would observe absolute secrecy, and together they mounted the bank and walked up the stream. The meadows were bright with early June daisies and butter-cups. The dew had not yet dried from the clover. Black birds alighted in the willows, and larks fluttered from the grass. They came presently to an abandoned brickyard, where piles of brick lay scattered round, and two mound-like kilns stood amid the ruins of some framed structures. "'Here we are,' said Midi Maru, marching up to one of the kilns, and throwing open a rudely contrived door. The dark aperture revealed the entrance of this singular abode. You don't mean you live in this oven, ejaculated Chase.' "'Sure. And I've lived in worse places. Come in, and make yourself to home.' Midi Maru crawled into the hole, and Chase followed him. It was roomy inside. Light came in from the chimney hole in the roof, and also on one side where there was a crack in the bricks. The floor was clean and of smooth sand. A pile of straw and some blankets made Midi Maru's bed. A fireplace of bricks, a few cooking utensils, and a box cupboard told that he was his own housekeeper. "'This is not bad. How long have you lived here?' "'Ah, I fooled around in town for a while last summer, spending my money for swell lodgings, and then I found this place. Makes a hit with me.' "'But when you're sick, Midi, what do you do? How do you manage?' "'Out of sight, and I ain't no bother to no one.' And that was all Midi Maru would vouch safe concerning himself. They came out after a while, and Chase wanted to walk farther up the river, rolling meadows stretched away to the hills. There was a grove of maples not far off. It's so pretty up that way. Can't we go further on, and strike another road into town? "'Sure.' "'But them meadows and groves as private property,' said Midi, dubiously. "'I used to fish up that way till I threw Miss Margery down, and then I quit. She lives in one of them grove-houses. We ain't likely to meet no one, though, so come on.' They crossed several fields to enter the grove. The river was narrow there, and shaded by big trees. Violets peeped out of the grass. A white house gleamed in the distance. Suddenly they came round a huge spreading tree, to a green embankment. A boat rode in the water, one end lightly touching the sand. And in the boat was a girl. Her eyes were closed, her head rested on her arm, which hung over the side. A mass of violets lay in her lap. All about the boat was deep shade, but a gleam of sunshine filtering through the leaves turned the girl's hair to gold. Midi Maru uttered a suppressed exclamation, and bolted behind some bushes. Chase took a step to follow suit, when the girl opened her eyes and saw him. She gave a little cry, which rooted Chase to the spot. Then, because of the movement of the girl, the boat left the sand and drifted into the stream, whereupon Midi Maru returned valiantly to the scene. Miss Margery, don't be scared. It's all right. We'll get you in. Where's the oars? Chase, you'll have to wait in. The water ain't deep. From here, the boat's going close to this sandbar. Chase became animated at Midi's words, and hurriedly, slipping off his shoes and stockings, he jumped to the sand below and waited out. Deeper and deeper the water grew, till he was far over his knees. Still the boat was out of reach. He could tell, by feeling with his foot, that another step would plunge him over his head, and was about to swim when Midi came to the rescue. He threw a long pole down to Chase. There! Let her grab that, and pull her in. Chase extended the pole, and as the girl caught it he saw her eyes. They were dark blue, and smiled into his. Careful, shouted the pilot above. Don't pull so hard, Chase. This ain't no tug of war. There! All right! When Chase moored the boat, Miss Margery gathered up the violets and lightly stepped ashore. Then an obvious constraint affected the three. Midi murmured a low thank you, and stood, picking the flowers. Chase bend over his shoes and stockings, with a very flushed face, and Midi Maru labored with sudden and painful emotions. Miss Margery, it peered like we pushed the boat out, me and Chase, but that ain't so. We was walking this way. He wanted to go in the grove, and all at once we spied you, and I ducked into the bushes. Why? Are you afraid of me, Midi Maru? She asked. Yes. No. It ain't that, Miss Margery. Well, no use lying. I've been keeping out of your way for a long time now, because I knew you'd have me in Sunday school. Now you will come back, won't you? I suppose, he said with resignation, then looked at Chase. Miss Margery, this is my friend Chase, Fendley's new shortstop. I met the new shortstop last week, was the demure reply. Miss Margery, you didn't sell Chase none of them gold bricks at the church sociable. No, Midi, but I sold him five plates of ice cream, she answered, with a merry laugh. Your friend has forgotten me. Midi Maru regarded Chase with a fine contempt. Chase was tongue-tied. Somewhere he had indeed seen those deep blue eyes. They were like the memory of a dream. Miss Miss Stammered Chase, Miss Dean, Margery Dean. I met so many girls. I didn't really have time to get to know anybody well. Midi Maru watched them with bright, sharp eyes, and laughed when Chase broke into embarrassed speech again. Finest time I ever had. I told Midi about it, how they sold me a lot of old-made things. I sent some of them to my mother, and I asked Midi if he could use a pin-cushion or two. I've been hunting Midi all morning, found him fishing down here. Chase got the cutest little den in a kiln at the old brickyard below. He lives there. It's the coziest place. Midi had administered to Chase a series of violent kicks, the last of which had brought him to his senses. Chase, you peached on me. You give me away, and you said you wouldn't. Oh, Midi, I'm sorry, I didn't think, cried Chase in contrition. Is it true, asked Margery with grave eyes? Sure, and I don't mind your knowing. Probably I don't, if you'll promise not to tell a soul. I promise. Will you let me come to see you? I'd be tickled to death. You and Chase come to call on me. I'll catch a mess of fish. Won't that be fine? Margery's long lashes fell. The sound of a bell came ringing through the grove. That's for me. I must be going. Good-bye. Chase and Midi watched the slight blue-clad figure flit along the path in and out among the trees to disappear in the green. And I promised to go to Sunday school again, muttered Midi Maru. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of the Short Stop. Reading by Rowdy Delaney. Idaho, USA. The Short Stop. By Zane Gray. Chapter 9. On the Road. At six o'clock on the twelfth of June the Finley Baseball Club, fifteen strong, assembled at the railroad station to begin a two-weeks trip on the road. Having taken three games from Columbus, and being now but a few points behind that team, they were an exceedingly lively group of young men. They were so exuberant with joy that they made life a burden for everybody, particularly for Mac. The little manager had trouble enough at home, but it was on the road that he got his gray hairs. Sure, Cass, you ain't after taking that dog again, ask Mac. Castorias had a vicious-looking beast, all head in jaws, under his arm. Dog roared Cass, insulted. This is a blooded, bull terrier pup. Of course I'm going to take him. We can't win the pennant without Algie. Algie? Is that his name? Burst out Mac, who had already exhausted his patience. That's a fine name for a mongrel brute. He's uglier than a mud-fence. As Mac concluded, a rat ran across the platform. Algie saw it, and with a howl, wriggled out of his master's arms and gave chase. The platform was crowded with people, of whom ladies made up the greater part. Algie chased the rat from under the trucks, and between the trunks, right into the crowd. Instantly a scene of great excitement prevailed. Women screamed and rushed frantically into each other's arms. Some fell over their grips. Several climbed upon trunks. All of them evinced a terror that must have had its origin in the movements of the escaping rat, not the pursuing pup. And the course of both animals could be marked by the zig-zag line of violent commotion in the crowd. Presently, a woman shrieked and seemed to sit down upon a moving object, only to slip to the floor. Algie appeared with the rat between his jaws. It was a sense she'd get it, yelled Cass. He gathered up the pup and hid it under his coat. Line up! Line up! shouted Mack as the train whistled. The players stepped into a compact wedge-shaped formation, and when the trains stopped in the station they moved in orderly mass through the jostling mob. Ball players value a rest to tired legs too much to risk standing up, and even in the most crowded stations always board the train first. Through to the Pullman, yelled Mack. Chase was in the seventh heaven of delight. Algie had long been looking forward to what the players called on the road, and the luxurious Pullman suited his dreams of travel. He and winners took a seat opposite a very stout old lady, who gazed somewhat sourly at them. Havel and Thatcher were on the other side of the aisle. Cass had a seat in the forward end, Mack was behind, and the others were scattered about. There were some half-dozen passengers besides, notable among whom was a very tall, thin, bald-headed man, sitting in front of Havel. Chase knew his fellow players too well by this time, to expect them to settle down calmly. On the road was luxury for ball players. Fast trains, the best hotels, all expenses paid. These for a winning baseball team were things to appreciate. Chase settled back in the soft cushion seat to watch, to see, to enjoy every move and word of his companions. Where will he sleep, he asked Winters. Never on a sleeper? Chase smiled and shook his head. Then Enoch began to elaborate on the beds that were let down from the ceiling of the car, and how difficult they were to get into and out of, especially the ladder in case of fire, which broke out very frequently on Pullmans. And if anybody yells fire, you skedaddle