VII--THE TIGERS PLAY CAMP AMOUSSOCK
Needless to say, Ben would have liked to start out immediately afterdinner to look for the pocket in the rocks that was marked with a cross,provided he could have found a good excuse to get away from the others;for he was still of a mind to keep his discovery a secret for thepresent. But the larder was in need of fresh supplies, and as soon asthey had finished their cleaning up Tom announced that their immediatebusiness was to sail across to Farmer Hapgood's and buy some eggs andmilk. So the _Argo_ put out into the bay again, and soon the fourcampers, the sailboat safely moored at the Hapgood landing, weretramping up the road toward a gray-shingled cottage that had a couple ofbeautiful, tall elms at either side of it.
Mrs. Hapgood sold them eggs, milk, and butter, and some large loaves offreshly-baked bread. These were packed in a basket the boys had brought.When they came out from the house they stopped a few moments to chatwith Mrs. Hapgood, and while they were talking two large automobilesswung in from a crossroad and raced past the farmhouse door.
The two cars were filled with boys, boys on the seats and on therunning-boards. "They're from Camp Amoussock, down along the shore away," Mrs. Hapgood explained. "They're going to have a baseball gamewith the boys around here. My Sandy's playing. He's getting into histhings upstairs now, but he'll be down in a minute."
The cars disappeared in a cloud of dust, and almost immediately ared-haired, freckle-faced young fellow, in a baseball suit, dashed outfrom the front door.
"Hello," he cried, nodding to the others. "That crowd made as much noisewith their horns as if they'd won the game already."
"Pretty good team, are they?" asked David.
"Yes, they're a good team," said Sandy; "but mighty stuck on themselves.They come from a lot of different cities, and most of them play on theirschool nines. They've beaten us the last two summers. Gee, but we'd liketo get back at 'em to-day!"
"Who's on your team?" asked Tom.
"Well, we call ourselves the Tidewater Tigers. Most of us live aroundhere. One, Billy Burns, comes from Barmouth. Native sons of NewHampshire against the strangers--that's what my father says."
"We know Billy Burns," said Ben. "He's a good batter."
"Yes, he's good," agreed Sandy. "But they've got a pitcher who's acorker. Lanky Larry they call him. He's the goods all right--lots ofspeed and a curve. I'll say he is! Fanned me three times last year."Sandy clutched his bat. "Gee, but I'd like to sting him!"
"Let's feel it," said David. He took the bat and swung it several times."A little light, but not bad," he pronounced judicially.
"Say, why don't you all come along? We'll show you some real excitement.You can leave that basket here."
The boys looked at each other, and suddenly Tuckerman burst outlaughing. "Lead us to it, Sandy. I can see these three have got theirtongues hanging out."
"Well," said David slowly, "I do hate to pass a good thing by."
"He wants a sight of this Lanky Larry," said Tom. "A good pitcher toDave is like a red rag to a bull."
Mrs. Hapgood relieved Tom of the basket. "You boys are native sons," shesaid with a smile. "Go along and root for the Tigers."
Up the road they went until they came to an open field marked out with abaseball diamond. The two automobiles were parked on one side, and onthe other was a crowd of boys and girls, interspersed with a few olderpeople. Already some of the Tigers and some of the Amoussocks wereknocking out flies to their fielders.
"There's Lanky, warming up," said Sandy, pointing to a tall,dark-skinned fellow who was throwing a ball to a catcher in front of theautomobiles. "They're a swell lot, aren't they? They've all got brandnew suits this summer, with red and white stockings, and a red A ontheir chests."
The Amoussocks did look very trim; more especially in contrast to thenative sons, who were dressed in all sorts of suits, the most of themold and mud-stained.
"Here's Billy Burns," said Sandy; and as Tuckerman and the three boyswent up to join the crowd, Sandy darted away to report himself to hiscaptain.
Billy came up. "Hi, you fellows. What you doing here?"
"Digging clams for bait," answered David. "Benjie wants to go fishing."
"Come down to see us smear the strangers?" Billy continued, ignoringDavid's joke.
"I hear that Lanky Larry's a terror." This from Tom.
"Terror's the word," Billy admitted. "Say, Dave, you think you're somehitter in Barmouth. But you've never stacked up against his class."
"Oh, I don't know," said David. "I've sent some good men to the discard.Howsomever, it's not up to me this afternoon to tackle the strangers.I'm neutral to-day."
"Go to it, Billy!" said Ben. "We're going to root for you. Of course weare. We're not pikers."
It was clear that this was a big day in the eyes of the community. Ahay-wagon rattled up, loaded with empty boxes and a pile of boards. Theboxes were stood on end on the ground and the planks placed across them,and the seats thus made were instantly filled by boys and girls. On theopposite side waved a large banner, white with a gigantic red A in thecentre. There were shouts and cheers from both sides as the two teamsgathered round the umpire; then the Tigers ran out to take the field andthe first Amoussock batter stepped up to the plate.
