Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Support; Or, A Triple Play - Burt L. Standish - Страница 9

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Frank’s challenge and the acceptance of Manager Wilson had appeared in the Omaha papers, and the result was that a great crowd gathered at the baseball-grounds the afternoon of the day on which the Merries were again to meet the home team.

The Stars were first on the field, and they were given a round of applause. Their practise-work was snappy and aroused no small amount of enthusiasm. Then came Merriwell’s team, trotting out onto the field as the Stars came in.

“Hooray!” shouted a man. “There they are! They’re the boys who play clean baseball!”

The applause received by Frank and his men plainly showed they were favorites.

“Look at the kid!” cried somebody. “Why, are they going to use that boy?”

“They must be crazy!”

“He can’t play ball in this company.”

“He isn’t over fourteen.”

“He’s going in short.”

“Where’s the short-stop they had yesterday?”

“There he goes into right field. The right-fielder is on the bench, I reckon.”

“I’m afraid this game won’t be much like the game yesterday. Our boys will have a snap.”

This seemed to be the fear of most of the spectators, and yet Merriwell’s team received applause for its sharp practise-work.

Carker was batting to the infield, while one of the Stars batted to the outfield. Greg put the first ball down to Dick. It was a slow one, and the boy handled it successfully, throwing over to first on a line.

“That’s pretty good,” said a man.

“But it was easy,” asserted another. “Wait till a hot one comes down.”

A hot one did come down when Greg again batted to Dick, and the boy jumped in front of it, stopped it handsomely, handled it, whistled it across, and won a generous hand from the witnesses.

“I believe the kid can play!” cried a man.

“But he’ll never be able to hit Batch,” asserted another.

The time for the game to be called approached, and now the umpire appeared. Frank called his men in, and Dorrity courteously gave him the choice of innings.

“We’ll start with our outs,” said Merry, and they again entered the field.

“Play ball!”

The voice of the umpire rang out. The batter stepped up to the plate. The crowd settled down to watch the fun.

The batting-orders of the teams were as follows:

Merries.	Omaha Stars.
Ready, 3d b.	Teller, cf.
Carson, rf.	Skew, ss.
Hodge, c.	O’Grady, lf.
Gamp, cf.	Hanson, c.
F. Merriwell, p., ss.	Jack, 2d b.
Browning, 1st b.	Maloney, rf.
Swiftwing, lf.	Corrigan, 3d b.
Rattleton, 2d b.	Dorrity, 1st b.
D. Merriwell, ss., p.	Batch, p.

“Remember what we did to him last time, Bill, old boy,” cried Dorrity, as Teller stepped up to the plate. “Get against the first one he puts over.”

Teller grinned.

It was Frank’s practise to put the first ball over, and he did so. Teller did not wait. He cracked the ball hard, and drove it like a bullet straight at Dick Merriwell. It seemed too hot for the boy to handle, and many expected to see Dick try to dodge it. Instead of dodging, however, the lad took the ball, though it made him stagger, and held it.

“Batter out!” announced the umpire.

“Well! well! well!” roared that familiar hoarse voice. “Did you see that? How did he do it?”

“Simplest thing in the world, my good people,” said Jack Ready. “Wait till you see him eat grounders.”

“Pretty, Dick—pretty,” smiled Frank.

Dick laughed.

“It burned my hands,” he admitted; “but it felt good.”

From the moment Frank heard Dick say that that hot ball burned his hands and yet felt good, he never had a doubt concerning the ability of the lad to make a ball-player. The ball-player who is valuable likes the feeling of a ball that comes hot into his clutch, and he is not afraid of being hurt. The moment a man becomes afraid of being hurt he begins to go down-hill as a player, and he is liable to become utterly useless.

Skew was confident when he came up to the plate.

“It was an accident,” he said. “Everybody can hit Merriwell. I’ll get a hit.”

Frank tried to work him, but Skew had a good eye for the ball, and Merry was forced to put it over. Then the batter hit the sphere hard, and it went spinning along the ground just inside the third-base line.

Ready jumped, flung himself forward, thrust down his right hand, and got the ball. It was a marvelous stop, but Jack dropped on one knee in his effort, and Skew was running like the wind to first.

Up sprang Ready, and he whistled the ball across the diamond with the speed of a bullet. Browning smothered it, though forced to stretch at full length on the ground.

“Out at first!” declared Morrisy.

Skew started to raise a kick, but the crowd howled at him, and he closed up.

“Talk about luck!” said O’Grady, as he marched up to the plate. “They can’t keep it up.”

“Put them right over, Merriwell,” cried Rattleton. “You have eight men playing with you.”