to the fire escape, concluded Enoch. Fire escape? On a train? Where is it? Chase? Wonderingly. Don't you know where the fire escape is? Ask Enoch, in innocent surprise, his round owl eyes regarded Chase in a most kindly light. Well, you asked the porter. He'll take and show you. Straight away, Chase forgot it in the interest of other things. The train was now in smooth, rapid motion. The fields and groves and farms flashed by. He saw the conductor enter the car, and stand by Cass. Cass looked up, and then went on calmly reading his paper. Tickets said the conductor sharply. Cass paid not the slightest attention to him. Tickets repeated the conductor, getting red in the face. He tapped Cass, not lightly on the shoulder. What, Utt? demanded Cass. Your ticket. I do not wish to be kept waiting. Produce your ticket. I don't need a ticket to ride on this bum-road. The conductor looked apoplectic. He reached up and grasped the bell-cord. Your ticket, or I'll stop the train and put you off. Put me off? I'd like to have a tin-type of your whole crew trying to put me off this train. Mack came into the car, and, divining how matters stood, hurried forward to produce his party ticket. The conductor, still in high-dudgeon, passed on down the aisle. Good evening, Mr. conductor. This is fine weather for traveling, said Enoch, in his soft voice. The conductor glanced keenly at him, but evidently disarmed by the placid round face and kind round eyes, replied in gracious affirmation. Enoch whispered in Chase's ear, wait till the crew finds Cass's bulldog. Don't miss that. Some thirty miles out of Finley, the train stopped at a junction. A number of farmers were lounging round the small station. Enoch raised the window and called one of them. Hey, what's the name of this place? He asked of the one who approached, an angular, stalled rustic and overalls and top boots. Brookville, Mr., was the civil reply. Brookville, while I swan, you don't say. Fell a name Perkins live here? Yep, Hiram Perkins. Hiram, Hiram Perkins, my old friend, Enoch's round face beamed with an expression of benign gratitude, as if he would, were it possible, reward the fellow for his information? Tell Hiram his old friend Sy Hayrick was passin' through, and sends regards. Well, house-things, plowin' all done? You don't say. And corn all planted? Do tell. And the ham-trees groan? All right. What? questioned the farmer, plainly mystified, leaning forward. How's your ham-trees? Never here to sitch. Well, dog gone me. Why, over in Indiana, our ham-trees is sproutin' powerful. And how about bee's knees? Got any bee's knees this spring? The rustic stretched his long neck. Then as the train started off, Enoch put his head out of the window, and called, Rubberneck, Rubberneck! The stout lady in the opposite seat plainly sniffed her disgust at these proceedings on the part of a grown man. His innocent round stare, in no wise, deceived her. She gave him one withering glance, adjusted her eyeglasses, and went on reading. Several times following that, she raised her hand to her face, as if to brush off a fly, but there was no fly. She became restless, laid aside her magazine, and rang for the porter. Porter closed the window above. Cinders are flying in on me. Windows closed, ma'am, returned the porter. Something is most annoying. I'm being stung in the face by something sharp. She declared testily. Beggin' you a pardon, ma'am? Your show is mistaken. There's no flies or musketeers in my car. Don't I know when I'm stung? The porter, tired and crushed, wearily went his way. The stout lady fumed and fussed, and fanned herself with a magazine. Chase knew what was going on, and was at great pains to contain himself. Enoch's solemn al-face was blank, and Havel, who was shooting shot and causing the lady's distress, bent a pale, ministerial countenance over his paper. Chase watched him closely, saw him raise his head at intervals when he turned a leaf of his paper, but could see no movement of his lips. He became aware presently, when Havel changed his position, that the attack was now to be directed on the bald-headed man in the forward seat. That individual three times caressed the white spot on his head, and then, looking in the air, all about him, rang for the porter. Porter, drive the flies out of the car. There ain't no flies, sir. Don't talk back to me. I'm from Georgia. Blacks don't talk back to me where I live. You might be from a hotter place than Georgia, sir, for all I care, replied the porter, turning at last, like a trodden worm. I am annoyed, annoyed. Something has been dropping on my head. See its water. It comes dot, dot, like that. Spectio's dotty, sir, said the negro, moving off. And you? Show ain't the only dotty passenger this trip. The bald man resumed his seat. Unfortunately, he was so tall that his head reached above the seat, affording an alluring target for Havel. Chase, watching closely, saw the muscle along Havel's jaw contract, and then heard a tiny thump as the shot struck much harder than usual. The gentleman from Georgia jumped up, purple in the face, and trembled so that his newspaper wrestled in his hand. You hit me with something, he shouted, looking at Thatcher, for the reason, no doubt, that no one could associate Havel's sanctimonious expression with an untoward act. Thatcher looked up in great astonishment from the book in which he had been deeply interested. The bi-play had passed unnoticed so far as he was concerned. Besides, he was ignorant in Havel's genius in the shot-shooting line, and he was a quiet fellow anyway, but quick in temper. No, I didn't, he replied. The Southerner repeated his accusation. No, I didn't, but I will jolt you one, returned Thatcher with some heat. Gentlemen, this is unseemly, especially in the presence of ladies in her posed Havel, rising with the dignity of one whose calling he appeared to represent. Most unseemly. My dear sir, calm yourself. No one is throwing things at you. It is only your imagination. I have heard of such cases, and fortunately my study of medicine enables me to explain. Sometimes on a heated car a person's blood will rise to the brain, and, probably because of the motion, beat so as to produce the effect of being lightly struck. This is most often the case in persons whose here-suit decoration is slightly worn off—er, in the middle, you know?—the gentleman from the south sputtered in impotent rage, and stamped off toward the smoking-car. Dinner is served in the dining-car ahead, called out a white-clad waiter, and this announcement hurried off the passengers, leaving the car to the players who had dined before boarding the train. Time lag, then. The porter lit the lights, for it was growing dark. Four of the boys went into the smoker to play cards, and the others quieted down. After a while the passengers returned from the diner, and with them the porter, who began making up the berths, Chase watched with interest. Let's turn in, said Enoch. It's a long ride, and we'll be tired enough. Some of us must double up, and I'm glad we're skinny. Enoch boosted Chase into the upper berth, and swung himself up. Take off your outer clothes, said Enoch, and be comfortable. Chase found it very snug up there, and he lay back listening to the smooth rush of the train as it sped on into the night. And before long he fell asleep. When he awakened the car was dark, though a faint gray light came through the window above him. He heard somebody walking softly down the aisle, and wondered who it could be. The steps stopped. Chase heard a sound at his feet, and rose to see an arm withdraw between the curtains. He promptly punched Enoch in the side. Enoch groaned and rolled over. Some of the boys stealing our shoes, whispered Chase. It's the porter wanting him to shine, said Enoch sleepily. Then he raised his head and listened. Yep, it's the porter. I'm glad you woke me. Now listen, you'll hear something funny. Chase always smuggles his bullpup into the car, and hides him from the porter, and then puts him to sleep at the foot of the berth. That porter will be after Chase's shoes pretty soon. At intervals of every few minutes the porter's soft, slip-shot footsteps could be plainly heard. He was making toward the upper end of the car. It's coming to him, whispered Enoch, tensely. A loud, savage, gurgling growl burst out of the stillness, and then yells of terror. A terrific uproar followed, bumpings and bangings of a heavy body in the aisle, sharp wax and blows, steady, persistent growling, screams of fright from the awakened women, wild peals of delight from the ball-players, above all the yelling of the porter. These sounds united to make a den that would have put a good-sized menagerie to blush. It ended with the unlucky Negro making his escape, and Cass coaxing his determined protector back into the berth. By and by, silence once more reigned in the Pullman. Chase, having had his sleep, lay there as long as he could, and seeing it was broad daylight, decided he would crawl over Enoch and get out of the berth. By dint of some extraordinary exertions, he got into his clothes and shoes. Climbing over Enoch was no difficult matter, though he did not accomplish it without awakening him. Then Chase parted the curtains, put his feet out, turned and grasped the curtain pole, and balanced himself momentarily, preparatory to leaping down. The position was awkward for him, and as he loosened his knee hold he slipped and fell. One of his feet went down hard into a very large, soft substance that suddenly heaved like a swelling wave. As Chase rolled into the aisle, screams rent the air. Help! Help! Thieves! Murder! Murder! Murder! He had fallen on the fat woman in the lower berth. Chase saw a string of heads bobbing out of the curtains above and below, and heard a mighty clamour that made the former one shrink by comparison. The conductor, Breakman, and Porter rushed in. Chase tried to explain, but what with the wails of the outraged lady and the howls of the players it was impossible to make himself heard. He went away and hid in the smoking-car till the train stopped near