The campers from Cotterell's Island sat on the grass with the NewHampshire boys. Half the fun of watching any contest is in rooting forone side to win, and naturally the campers were backing the home nine.The Amoussocks had a superior air, partly due perhaps to their snappysuits and partly to the fact that they had beaten the Tigers each of thetwo summers before. And they knew how to play baseball; there was a snapand precision about their work that was the result of constant coachingin teamwork.
Against them the home team, mostly the sons of neighboring farmers, boyswho had to coach themselves and only played together on Saturdays,showed at a decided disadvantage. They had plenty of fighting spirit andkept right up on their toes, playing for all they were worth, taking bigchances in stealing bases and backing each other up on every throw. Butthey couldn't hit Lanky Larry--not to any extent; and the Amoussockscould, and did, hit Sam Noyes, the Tiger pitcher.
David shook his head as the third inning ended. "That Lanky's got 'emwhere he wants 'em," he said. "He eases up a bit, and lets us get a hitor two; but watch him in the pinches. He can tighten up and shoot 'emover. Yes, siree,--nothing he likes better than a couple of them on thebases, and then putting over three strikes, simple as you please."
Tom took a blade of grass from his mouth. "And he keeps grinning.Nothing riles a batter worse than that sort of a pitcher. 'See howsimple it is,' he says with that smile. 'Like taking candy from a kid toget a strike on you'--and he goes ahead and shoots one over while you'replanning how you'll wipe the grin from his face."
Billy Burns dropped down beside them. "Two to nothing," he declared."Sam's doing mighty well, but Lanky's doing better. It's that in-shootof his. I know just where it's going, but hang it all! every blessedtime I reach right out for it."
"He's got your goat," said David. "You're so all-fired mad that youdon't wait for the ball to get near you."
"Huh, it's easy to talk! I suppose you could wait all day."
"Well, I wouldn't get tied up tight, stiff as a stick. That's thetrouble with all our team. They're so keen to hit they can't wait.Larry's got them going before they walk out there; and he knows it too,believe me!"
"I suppose you'd be as cool as a cucumber," Billy jeered.
"As fat as a cucumber, you mean," suggested Ben. "When Dave leansagainst the ball it's like a ton of bricks."
"We're out again," announced Billy, picking up his fielder's glove."We're not so worse in the field; but golly, if we could only hit!"
The Tigers couldn't hit, however. The crowd on the benches rooted ashard as they could, but the native sons stayed behind. And the visitorsgrew more dashing. They kept talking to each other on the bases, littleremarks filled with self-esteem; it was easy to see they were very wellpleased
with themselves.
David kept pulling blades of grass, chewing them, spitting them out.Every time that a Tiger came to bat David felt as if it were he himselfwho was facing that smiling pitcher.
The fifth inning came and went; the score was still the same. BillyBurns, in spite of what David had told him, had struck out again.
Tom stood up and stretched. "No, boys, it isn't our day--unlesssomething different happens. I guess that old New Hampshire's got totake the short end."
Something did happen; but not what Tom expected. Billy Burns, in theoutfield, running after a deep fly to centre, made a dive for the ballat full speed, stumbled, fell headlong, but held up the ball in hishand.
"Batter's out!" cried the umpire.
The loyal rooters cheered. Billy, however, lay flat, and when, after amoment, he tried to get up, he sat down quickly again.
The other fielders ran over to him and stood him up between them. Billyheld up one foot, put it down, gave a groan. "Twisted my ankle, Iguess," he muttered. He tried to take a step forward. "No go," he added."Hang it all, just my luck!"
Two fielders brought him in between them, Billy hopping on one foot. TheTigers held a consultation, while the Amoussocks threw the ball around.Then Sam Noyes, the Tiger captain, stepped over to David. "Billy's downand out," he said. "He can't play any more. But he says you think youcan hit their pitcher; and you're from Barmouth, so that'd be all right.Want to take Billy's place?"
David glanced up. He knew by the look on Sam's face that the Tigercaptain didn't believe he could bat any better than the others. "Allright," he answered. "I didn't mean to boast, you know; but I'll do mydarndest."
"No one can do more," murmured Tuckerman behind him.
David peeled off his coat and put on Billy's glove. He lumbered out tocentrefield while Sam Noyes explained the substitution to the Amoussockcaptain.
In the last half of the sixth inning David came to bat. Lanky Larrypatted the ball caressingly, surveyed the new player from head to foot,and then grinned as if he had suddenly remembered a tremendous joke.David dug his feet into the earth of the batter's box, wishing he had onthe cleated shoes he wore when he played on his school team, swung hisbat--one he had carefully selected from the varied assortment offered bythe Tigers--and then grinned as if he also had thought of something veryfunny.
