Читать книгу The Boy Scouts at the Panama Canal - Goldfrap John Henry - Страница 7

But Jared was to score still further. He came to bat confidently at the end of the third inning. With two of his side out and none on bases, he knocked a beautiful homer into left field. It was a really fine drive. The Hampton contingent went wild. The faces of the Eagle supporters, too, were cheerful, but anxious. As for Jared, he beamed, and then as his eyes met Rob’s, he gave the latter a malevolent glance.

At the end of the third inning each side had scored one run. The Eagles made no runs in the following three innings, while Hampton scored two, so that, when the seventh inning began, things looked rather gloomy for the Scouts. The score then stood three to one in favor of Hampton and the town players fairly swelled with confidence.

It was already painfully evident that, exercise his will power as he would, Merritt’s arm was getting sore. He had put redoubled efforts into his work but the score showed with how little success. At the beginning of the seventh, he told Captain Hiram that he thought the Hamptons had “found” his pitching, but he consented to stay in the box for one more inning.

The inning commenced with Merritt at the bat. He was given first base on balls. Paul Perkins made a base hit to left field. He got safely to first with Merritt hugging second. Tubby Hopkins once more struck out with the same cheerful grin on his round countenance. Hiram sent a slow grounder to Jared and was promptly thrown out at first, but Merritt reached third, and Paul second, very nicely.

Rob Blake now came to the bat. Jared determined to strike him out if it were humanly possible. After a lot of posing which he thought gave him quite a professional air, Jared delivered the best ball in his répertoire, a swift and vicious in-curve. It fairly hissed through the air.

Crack!

Rob’s willow collided with the sphere and away it sped far into right field. Merritt and Paul scored amidst tremendous enthusiasm; hats were thrown in the air. Things once more looked rosy for the Eagles. Rob was easily the favorite of the moment.

As for Jared, his feelings were not enviable. He felt that he would gladly have allowed the others to score if he had only been able to shut Rob out. He struck out the next batter, and then Hampton went to bat.

Merritt’s arm felt better and he went to the box without the misgivings that had assailed him earlier. But with the first ball he pitched he knew that he had deluded himself. The batter hit a fly to right field and was caught out. Merritt, summoning every ounce of resolution he could muster, struggled on right manfully. But it was a hopeless cause. Base hits were made with absurd ease. Jared was caught out on a fly. Finally there were two out and two on bases.

Higgins came to bat and made a second home run amidst yells of delight from the Scouts’ opponents.

It began to look like grim defeat for the Scouts. The Hampton contingent was jubilant. Jared danced mockingly about whenever he could catch the eye of a Boy Scout.

The next Hampton batter struck an easy fly to left field which was caught by Paul Perkins. The Scouts now came to the bat, beginning the eighth inning. The score was six to three in Hampton’s favor. Things looked black, but with the true Scout spirit the lads of the Eagle put the best face possible on matters. They noted Jared’s leering face without a sign that they saw his malignant triumph.

Jared struck out the first three Scout batters with ridiculous ease. When the Hamptons came to the bat, the Eagles made a change in pitchers. It was Rob, cool, self-confident and determined, who occupied the box. This followed a consultation at which it was agreed that, splendidly as Merritt had done, his arm had gone back on him.

As Hiram adjusted his catcher’s mask and Rob took his new position, things grew very quiet. It was palpable to all that the change of pitchers denoted a crisis in the game for the Scouts. Rob faced the first batter without indulging in any of Jared Applegate’s antics. Hiram signaled for a swift one. He braced himself as he saw it coming. He knew that Rob was a swift pitcher with a mighty right.

“Strike one!” yelled the umpire a fraction of a second later.

Jared, at the bat, looked angry and puzzled. He wondered why they hadn’t put Rob in the box at first. He did not know that Rob, while a splendid pitcher, was not to be relied on through a long game as was Merritt. Another thing he didn’t know was that Rob had determined with a grim resolution to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, if possible. That’s a feeling that will carry any boy, or man either for that matter, a long way.

Hiram signaled for another cannon-ball. It was plain that those were just the kind of missiles that were not at all to Jared’s liking.

The ball shot from Rob’s hand apparently without effort. But it shot over the plate like a bullet.

“Strike two!” bellowed the umpire.

“Oh, you Rob!” yelled his friends.

“K-r-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee!” shrilled the Scouts.

But Rob took no notice; nor did he regard Jared’s look of hatred, oddly mixed with worry. Rob’s pitching bothered him. He wanted no more off that plate.

But whi-z-z-z-z-z-z! came another “cannon ball” like a high powered projectile burning up the atmosphere. Jared swung wildly an inch too high.

“Striker’s out!” came the call of Jared’s doom from the umpire.