Steubenville, where they were to change for wheeling. When the Finley team had all stepped off the poleman, leaving the porter enriched and smiling his surprise, it was plain to Chase that he had risen in the regard of his fellow players. Say, Chase, you're coming on. You'll do, old man. It was the best ever. The fire escape my lad is not in a lady's berth. Go on. You've given us. You kicked her in the stomach just by accident. Go on. Chase found it impossible to make the boys believe that he had fallen from the upper berth and had stepped on the poor lady unintentionally. The run along the Ohio to wheeling was a beautiful one, which Chase thoroughly enjoyed. It was his first sight of a majestic river. During the ride, Mack sat beside him and discounted on baseball in general and bass-running in particular. Chase, a lad as fast as you ought to make all these catchers crawl under the bench. Now, listen to me. To get away quick is the secret. It's all in the start. Of course, depend on some coaching, but use your head. Don't take too big a lead off the base. Fool the pitcher and catcher. Make him think you ain't going down. Watch the pitcher and learn his motion. Then get your start just as he begins to move. Before he moves is the time, but it takes practice. Run like a deer, watch the baseman, and hit the dirt feet first and twist out of his way. But pick out the right time. Of course, when you get a hit-and-run sign, you've got to go. Don't take chances in a close game. I say don't as a rule. Sometimes a daring steal wins the game. But there's time to take chances and times not to. Got that? Mack, where's the bat sack? Ask one of the players when they arrived at wheeling. Sure, I forgot it, said Mack blankly. I'll have to buy some bats. You ought to be in the bush, League, said one. How do you expect us to hit without our bats, ask another? Did you forget my sticks, cried Thatcher, championship hitter utterly lost without his favorite bats? Player after player loomed up over the little manager and threatened him in a way that would have convinced outsiders he had actually stolen the bats. Mack threw up his hands in wordless disgust and climbed into the waiting bus. To Chase, riding to the hotel, having dinner, dressing for the game, and then a long bus ride out to the island grounds, were details of further enjoyment. Findley was a great drawing-card, and the stands were crowded. Chase was surprised to hear players spoken of familiarly as if they were members of the home team. That's Castorius, the great pitcher. Here's old man Hicks, but say, he can catch some. See, that's good ol' Enoch, the coacher. Where's the new shortstop? The papers say he's a wonder. Chase moved out of hearing then, and began picking over the new bats Mack had bought. Enoch came up and looked them over, too. Bum-lot of sticks, he commented. Say, Chase, wheeling is a swell town to play in. The fans here like a good game, and don't care who wins. The kids are bad, though. Look out for them. This is a good ground to hit on. You ought to be able to lambast a couple today. If Finnegan pitches, you wait for his slowball, and hit it over the fence. Finley won the game 6-1. Castorius was invincible. Dude Thatcher hit one over the right field fence, and Chase hit one over the left field fence. The crowd cheered lustily after each of these long drives. When the players piled into the bus to ride back to the hotel, Chase saw them bundling up their heads in sweaters, and soon divined the cause. His enlightenment came in the shape of a swiftly flying pebble that struck him in the head, and made him see stars. As the bus rolled out of the grounds, Chase saw a long lane lined with small boys. Whip up your horses, you yahoo! yelled cast. We're off! shouted another. Duck your nuts! Low bridge! Down with your noodles! Then a shower of stones, mud, apples, and tin cans flew from all sides at the bus. The players fell on the floor, and piled upon one another, in every way trying to hide their faces. Chase fell with them, and squeezed down as well as he could to avoid the missiles. It was a veritable running of the gauntlet, and lasted till the plunging bus had passed the lines and distanced the pursuers. Then came the strenuous efforts imperative to untangle a dozen or more youths of supple bodies. Only the fortunate players, who had been quick enough to throw themselves to the floor first, had escaped bruises or splotched uniforms, and they were hardly better off, because of the smashing they had received. Gee! I got a lump on my head all right, said Chase. That was sweet as riding to slow music. Wait! Wait till we strike Kenton. That evening, after supper, while Chase was sitting in front of the hotel, Cass whispered to him to look out for tricks. He spent the evening in and around the lobby, and kept his eyes open. Nothing happened, and at ten o'clock he went upstairs to find his room. He unlocked the door and opened it, to be deluged with a flood of water from overhead. Next, a bucket fell on him, and almost knocked him down. Shivering and thoroughly drenched, he fumbled on the bureau, finally found matches and struck a light. A bucket, two sticks, and a string lay on the floor in a great pool of water. One of the ch-tricks muttered Chase with chattering teeth. He locked his door, closed and fastened his transom, plugged the keyhole, and then felt reasonably safe. For a long time there were mysterious goings on in that part of the hotel. Soft steps and subdued voices, snickering, with occasionally allowed angry noise, attested to the activity of those who were playing the tricks. Chase finally got to sleep, and had a good night's rest. In the morning, as he came out from breakfast, he found most of his team assembled, as usual, in the lobby. Have a good night, Chase? Ask several? Fine. Little wet, though, early in the evening, replied Chase, joining in the general laugh. Watch for Brill. Don't miss it, said somebody. Brill was one of the pitchers, a good player, quiet in his demeanor, and a rather unknown quantity. He was a slow, easy-going Virginian. Presently he appeared on the stairs, came down, and with pale face and deliberate steps he approached the players. Mon and boys, he said in his southern drawl, I sure have something to say to y'all. I don't mind the ice-water, and I don't mind the pillar somebody hit me with, but I'll tell y'all right now. The feller put that there leapfrog in my bed is going to get licked. Brill never found out who put the leapfrog in his bed. Wild horses could not have dragged the secret from his comrades. That evening, when the players were sitting in front of the hotel, with their chairs tipped back, a slight, shabbily dressed woman, with a dark shawl over her head, approached and timidly asked for Mr. Castorius. Here I am, ma'am. What can I do for you? replied the pitcher, rising. My husband sent me, sir. Jim Ayers he is, sir, and he used to work in Finley, where he knew you. She said, in a low voice. He wants to know if you'll help him. Lend him a little money. We're in bad need, sir, and I have a baby. Jim, he's been out of work, only got a job last week, and the second day was run over by a team. I read about it in the paper's interrupted cast. Yes, I remember Jim. He said you'd remember him, she would on eagerly. Jim, he had friends in Ohio. He ought never to have left there. He hasn't done well here. Jim's the best fellow. He's been good to me, and never drinks except when he's down on his luck. Cass gently turned her toward the light. She was only a girl, pale, worn, sad. Sure, I remember Jim, said Cass hurriedly. When fellow Jim was, when he left off drinking, I'll lend Jim some money, Mrs. Ayers, if you'll promise to spend it on yourself and baby. The young woman hesitated, then with a one, grateful smile murmured, Thank you, sir, I will. Now you just go round the corner and wait. Castorius led her a few steps toward the corner. When she had gotten out of sight he took a roll of bills from his pocket, and detaching one put it in his hat. Dig up, he said, thrusting his hat under Mac's snub nose. Cass, you're easy. You remember Ayers, don't you? replied Mac. I do. He was strictly NG, a booze fighter, an all-around scamp. I wouldn't give him the price of a drink. But that girl, his wife, did you see her face? I did, growled Mac, with his hand moving slowly toward his pocket. Dig up, then. Mac dug, and generously. The tall pitcher loomed over Thatcher. Can you spare the price of a few neckties to aid a poor woman, he asked sarcastically? I can. Instantly replied the dude, throwing a bill into Cass's hat. Ball players fight out rivalries even in their charities. Cass glanced grandly down on the dude, and then passed to Havel. The pots opened for five, he said to Havel. Next to shooting shot, Havel liked best a game of poker. In a flash he had contributed to the growing fund. I'm in, and it cost two more to play, he replied. Hicks, come on. Cass, I'm broke, and Mac won't give me a cent till Saturday night, answered Hicks. Borrow, then, rejoined Cass curtly. He threw his roll of bills into the catcher's lap. Chase and several other players were ready for Cass, and so escaped Calumny. Enoch mildly expostulated. I'm getting tired of being bunk-o'd this way, he remarked. Produce, ain't you the captain? Don't you draw the biggest salary? Produce went on the inexorable Cass. But Cass, you're always helping some beggar or other. What, demanded Cass hotly? It was only last week you touched the team for a nigger hobo. Produce, Enoch meekly produced. What's the matter? inquired Benny, lounging out of the hotel door. As usual, he was under the influence of drink. Hold on, Cass. Gee, what's all the dough for? Let me in. Never mind, Benny, Cass replied, just raising a little collection for Jim Eyre's wife. Remember Jim? Got drunk with Jim many a time. Hold on there. What's the matter? Is my money counterfeit? Benny was the most improvident of fellows. He seldom had any money, and his bad habit excluded him from many of the plans and pleasures of his comrades. Say, Benny, this isn't a matter