“Put one over—put it over!” nodded O’Grady. “I’ll drive it out of the lot.”

Frank accepted the invitation. O’Grady hit it fair, and it went bounding along the ground in a nasty manner between Ready and Dick.

Jack jumped for it, but could not get his hand on the ball. He thought it had gone past for a hit when he turned and saw Dick straightening up with the ball in his hand.

The boy had made another marvelous stop, and he sent the sphere across the diamond to first in time to get the runner.

Three men were out, and the Merries came trotting in from the field.

“Great support, fellows!” said Frank. “That’s what I want to-day. I don’t believe I can throw much of anything in the way of curves. If you continue to back me up like that, the game is ours.”

Ready had his arm over Dick Merriwell’s shoulders.

“He is the baseball wonder of the age!” Jack asserted, in his laughing way. “Up to date, I have regarded myself as it, but the laurels have been torn from my fair brow by a boy. I am green with jealousy.”

“You’re green, anyhow,” said Browning.

“There’s the man I bet with!” exclaimed Dick.

Hazen and Derring were sitting on the bleachers directly behind the visiting players’ bench.

“I hear he put up a large wad on the game,” said Jack. “I think he will lose his little roll to-day, all right, all right.”

As they approached the bench a singular figure rose from somewhere. It was Old Joe Crowfoot, wrapped in his dirty red blanket and smoking his black pipe.

“Ugh!” he exclaimed, his eyes fastened on Dick. “Injun Heart him catch bullet next! Heap good playing!”

Then he sat on the bench beside Dick, of whom he was very proud, though he concealed his pride pretty well.

Ready selected a bat and advanced to the plate.

“Kindly accommodate me by giving me a straight one, Mr. Batch,” he urged. “You know I like you, and I won’t do a thing to you—if I get a chance.”

“Here it is,” said Batch.

But it was a rise, and Jack struck under it a foot.

“I think you are a prevaricator!” said the batter quickly. “I regret very much to apply such a title to you, but it fits like your skin.”

“Well, try the next one,” said Batch.

Jack declined, however, for it was a wide out curve, and a ball was called.

“That makes us even,” said Ready. “Now we’ll begin over.”

The next one was too close, and Jack let it pass.

“Ball two!” cried the umpire.

“Ah-ha!” said Jack. “I’m getting a lead on you.”

Batch set his teeth and put in a drop. Jack struck over it.

“The advantage is mine,” said the pitcher.

“See if you can keep it,” said Ready.

Then Batch tried a high one, and the third ball was called.

“Ha! ha!” said Ready. “Things are coming my way.”

Batch looked resolute, and his next one seemed like a straight ball over the very heart of the plate. Ready went after it, but it proved to be an elusive drop, and was not touched.

“Batter is out!” said the umpire.

Batch laughed at Ready, who retired in a very dejected manner to the bench.

Carson came next, and he waited till Batch put one over. Then Berlin hit the ball hard, but drove it into the air, so that O’Grady easily captured it.

Two men were out, and the crowd began to realize that the game was rather swift.

Hodge looked grim and resolute as he advanced to the plate. He had his favorite stick, and Gamp called:

“Cuc-cuc-cuc-come, now, Hodge, pup-pup-pup-put us into the gug-gug-gug-game! Give us a regular Texas Leaguer!”

Bart was a splendid hitter when in good form, and the outfielders moved back a little, while the infield played deep. Noticing this, Bart suddenly sprang a surprise by bunting the first ball pitched.

The ball rolled down toward third, and Bart was off like a dart for first. The third-baseman was too far away to get it, and the pitcher was too astonished. By the time the catcher got the ball Bart was too near first for a throw to do any good.

“Well! well! well!” cried Ready, as he trotted down to coach. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s just as easy!”

Batch growled like a dog with a sore ear.

“Couldn’t get a hit any other way,” he said.

Now, Gamp was another heavy hitter, and surely there was no danger that he would bunt. At least, everybody thought so.

Joe, however, was up to snuff, and he saw the Stars were expecting him to swing hard. Thus it happened that, as the ball was pitched, Gamp suddenly shortened his hold on the bat, bunted handsomely, and went prancing down to first, while Hodge raced to second.

Hanson was swearing as he dove after the ball. This time Batch went for it, too, and they collided, the ball rolling off to one side as one of them kicked it.

Bart fancied he saw his opportunity, and he sped for third. Hanson recovered, made a froglike leap for the ball, got it, and threw to third.

Hodge slid, but he was not near enough to reach the bag, and Corrigan tagged him out.

Three men were retired, and neither side had scored in the first inning.