It was a furiously angry youth that strode to the bench.

“Thought you were going to make ducks and drakes out of him, Jared?” grinned one of his fellow players.

“So I was. I was just trying him out,” grunted Jared disgustedly.

The next two batters couldn’t handle Rob’s pitching at all. The game began to look as if it might be retrieved after all.

“Blake! Blake! Blake!” chanted the crowd as Rob walked toward the batters’ bench.

Merritt was first at bat for the Scouts in the ninth inning. Jared began to pitch with as good an imitation of Rob’s speed as he could muster. Merritt let the first ball sing past him.

“Ball one.”

The second, also, went by in similar manner.

“Ball two!” sang out Sim in his high, nasal voice.

Jared pulled himself together. He sent the ball humming right over the home plate. Merritt swung at it and made a safe base hit to right field. Then came Hiram. He struck out. Jared and the Hamptonites began to feel better. Jared was still holding the Scouts down and they had a safe margin of runs.

Paul Perkins struck out this time. Then came Ernest Thompson, who dreamily submitted to the same process.

Rob Blake now came to the bat. His exhibition of pitching just previously earned him a round of applause. Jared looked positively bilious. He had actually been holding himself in reserve for Rob. It was his intention to shut him right out. Rob ignored Jared’s first ball.

“Ball one!” was the cry.

“Ball two!” followed in rapid succession. Rob smiled easily. Jared’s dislike of the boy at the bat was making him irritable and uneasy.

But he rallied his skill and threw what looked like an easy pitch. Rob struck at it but fanned the empty air.

Jared grinned, the Hamptonites yelled and the umpire called: —

“Strike one!”

“All right for you, Mister Casey at the bat,” snarled Jared, “watch out for this one.”

It came like a flash, a tricky, wavy curve. Rob swung with all his strength and – missed!

“Strike two!”

A groan went up from the Scout supporters. Their chances of victory looked slim indeed now.

“Wake up! You’re in a trance!” scoffed Jared, grinning at Rob. “Get out of the straw.”

“The straw in the red barn!” suddenly flashed Rob, in a low, but far-reaching voice. It was pregnant with meaning and Jared turned white as death. He fumbled the ball with trembling fingers.

“W-w-what do you mean?” he managed to gasp.

“Play ball!” yelled the crowd impatiently.

Jared, his fright still on him, pitched. He made a wild fling. Rob trotted to first base. Merritt boomeranged to second.

Simon Jeffords got his base on balls, advancing Rob to second and Merritt to third. Everybody began to sit up and take renewed notice. A home run now would add four to the Scout score. Could they get it? Jared had shown that he could hold them down. Could he still keep up his gait?

And now out strolled Tubby Hopkins. He paused first to insert a huge chunk of chewing gum in his capacious cheek and then, not noticing in the least the laughter and joking that greeted his appearance, he lounged to his place, his jaws moving rhythmically.

“It’s up to you, Tubby. Bring home the bacon!” some one yelled.

“He’s got the bacon with him,” shouted some other humorist.

Jared fixed his eyes quizzically on Tubby.

“Like a bottle of anti-fat, kid?” he sneered; and then, “Oh, what I won’t do to you! How do you like ’em?”

Tubby stopped chewing an instant. His large eyes opened wide as if he had just heard Jared’s voice.

“Oh, I like ’em Panama fashion, if you’ve got any of those about you to-day,” he said with a cherubic smile.

Zang! came the ball. It was as swift as any that Jared had yet thrown. He would have liked to see it knock the disconcerting fat youth on the head. But it did no such thing. With an agility unsuspected except by those who knew him, Tubby swung viciously at the spheroid.

“Bin-go!” yelled the rooters.

Off into left field a hot liner whizzed its way.

“Go on!” shrieked the Eagles and their supporters, dancing up and down in excitement.

Off darted Merritt from third. He shot across the home plate an instant later and scored amidst loud cheering. Hot after him flashed Rob, with Simon close behind. Excitement rose to a point where it was almost unbearable.

Tubby had shot like a stone from a sling the instant he made his hit. And now more like a steam roller the fat youth cavorted over the bases while the crowd went crazy. Pandemonium reigned.

“Home! Home! Home!” shrieked the raucous crowd in a frenzy.

Boys hugged each other and the Scouts danced up and down.

Tubby, with amazing speed, his short fat legs working like piston rods, flashed by first, second and third bases. The next instant a yell went up that split the air. A rotund form sky-hooted across the home plate and then, tripping up, went rolling like a tub of butter into the arms of Rob and his team-mates. Tubby had made one of the most sensational plays ever seen on the Hampton field, and foes as well as friends generously applauded the fat boy. But he paid no attention to the plaudits.