of the price of a beer, replied Cass, moving toward the corner. Benny, straightened up. You're only kidding me. If I thought you meant that for an insult, say, I'm just as much a sport, and gentlemen as you, any day. Thereupon, Benny soberly thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out a bill, and some silver. Soberly turned the pocket inside out to get the small change, and with great dignity, dropped all the money into Cass's hat. End of Chapter 9 CHAPTER X This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, U.S.A. CHAPTER X Marjorie and Pond Lilies It was July 2nd, and Chase was happy. Many things had occurred to make him so. Summed up, they made a great, beautiful hole. The team had won 14 straight victories before dropping a game to Columbus, and had come home in first place. He had kept up his good work, especially at the bat. Since he had made everywhere, what a rousing welcome Finley had given its team on homecoming. On the first of the month he had drawn $100 and sent it home to his mother. While in Columbus, Mack had taken him to see a surgeon, a wonderful specialist who had injected something into the corner of his crooked eye, had cut a muscle or ligament, and then bound a little black cap over the eye, cautioning him to wear it till a certain time. Chase had managed to play with only one eye, but now the time was up. That morning he had temporarily slipped off the black cap to find he did not recognize the straight-glanced, clear-eyed person in the mirror. Then there was another thing, which, though he would hardly admit it to his own consciousness, had more than all else added a brightness to his day. An exceptionally large and enthusiastic audience had attended yesterday's game, and in the grandstand, sitting among a merry crowd of young people, he had seen golden hair and blue eyes that he knew. He looked again to make sure. It was margaery. And the whole grandstand seemed to grow gayer and brighter. The shrill cries of the excited routers had a joyous ring. The very sky and field took on a warmer color. The wonder of wonders was that at a critical stage of the game, when by fast sprinting he scored a run and was passing by the stand, he looked up to catch wonderfully in all the sea of faces and waving hats a smile meant for him. Even the abuse of his fellow players renewed doubly since the homecoming had no power to affect him after that smile. And a significant remark of Mitty Maruse had further enhanced the spell. I fixed it for you, all right, all right. You mosey out along the river, see? Chase had turned hot and cold at Mitty's speech, had lamely questioned him further, but nothing more, except elaborate winks, could be elicited from the mascot. And all this was why Chase was happy and roaming wild in the meadows. It was a soft, warm summer morning. The larks were turning their black-spotted yellow breasts to the sun and singing their sweet songs. Chase tramped and tramped, and ever-resolutely tried to turn away from the maple grove along the river. But every circle led that way, and he found himself at last in the shade of the trees. Through the bushes he caught a glance of the cool river, and then he saw a boat, and a glimpse of blue and a gleam of gold. He tried to run away, but he could not. His steps led him down the sandy path to the huge old maple. Good morning, Mr. Chase. Why aren't you lost? Marjorie's blue eyes regarded him in laughing surprise. Chase had a vague thought that somehow he was lost, but all he could think of to say was that the weather was fine for the time of year. It is, lovely, she said. Then he had a brilliant thought, and he wondered why it had not come sooner. Were you going to row? Oh yes, I always row every morning. Might I—would you—I—I like to row? You do? How nice! Then you must row me up to the metal pond, where the lilies grow. Chase awkwardly got into the boat, whatever was wrong with his hands and feet. When he had seated himself and straightened the oars he began to row. She was very close to him. He had not looked up, but he saw her little feet and the blue hymn of her gown. You're rowing into the bank, she said. Why, so I am. Hastily he turned out and then was careful to row straight. The boat glided smoothly and silently. The little river meandered between high green banks, tall trees cast shadows on the water. Here were dark patches of shade, there golden spaces of sunshine, birds were flitting and singing. Have you seen Mitty Maru, asked Chase? Yes, indeed, lots of times. I've seen his den and fished with him and we've rowed after pond lilies and had fine times together. What was there in her simple, kind words to make him feel so strangely toward Mitty? Of course he was glad she had been with Mitty, but somehow the gladness was an entirely new thing. All at once he discovered he was sorry that the friendly team had to play games on the road. If it had not been for that he could have helped her give Mitty a good time. Here's the pond, said Marjorie. It's very shallow, so you must be careful or we'll stick in the mud. Chase saw that the river widened out into a large basin. There were islands and bogs and piles of driftwood. The green and gold and white of pond lilies sparkled on all sides. The place was alive with birds and water denizens. King Fishers resented the invasion. Water wag-tails skimmed the surface and screamed plaintive cries. Turtles splashed off stumps and frogs plunked under the lily-pads. Snakes sunned themselves in bright places, and a great gray crane stood solemnly on one leg and watched. I want a pink one, said Marjorie. After Chase had gathered a mass of dripping lilies, he rode around the pond and at last located a lily of the desired color, but he could not reach it from the boat. He stepped out upon a log and stretched as far as he could reach. Oh! You'll fall in, cried Marjorie, in sweet solicitude. Chase slipped off the log and went in with a great splash. The water came up to his waist. He managed by grasping a branch to avert a worse disaster, and securing the coveted pink lily climbed back upon the log and so got into the boat. You shouldn't have done that, she said. It's nothing. I'll dry in a little while. Then they both laughed. Chase rode back to the bank and placed the boat so that Marjorie was in the shade of an overhanging grapevine, and he sat out in the sun. Somehow her merry laughter had given him courage, so he raised his glance to look at her. She had been only pretty before now, but the blue of her eyes meeting his drove away his thoughts. When will you be able to take off the eye-shield, she asked? Why, how did you know, he asked breathlessly? I heard, and I read the baseball notes every day. You do, exclaimed Chase. Then he took off the shield and threw it away. Oh, I'm glad, but are you sure it's time? Yes, I only waited because, well, that is, I wanted you to see me first. This appeared to be an unfortunate remark, for Marjorie colored a soft rose under her white cheeks and began diligently to sort the lilies. Many maru will be glad, said Chase. If only he could be cured too, she replied. Do you know he suffers all the time, and sometimes dreadfully, yet he never says a word? Yes, I know. Poor Mitty. Chase found it much easier to talk, now she avoided looking at him. You were at the game yesterday. Do you like baseball? Oh, yes, indeed. I like the running, and I love to see the ball flying, but I don't understand much of the game. Won't you let me teach you? Thank you, that would be nice, but I'm so stupid. Stupid? You? Chase laughed at the hint of such an impossibility. A blue-flitting gleam flashed upon him from under the long lashes. Oh, I am. Now what is a bingo? A bingo? Why, that's baseball talk for a safe hit, a ball knocked safely out of the reach of a fielder. What does Captain Winters mean when he hops round the base and yells, Mugs landing, Irish stew, razz patazz? He's coaching then, saying any old thing to try and rattle the pitcher. Oh, is that it? What do you do with a base after you steal it? Stealing a base means to run from first to second, or from second to third without being put out. It really means stealing the distance, not the base. What's a foul? A ball hit any way back of the white lines running from home plate to first and third base. What's a knocker? A fellow who gives the ball a knock? That's more baseball talk. A fellow who speaks ill of another is a knocker. Oh, but doesn't he play the game too? I heard Captain Winters say he was Captain and first knocker. I'm surprised about him. He has such a nice face. Captain Winters meant that he was the first batter. Then why did he say he was first knocker? Oh, you see I'm stupid. I knew you'd see it. I haven't seen it. You have. You as much as said so. I won't go to any more games. The flash of reproachful fire and the glimpse of a petulant face that accompanied the words caused a sinking of Chase's heart. What in the world had he said? Marjorie, he cried, then at the sound of his own voice, at his boldness in so addressing her, he halted and began to fumble over his wet shoes and squeezed the water out of his coat. There was a long silence. He dared not look up. How quiet she was! How angry she must be! We had better row home, she said at last. He squared his shoulders and pulled hard on the oars. The little red boat flew over the placid water, leaving a troubled wake. Fast as he rode, he thought it a long way to the maple landing. All the way he never looked up or spoke. He could not think very connectedly. He only knew a terrible calamity had befallen him. He moored the boat and turned to help her out. Marjorie glanced at him over a great load of pond-lillies which she held with both arms. At the very top of the load, just under her lips, lay the pink lily. Take it, she said. What? Chase stammered? The pink one. Then it's all right, cried Chase, taking the lily. We're—you're not angry? Because you said I was stupid? Oh, no. I didn't say so, but I meant about the—you're the stupid one. She tripped up the bank and turned again with her blue gaze shining above the lilies. I'm having a little party. Tomorrow night. Will you come? Yes. Yes, I'll come. Thank you. Good-bye. Then the blue eyes and the blue dress were gone. Chase had nothing to prove that they had been there except the pink lily which he clasped close to make sure of its reality. She had told him to take it, and she meant it to be his. Keep it? Forever. He tramped the meadows like one possessed. The sunlight dazzled him. The river shone like silver. The meadows gleamed white and gold. A glamour lay upon the world. The winds blew sweet in his face. The blue sky came down to meet the horizon like a deep azure curtain. Overhead, all around, sounded a low, soft, steady hum. To him it was music. He ran through the clover field and burst upon Mitty Maru at his dinner task. Mitty, I was never so glad to see you. I've been on the river. Been boating. Pond lilies! See this pink one? Isn't it lovely? I fell in trying to reach it. She gave it to me. Isn't that great? And we had a quarrel. I called her marjorie, or stupid, or something, and we didn't speak for an age. I was sick. Then she gave me this, bless her, and Mitty. She's asked me to her party. It's to-morrow night. She really asked me. Oh! Say, yelled Mitty, with all his might, cut it out, will you? Have I been plugging your game with her for two weeks just to be mushed over like this? I knew you had it bad. But I'll be dinged if I thought you'd go dotty. You're up in the air. Steady up. Steady up, old man. If you get rattled this way in the first inning, what'll you do when they tie the score along about the fifth? Miss Marjorie's got a raft of fillers, as ain't no wonder. And that preacher-guy I don't like is set in the pace. Come down out of the air, Chase Meromio. Keep cool. Play hard. And along about the eighth, hit one over the fence, and put the game on ice. Now have some dinner with your Uncle Dudley. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Short Stop This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA The Short Stop by Zane Gray Chapter 11 Inside Ball Findly lost the second game to Toledo, and according to Mack, largely through the weird playing by Chase, the Chronicle gave the excuse that Chase had not had time to accustom himself to the new arrangement of his eyesight. Hence, his errors. Mack, however, was not disposed to be generous, and after the game, told Chase he might expect a call when there was time to give it, and the players had heaped such terms of approach upon Chase that he was well nigh distracted. He felt the cardinal necessity of acting on Castorius's advice, yet he was loathed to bring matters to such an issue. On the following day, when he presented himself at the grounds, he met Mitty Meru at the dressing-room entrance. It was evident that Mitty wanted to speak to him, but had only time for a warning glance before the explosion came from the players. Chase walked to his locker through a storm of Billingsgate, and somehow he sensed this was the climax. He turned his back, hurriedly got out of his suit, and began to dress. If it must come to a fight, he preferred to fight in his uniform. He listened to the storm, and for moments could scarcely distinguish any particular player's voice or epitaph. Then suddenly he heard mention of a boat and a girl in such manner that his blood leaped through him like a flame. The moment had come. He was on his feet, trembling. Hold on, he yelled. I know you're after me, but come now, one at a time, unless you're cowards. A blank silence followed his words. Castorius slowly separated himself from the others. Penoch glanced keenly at Chase and said, I'm called, Sonny. I was only kidding. Chase eyed the next player, who happened to be Havel. Me too, he said. I only said you're a swelled-up mutt put in Thatcher with a disarming smile. Ah! You're getting too exclusive since that hoodoo lamp was fixed. Too handsome by far, said Ziegler. Go on, Molly. You make me sick. Will he off the yacht? Heed was the next player upon whom Chase fixed his flashing eyes. The first baseman evidently enjoyed the situation, for he sneered and took a couple of steps in Chase's direction. He looked mean. Throw in a bluff, eh? Well, you can't bluff me. You're a pie-faced tow-head. That's what you are. Been shutting your eyes and getting a few lucky hits. Then swell up. See? Mama's little boy. Too nice to smoke a cigar or take a drink, eh? And you mushed the girls, you lolly-gagger. Boat-riding, eh? I know the girl all right. She's one of your die-and-duck-in-the-thunderstorm kind. She's— Chase struck out with all his strength. Mead crashed down into a corner, rolled over, twisted his body, but he could not rise. Chase stood over him a moment, then turned round to encounter Benny. As usual, the second baseman was partially drunk, and, being a friend of Mead's, he leered threateningly at Chase and raised his arm. Chase promptly slapped him. Benny staggered, lost his balance, and tumbled over a chair. Then set up a howl. Cass ran to him and helped him to his feet and held on to him. Cass, let me go. I've been hit, howled Benny. No, you haven't. But you will get hit in a minute if you don't look out, said Cass. At that moment Matt came into the dressing-room. Some of the boys were helping Mead to rise, and once up he presented a sorry spectacle. His lip was puffed out and bloody. Benny was now in tears, and crying he had no friends. What's all this? A scrap? Question, Matt? Chase, briefly told him the circumstances, and concluded in this wise. Stood it as long as I could. And I want to say right here, if anybody gets after me again, he'll be sorry. Sure. It was about time you broke, growled Matt. Mead, you got what was coming to you, and from the looks of your mug you got it good. You can take that uniform off. I'm sorry to turn you down, but business is business. You don't fit in with Finley. I think you might get on with Wheeling, for they like your work down there. You're overdrawn, but let it go at that. And say, Mead, take a tip from me, chirped in Mitty-Maru. You're a crack-fielder, and a fair striker, and you know the game. But you're a knocker. Get wise, get wise. Mead lost no time getting out of his suit. To the other players his release was but an incident in baseball experience. They all said a good word to him as he was passing out, and then straight away forgot him. Cass was remonstrating with Benny. It appeared Benny could not get over the idea that he must fight Chase. But Benny, you'll get all beat up, protested Cass. Because if you lick Chase, which isn't likely, I'll have to lick you myself. This put an entirely new light on the subject. Benny began to cry again, and said, Everybody but me hash friends. Cut it out. You're half-full. I tell you, brace up, or Mack will be letting you go too. I'm your friend. So's Chase. Here. Chase. Shake hands with Benny. He thinks you've got it in for him. Chase readily offered his hand, which Benny grasped and worked as if it were a pump handle. He seemed as anxious to be friends as he had been to fight. Benny, said Mack, you're shaky today. I want you to cut this boozen out. Mind. I'll let you go if you don't. Now take a little sleep before the game. Ford, the local player whom Mack was training, now came in for a talk from the manager. Here. Ford. And you. Chase. Ford, most of the balls thrown in any game go to first base, and you must always be there. Practice getting back to the base fast. The further you can play off the base and still get back, the better you'll be. Play deep when there's no one on the bases. Let the pitcher cover the base sometimes when you're fielding a hard chance and snap the ball to him underhand. With a runner on first, keep your eye peeled on the batter. If he bumps down the first base line, you dig for the ball and peg it to second, and then hustle back to your base. A fast man gets in double plays that way. Think sharp. Throw quick. Now, on handle in low throws, if you practice so you can pick up any kind of bad throw, you will save many a game, and you will steady up the other infielders. Nothing helps a fielder so much as to know he can cut loose and that you'll get any kind of throw. You've got a long reach, so don't leave the base reaching for wild throws till you have to. Keep both feet before the base so as to be able to touch it with either foot. And reach toward the ball as far as you can. The sooner you catch it, the sooner the runner is out. Got that? Now, Chase, a word with you. That was a weird game you put up yesterday. Mind wasn't on the game, see? You was counting your money, or something like. Maybe this talk about being spoony has something in it. Anyway, you brace. Mind, you're the keystone of the diamond. If you fall down, smash. You've got to play second and third as well as short. You've got to think before the play comes off. You've got to take many balls on the run. The particular thing yesterday was your failure to catch the signals between Hicks and Benny. Twice, you'd have saved runs if you'd have caught the signal. Today, when Hicks signs Benny that he's going to try and catch a runner off second, you back up the play. Got that? Mack then turned to the other players of his team. Say, Indians, I'm going to pitch poke today, and I want y'all to get up and dust. What, uh? Roard Castorius? His underlip protruding. I'm going to work today. Sure, Cass, and you can't pitch all the games. I want to save you. There's the morning game on the fourth with Kenton. We have to go over to Kenton for that, and we want to win it. We come back here for the afternoon game, and I think Spear's good for it. What's again trying poke today? He's crazy. Don't put the Rube in. He's wilder than a Texas steer. These and Sundry other remarks express the player's opinion as to Mack's new find. Well, he goes in all right, returned Mack. And say, you fillers listen to this. Don't any of you lay down. We want that pennant. The directors have promised us a banquet, a purse, and a benefit game if we land the plague. Got that? A chorus of exclamations greeted Mack's news. And say, Beekman has put up an extra hundred for the leading hitter. Got that? Another howl from the players answered him. And say, King has put up an extra hundred for the leading fielder. Got that? This time there was a louder howl. And say, Guggenheimer and Company have put up an extra hundred for the leading pitcher. Got that? Cass began to dance and sing. Do-deed-al-dee, dum-dum-do-deed-al-dee, oh, I don't know, I guess maybe I haven't that extra hundred in my inside pocket right now. And say, if we land the button this season, we'll all have to get new trucks to carry away the suits and hats and shoes that's promised. Got that? Cass, Benny, Enoch, and the others formed a ring around Polk and danced in Indian fashion. Hey, you rail-splitter, if you lose today we'll kill you. Sonny, get them hay-seeds out of your eyes. Listen to this, fellas," yelled Cass, breaking up the ring. Ruben, Ruben, we've been thinkin' that we'll put the kibosh on you. If today you don't put them over and cut that plate right in two, Chase found himself joining lustily in the song. There was a scene of wild excitement, which, for no apparent reason, centered about poor bewildered Polk. The boys sang and yelled at him and slapped him on the back till they were all out of breath. Rub, you're on. Get in the game now, you long, lanky, scared-lookin' beanpole. On the way out, Chase dazed at himself, not understanding why he had joined in the unanimous attack on Polk, slipped up to him and whispered, Don't mind it. We mean well. Keep your nerve and pitch hard. The bleachers showed a disposition to resent Mac's choice in such an important game, and were not slow in voicing their feelings. Mac, where did you get it? Lock the gate. Lock the gate. Get some straw for the calves of its legs. Help, help, help, help. Well, well, well." Polk undoubtedly showed nervousness when he faced the first Toledo batter, and he was wild. He drove the batter back from the plate, and then gave him his base on balls. The bleachers broke out in a roar, but the friendly players then showed one of the beautiful features of baseball, a thing that makes the game what it is. Hicks walked toward the pitcher, and handing him the ball said, Ease up, ease up, pitch for my mitt, take more time. Then from all the players came soft, aggressive encouragement. Make them hit, Sonny, said Enoch. Remember there's seven men back here playing with you. Don't let any more walk, old man, said Ford. There's a stone wall behind you, Pokey, so put them over, said Benny. Let them hit to me, said Chase. From the outfield came low calls of similar import. Polk's heart swelled in his throat, as could be seen by the way he swallowed. He was white, and dripping with sweat. His perturbation was so manifest that the Toledo players jeered at him. His situation was the most important and painful stage in the evolution of a pitcher. Much depended on how he would meet it. He threw the ball toward the next batter, who hit it back to him. Poke made a good stop of the ball, dropped it, recovered it, and then stood helpless. Both runners were safe. The Toledo players yelled. The bleachers roared. Poke's chance shone a little dimmer. Again, the Finley players voiced their characteristic in-spiriting calls. Poke threw off his cap, and again faced a batter. Stay with him till your hair blows out, called Enoch. The batter hit the next ball sharply to Chase. He was on it with a leap, picked it up cleanly, touched second base on the run, and whipped it to first, making a double play. The runner on second had, of course, reached third. Two down, old man. Play the hitter. Make him hit. Those men drove up a long fly in Thatcher's direction. As he ran to get under it, the bleachers yelled, In the well, in the well. Past experience had taught them what fate to expect of a fly ball hit to the dude. For Finley, Enoch went out on a foul to the catcher. Thatcher had two strikes called, missed the next, and retired in disgust. Chase, now batting third, worked a base on balls. A past ball sent him to second. Then Havel hit sharply through short field. Chase started for third with all his speed. The play was for him to score. When he reached third, he was going like the wind. As he circled round the base, Bud, the Toledo Third basement, stuck out his hip. Chase collided with it, went hurtling through the air, and rolled over and over. He felt a severe pain, and the field whirled round. He could not make a move before Bud got the ball and touched him out. Mack and Enoch came running. The former spoke some hot words to Bud. What you given us, said that individual. Didn't he run again me? Go soak your head. Enoch was bending over Chase. Mitty ran out with a cup of water, and other players surrounded them. I'm not hurt much, I guess, said Chase. I'm only dizzy. Wait a minute. What did he do to me? All time, yelled Mack to the umpire. Chase, I told you to look out for Bud. That's his old trick. He gave you the hip, stuck out his hip, and spilled you all over the field. It's a dirty trick, and a bad thing for a fast man to run again. I hope you ain't hurt. Sure, you did tumble. Won't forget that in a hurry. Say, Bud, why don't you ever try that on me? Demanded, Cass. Bah! replied Bud, and walked toward the bench. Chase was considerably shaken up and bruised, but able to go on with the game. He did not say another word about it. Only he made a mental reservation that he would surprise Mr. Bud the next time he rounded third base. Some snappy fielding saved Polk again in the second inning. And in the third, Toledo made a run on a base on balls, a hit, and a fly to the outfield. Then the long pitcher seemed to settle down and lose his nervousness. Thereafter he mowed the Toledo batters down as if they were corn stalks on his farm. The harder he worked, the swifter he threw, the steadier he became. He was ungainly. He did not know how to pitch, but what speed he had. The fickle bleachers atoned for their derision. The grandstands showed their delight, and the friendly players, one and all, kept talking to him, lauding him to the skies, and belittling the hitters who faced him. Oh, I don't know. Pretty poor, I guess not. Poke them over, Polk. Speed. Oh, no. You can't see them. Grand, roub, grand. In the eighth inning, when Finley came in for their bat, Chase ran into the dressing room and searched for a horseshoe nail that he remembered seeing. He put it in his pocket. There was one man out when he came to the bat, and he determined to get his base. As luck would have it, he placed a hot single to right field. As soon as he reached first and stopped, he took the horseshoe nail out of his pocket and held it firmly in his left hand, point exposed. One glance toward the bench gave him the sign. Max's scorecard was in sight, which meant to run on the first ball pitched. Chase watched the Toledo pitcher with hawk-like eyes. He got up on his toes, and as the pitcher started to swing, Chase started for second base. He heard the crack of a ball as Havel hit it, and saw it shoot out over short to bound between the running fielders. He ran as he had never run before, turned second, raced for third, and gripped his horseshoe nail. Bud was leisurely backing into third base trickily to get there just at the right instant. Chase sped onward, with his eye on that muscular hip. He saw it suddenly, like a gray flash, protrude into his path, and using all his force he swung upward with the horseshoe nail. Bud sprang spasmodically into the air. Ah! A horse-yell escaped him. The crowd in the stands and bleachers did not know what Chase had done, but as he easily scored, while Bud walked Spanish, they divined the triumph of retaliation and howled with all the might of the fair-minded lovers of sport. But the Findley players and the Toledo players knew how the little youngster Chase had got back at the veteran Bud. It was a play such as every ball player reveled in. It embodied the great spirit of the game. And to a man they broke out and pranced over the field in unbridled joy. For a time the game was interrupted. And the best part of the incident was when, after Findley had won seven to three, Bud went into the Findley dressing-room and said to Chase, Kid, shake hands. I've been looking for that for years. Leading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, U.S.A. CHAPTER XII Popularity Small boys ushered in the Fourth of July with a bang. The noise began at daybreak, and at nine o'clock when the ball-team left for Kenton it was in full blast. A train-load of happy enthusiasts accompanied the team. Small boys without tickets hid under the seats with determination in their hearts and hearts in their throats, and the conductor, being a boy himself that morning, with a wager unfriendly, saw nothing. Five hundred strong were going over, said Mack, rubbing his hands. Sure, we'll draw down a big slice of gate money today. Rotten arrangement this morning game at Kenton, growled his players. Kenton is bad enough on any day. But the fourth, oh Lord, what they'll do to us. We can't win, continued Cass, pessimistically. We'll be dodging giant firecrackers, mark what I say. When they bowled into the Kenton grounds and poured out of the bus an enormous shirt-sleeve crowd roared a welcome that was defiance. Then waiting showers of red firecrackers began to fly, and the scene became a smoke-clouded battlefield. Small guns popped incessantly, and artillery worked strenuously. When this explosion subsided and the smoke rolled away, the Finley team stood covered with little red and yellow pieces of paper, and sniffing the brimstone in the air. Get in and scrap today, boys, cried Enoch, and for once his voice was not soft. There's nothing to it, said Cass, forgetting his prophecy. A short, hard practice now added Mack. Start the dust, dig him up and peg him, keep lively and noisy. Kenton was very different from Wheeling, being one of those baseball towns where the patrons of the game could not see a point, or appreciate a play, or applaud a game unless it was won by their own team. This operated to the poor showing of their team, because when opposing teams visited Kenton, they were driven to desperation by the criticism and taunts and atmosphere of an unsportsman-like crowd, and they fought the games to the last ditch. Mack particularly warned his players not to question a single decision of the umpire. That official, Silk O'Connor, baseballically reported to be as smooth as Silk, was to be in the points that day. Silk was the best umpire in the league, but he was not especially beloved in Kenton. He had officiated at too many games lost by one run, and Silk had an irritating habit of adding a caustic comment to some of his rulings. A kind of wit that did not inspire the players to silence. Further, which seemed unreasonable, he never allowed a player to talk back to him. Look out for Silk today, boys. Concluded Mack. He's up again at here, same as we are. Don't expect no close decisions. Don't even look at him. Just drive these Kenton pitchers into the woods. Make the game one-sided. Play ball, called Silk. Enoch had scarcely reached the batter's box when the Kenton pitcher delivered the ball. Strike, called Silk, then in a low voice, foggy eye. Another ball came speeding up. Strike two, up late last night, Enoch's round face grew red, and the lump in his cheek swelled out. He slammed at the next ball, and sent it safely past the third baseman. Thatcher hurried up, and took his position on the left side of the plate. Strike, called Silk, hairbrushed fine dude. Thatcher bunned the next ball, and dashed for first. The pitcher fielded the ball, and overthrew, letting Enoch go to third, and Thatcher to second. Don't wait, whispered Mack to Chase. Bing the first good one. Chase did Bing one, and that with a vengeance. He had the ability to line the ball. This particular hit seemed to be going straight into the hands of the centerfielder, but just before reaching him, it sailed up, and shot over his head. Oh, yelled Cass, on the coaching line. Take your time, Enoch. Slow down, dude. It's easy. Oh, my. I guess it wasn't a butte. Come on. Come on. Come on. Slide, Chase. Slide. That's the way to hit the ground. Havill batted a high fly to an outfielder. Chase leaned forward, and watched the ball till it landed in the fielder's hands, then darted for the plate. The fielder threw quickly, making a fine race between ball and runner. But Chase had never been thrown out on such a play. He slid over the plate, just as the ball sped into the catcher's hands. The game progressed. Kenton came in for their inning, and failed to score. Castorius was in rare form. On a hot day, his arm was like India rubber. Findley added one run in the second, and again blanked their opponents. In the third, Chase got his second hit, and three hits following his, coupled with a base on balls, and two errors netted three more runs. Again, Cast foiled the Kenton batters, and the impatient crowd stamped. In the fifth, two Kenton players hit safely, with one out. The crowd began to howl. Hicks snapped the ball to Benny, who tagged the runner trying to get back to second. Out, Silk called. The Kenton players ran in a body for the umpire. The grandstand raged. The bleachers rose as one man. He's safe. He's safe. Robber. Robber. Kill him. Kill him. Silk ordered the players back to the bench. Cass struck out the next two batters, and elicited another storm from the bleachers. Someone threw a huge firecracker at Cass. Boom! It exploded like a bursting cannon. Cass shook his fist at the bleachers, and that brought forth a rain of smaller firecrackers. Enoch went up, and had a strike called on him. He looked at Silk, and made a motion with his hand to indicate the ball had passed wide of the plate. Strike two called Silk, imperturbably, Enoch glared at him. Strike three called Silk, more imperturbably, you're out. Enoch leaned gracefully on his bat, spat tobacco juice about six yards, and said, in his soft voice, Do you know a ball when you see it? That costs you five, saying out Silk. Make it ten, you mullet. Why, Enoch, how sweet you talk. Ten it is. Make it fifteen, pinhead. Dear me, the older you get, the more you gab. Fifteen it is. Make it twenty, you web-footed bat. Twenty it is, and out of the game, the bench for yours. Enoch roared something in inarticulate rage. It out of the grounds ordered Silk, and he held his watch till Enoch shouldered his bat and left the field. Mack threw up his hands as if he knew the game was all over then. But even without their captain and third basement, Finley kept blanking Kenton. In the eighth, Cass went to the bat, a silence ensued that seemed to presage some striking event. It came in the shape of a huge red firecracker that tumbled over and over in the air, and dropping behind Cass exploded with a terrific report tearing the seat out of his trousers. Cass jumped about eight feet, and then transformed into a veritable demon, brandishing his bat and roaring like a mad bull he made for the bleachers. If Mack and several policemen had not intercepted him, the scene might have passed from comedy to tragedy. As it was, all Cass could do was wave his fist at the hooting bleachers and yell, I can lick the man who threw that! Boo! Boo! Redhead! Redhead! I can lick you all, bald Cass, foaming at the mouth. In the prevailing excitement the Finley supporters, naturally and foolishly, poured out of the stands upon the field. Silk promptly called the game nine to zero in Kenton's favor. Then began one of those familiar scenes common to a baseball crowd on the glorious fourth. Like water the Kenton spectators spilled themselves into the melee. What with the angry altercations between partisans of the teams and yells and horn-blowing and shouting of the winners, and pushing, jostling, crowding of both sides, the affair bid well to degenerate into a real fight. But this did not happen. It almost never happens. Great rivalry, great provocation never yet spoiled the fair spirit of the game. But the Finley players ran a not-soon-to-be-forgotten gauntlet to the railroad station. Sore they were, particularly Cass, who was not able to sit down on the way home. And threatening were the supporters, but by the time the gong rang for the afternoon game in Finley, resentment vanished in present enjoyment. For the attendance was very large, the afternoon perfect, and the game a spirited and thrilling one. Only a single misplay marred the brilliant fielding. Both pitchers kept the hitting down. The final score was two-to-one in Finley's favor. Chase's star rose higher, and if there were any who did not admit his popularity before the game, there were none after. For at the right time, at the one great absorbing climax, at the moment when eyes flashed, hands clenched, and hearts almost stopped beating, he performed the unexpected feat. The one thing absolutely glorious to the hoping, despairing audience drove the ball far over the fence. That hit settled it. Never had there been one like it save Dan Brothers' great and memorable drive of years gone by. Mack threw up his hands and stared in rapture at his star. The crowd carried Chase off the field. When a player becomes the idol of the fans, it meant something. But when a player made fans out of staid businessmen and young societymen and girls in school and women prominent in town and church affairs, then that meant a great deal. It meant money in the box office, support for the team, willing, eager, working baseball champions. Such a wave carried the friendly team to the top of popularity with Chase on the very crest. He was the recipient of more presence in the way of suits, hats, shoes, canes, umbrellas, than he knew what to do with. He received a beautiful gold watch with his monogram engraved on it. He was asked to luncheon with prominent businessmen. He was invited everywhere. And last a photographer lured him into his den. There took his picture, and reproducing it on small buttons sold them by the hundreds. Every youngster, and almost every girl in town, proudly wore Chase's picture. He was public property. This latter fact became a source of pain to Chase. One day Mitty Maru, having met Marjorie by the river, had enlarged upon this matter of the picture buttons with the result that he had interesting news for Chase. She wouldn't have one. What do you think of that? She said you were conceded to allow him sold. Somehow she blamed you for it. And when I asked her if it wasn't nice to see all the girls wearing them, what do you think she said? Sickening. That's what? Sickening. Now I'm wise about girls, and I often told her she was a victim of the green-eyed monster. Then what do you think she said? Mitty Maru, you needn't speak to me ever any more. Queered myself plug in your game along, that's what I did. Thereafter, whenever Chase saw one of the buttons decorating the front of a schoolgirl's blouse, he had a moment of chagrin and called himself names for ever going into that picture gallery. And when he saw Marjorie, he learned what she thought of the selling of his pictures all over town for ten cents each. But Marjorie said, Chase, even if they do sell so cheap, it's good business. It advertises the team, and I get a percentage. Every girl in town can have your picture, replied Marjorie severely. Evidently, the possibilities of the case weighed more with Marjorie than the notoriety. Mac, too, showed concern because of the popularity of his shortstop. More than once he hinted to Chase the necessity of a ball player's duty not to be carried away by praise and entertainment. There would come a time, Mac averred, when he would strike a spell of bad form, when the tide of popular favour would ebb, and then he would wish he had not let himself be made so much of. And one day, towards the close of July, Mac sought Chase out in the evening. He seemed eager and excited, yet anxious. He chewed on his cigar stub, and talked and held to Chase. Got a date to-night? He asked for the twentieth time. Yes, Chase said. I'll let you go in a minute. There's something I want to say. Chase, are you sure you won't go up in the air if I tell you? It's great. What do you mean? Why, I've been a little scared about all this hobnobbin and fussin' of yours. You're only a kid, Chase, and maybe only another puff or so will blow you out of sight. Haven't I listened to you always, and kept both feet on the ground? Sure, Chase, sure you have. I never trained a lad who took to things as you. You needn't worry about me, Mac. I'm having a great time here. There's no doubt about it. I like everybody. I'm not missing anything. But what they say, or think about my playing, hasn't anything to do with it, one way or another. On the surface it looks easy, like real play. But you know I've worked and am working to learn the game. I've got to succeed. Good. That's the spirit. Now listen. Rainey, the manager of Cincinnati, wrote me about you. And today Burke, manager of Detroit, was here, in the grandstands, watching your work. None of us knew till after the game. He sneaked in foxy-like. It's just as well, because maybe you'd been nervous. As it was, you put up your usual hard, fast game. He says to me just now, I walk to the station with him. He says, that's a fast lad. Can he hit? And I says, can he? Well, he's been ripping the boards off the fence all season. Then he says, send me his baton average, and give me first say on him when the season's over. Mac spit out his cigar, moistened his lips, and producing papers from his pocket went on. I ask Manning of the Chronicle to make out the averages. Here they are. You're hitting $398, and leading dude by a mile. It's hard to believe, Chase, but there's the figures. You keep putting the wood on them. And besides, you work a good many bases on balls. That tells. Now, get this, and keep it under your hat. If you can hang on with that kind of stick work, I'll sell you for big money when the season's over. And if you make it an even $400, I'll give you one third of the purchase price. Got that? Do I? Mac all tear the legs off all the third basement in the league from now on, replied Chase, with fire in his eyes. He saw the tired face of his mother and her toil-worn hands, and he saw the pale, thoughtful features of his brother. That afternoon he got two triples and a home run out of five times at bat. Sure, nothing can stop him now, joked Matt from the bench. And what spoke well for Chase and his future was his popularity with the team. The course of sprouts had long since been gone through. Polk and Ford were now the butts of the players. Cass adored him. Enoch called him sunny, now with a fatherly friendliness. The dude and Havel sought his society, and Benny hung on him like a leech. Cut out the drinkin' and come with me, Chase had said one evening, and he had taken Benny from the hangers on round the hotel, the young sports who liked to buy drinks, the rich, oil men, who had nothing but money. Benny was ashamed and backward, but he enjoyed the evening. And Chase took to him again, and came to like him. How much do you draw, Benny, if you don't mind tellin', asked Chase. One fifty. What do you do with it all? Blow it in. Don't you save any? How can a man save and skate with that fly-croud? What doesn't go for booze goes for poker. Sometimes I manage to send a tin-spot home. I send money home every month. I ought to, Benny bowed his head. Folks need it? Lord, they're poor, sometimes awful poor when the governor is laid up with rheumatism. There's mother, she's well and strong, but my sisters most always ailing. I never let myself think of them when I'm sober, and can't when I'm drunk. Benny, you'd be the best second baseman in this league if you didn't drink. Think of how much you could help your folks, even now, let alone what you might do if you worked up to a bigger job. I don't care much for the booze, there's always somebody jolly in me," Benny said. It happened that Chase knew Amali McCoy, a saucy, sparkling-eyed girl who admired Benny and wanted to meet him. So Chase, when he had worn off Benny's rough edges and made him manifest some interest in his appearance, took him to see Molly. The little lady fell in with Chase's deep-laid plot. Perhaps more from the eternal feminine than from any other reason, and she made her sparkling eyes complete Chase's good beginning. She attached Benny to herself. And he, unable to comprehend, quite overcome, stuttered to Chase about it, and said most foolish and irrelevant things. Wise Chase. He pretended there was nothing remarkable about the matter. To be sure, Molly was simply delightful. Of course, she had wonderful, lovely eyes. She took care to hint to Benny that there were any number of young men in town who thought so and tried to tell Molly so. And vastly Chase said, as if it were a thing Benny did not need to be told, as if it were a simple conclusion it wouldn't do to drink if any fellow wanted to go with Molly. Benny bought gorgeous neckties regularly after that, looked mysterious when his player friends chafed him, and wore cool towards his former boon companions. The hotel bar rooms seldom saw him, and it was noticeable that the heated flush faded out of his face. And when some misguided player hit a ball anywhere in the vicinity of second base, the bleachers sang, Benny's barred the door. During the latter half of July, Finley kept the lead over Columbus by a small margin, and when that team presented itself for a series of three games, the excitement waxed keen. During the first game, which Finley won, Chase met a very agreeable, smooth-faced, quiet-looking man. Chase had seen him about town somewhere, and was under the impression that Cass, or Mac, had said he was one of the many gamblers known in the oil-belt. He talked baseball, and appeared friendly, so Chase treated him civilly. The next day he met him again. They sat in the lobby of the hotel, and talked awhile. It appeared the man had an engagement with Spear, and was waiting for him. Some time later, Chase saw the stranger with Spear, and noticed that the latter had been drinking. This occasion chased some surprise, because Mac expected to pitch Spear in the next game, and Mac's rules in regard to drink were stringent. On Saturday, when Chase passed the small park near his boarding-house, he encountered the agreeable gentleman sitting on one of the park benches. Hello, Chase! Fine hot day for a game. Sit down. I've been enjoying the shade. Chase took a seat, more from his habit of pleasantry than from any desire to converse with the man. He was aware of the close scrutiny, but being used to that sort of thing took little heed of it. How about the game today? Ask the fellow. We'll win. We've got to have two out of three. Think there's any chance to win some money? I never advise bets. The gentleman adjusted his cuffs, picked a thread off his coat sleeve, and flicked the dust from his patent leather boots. Then quite casually he glanced around the park. Have you seen Spear this morning? He asked. No. Hmm. I— He said he expected to see you. Maybe he will yet. Then he took a roll of bills from his pocket, snapped off a rubber, and unrolled them, showing tens and twenties. Unrolled them up again, and snapped on the band. He was most deliberate. His next move was to hand the roll to Chase. Stick that in your pocket. Chase would have been more surprised if he had not already been the recipient of so many presents. Still, this seemed out of all proportion. He could not imagine why a big sum of money should be handed to him by a total stranger, and he said so. Your wise, if not, Spear will put you wise, replied the man, again adjusting his cuffs. Is this money for me? Sure. What for? Aren't you wise? I certainly am not. Well, I got a chance to win a few thousand dollars this afternoon. Here. I won't try to place any money for you. That bundles for you, and you'll get another like it if I win. Do you mean you're going to bet on Finley and give me this money to make me play all the harder? Because if you do, take it back. I couldn't play any harder for ten thousand dollars. Not exactly. You see, I'm betting on Columbus. Oh! Then the man shook off his slow, deliberate manner, rose to his feet, and glanced at Chase with keen, hard eyes. Your wise now, aren't you? Not exactly, said Chase slowly. It's a cinch. You're going to pull off a couple of hundred. It's like finding money. I've got spear fixed. Now all you need to do is to fall over a couple of grounders this afternoon or make a wild throw at a critical time. See? You're asking me to lay down, be off your form. You're trying to buy me to throw the game? Chase rose unsteadily. Hmm. Call it so if you like, but in blind rage Chase threw the money in the gambler's face and pushed him violently with his left hand. The gambler staggered against the bench. Then Chase swung his right arm with all the power he could summon. Gambler and Bench went down together. You hound, cried Chase, quivering, I'll have you run out of town for this. On the instant Chase wheeled and hurried down the avenue to the hotel. He went directly to Spear's room to find the pitcher lying on his bed, looking rather sick. Spear, what's this I hear, demanded Chase, and he breathlessly described the proposition that had just been made to him? Ain't it rotten of me? He bought me, Chase, but I was drunk, said Spear, in tears. I'm sober enough now to know what a deal it was. Sure you were drunk, exclaimed Chase, but I won't peach, old man. You just forget it and cut out drinking with strangers after this. Chase bolted downstairs and collided with Mac, Cass, Enoch, and Thatcher, all going into lunch. Fellows, I just punched a man who tried to buy me to throw the game, flashed a hundred on me, tried to put it in my pocket. What, uh, Rord, Cass? Where is he, Mac swore? Smooth-faced guy, well-dressed, big blinker in his tie. I saw him hanging round. What we won't do to him. Come on, Cass, Rord. Wait, get the gang, shouted Enoch, but the smooth-tongued, smooth-faced Gentleman could not be found. Several passengers at the station testified to seeing a gentleman answering that description, except that he had a badly swelled and discolored eye going north along the tracks. That night the story was town talk, and Chase was a hero.