"I say, what's the joke, you two fellows?" sang out a man who wasstanding back of the benches.
That made everybody laugh, with the result that Lanky, when he pitchedthe ball, threw it wide and missed the plate by a couple of inches.
"Ball one!" proclaimed the umpire.
"Make it be good!" yelled Ben.
David hitched up his trousers and lifted his bat again. Lanky patted theball and smiled, but not so broadly. He shot the next one across theplate with speed and precision, David letting it go by without swingingat it.
"Strike one!" sang the umpire.
"You've got him, Lanky!" came a voice from the ranks of the Amoussocks.
"Oh dear!" sighed a girl on the Tiger's bench, loud enough to be heardacross the diamond; "I thought this fellow looked like he could knock ahome run!"
There was a titter, a ripple of laughter, and Larry, fondling the ball,looked over in the direction of the girl and grinned from ear to ear.
The ball shot from his hand. There was a crack--sharp andstinging;--Larry reached out, missed the ball as it whizzed by--whizzedon over the bag at second base, sizzled on into the outfield.Centrefield couldn't touch it; that ball simply wouldn't stop, anddidn't until it struck a stone wall at the end of the field.
By the time the ball got back David was standing on third base, and theTiger rooters were splitting the air with yells.
"Dave leaned against it all right, didn't he?" said Ben to Tuckerman."He came around on it just as easy; but when he struck he made everyounce tell."
"He'd have had a home run if it hadn't been for that stone wall," saidTuckerman. "The field's too short; it doesn't give our Dave a show."
Lanky Larry looked less amused. He frowned and grew thoughtful; with theresult that the next Tiger up got a neat hit to right field, and Davidcame trotting home.
But the inning ended on the next play, the Tiger being caught out atsecond base. The score was two to one, in the Amoussock's favor. Thecrowd felt somewhat better as the Tigers took the field again. TheAmoussocks, however, managed to get in another run at their turn at bat,and had a good lead of two.
The seventh and eighth innings repeated the same old story. Lanky was inform again, and none of the batters could hit him. And with the score atthree to one the Amoussocks prepared to mow down their rivals in thelast half of the ninth.
David was to be the third batter, and he swung two bats over hisshoulder as he waited for his turn. Lanky knew what he was doing, was infact watching him out of the corner of his eye, and looking forward tohis next chance at the cocky David. Thinking what he would do to Davidhe forgot the job in hand, and struck Sam Noyes on the arm. The umpiresent Sam to first. Larry scowled and bit his lip. The next Tiger got ahit, and Sam went to second.
The crowd jumped to its feet, both sides were rooting madly. "If onlythere was room for a home run!" sighed Ben. "Old Barmouth could do it!Keep cool, Dave my lad!"
David was perfectly cool, to all appearance at least, as he walked up tothe plate. He smiled and gave the least little nod at the tall,dark-skinned pitcher.
A duel between these two;--that was what the crowd felt in the air. Thefielders were hopping about, crouching, their hands on their knees; Samand the Tiger on first base were flapping their arms, all ready to dashfor the next base. But nobody looked at them; all eyes were on the twowho were regarding each other with pleasant smiles.
"Strike one!"
David stepped back, a bit surprised, while the crowd gave a groan.
"Ball one!" There was a little ripple of satisfaction.
"But he's got to hit it," Tom muttered in Tuckerman's ear. "A base onballs won't do. The next fellow'd go out."
And David knew he'd got to hit it, and kept telling himself not totighten up. "Easy does it, easy does it," kept singing over and over inhis mind. If he tried too hard Lanky would get him just as he had gottenthe others; and he knew perfectly well that was what Lanky intended thathe should do.
"Strike two!"
Larry had outguessed him that time, giving him a slow drop. David easedhis muscles, smiled his confident smile, settled evenly on his feet.This next would be the in-shoot. Larry would save that for the last."Easy does it; take your time." David looked at the pitcher, notangrily, not intently, just with a jovial dare.
And the bat, with David's shoulders behind it, and his waist and hislegs as well, met that ball as it curved in toward him fair and squareon the nose. There was a mighty crack--the sort that sings in the earsand makes the pulses tingle--and away and away went the ball. Over thepitcher's head, over the heads of the fielders; far out in the field itstruck the ground at last and bounded over the stone wall. It brought upagainst a cow, that was lying down in a meadow, and it gave her such abump that she rose in haste and went galloping away, not knowing whathad struck her. And by the time the first Amoussock outfielder touchedthat ball Sam Noyes and the next Tiger and David had circled the basesand the game was won.
Billy Burns hopped over to David, forgetful of his sprained ankle. "Putit there, old scout!" he cried, holding out his hand. "I never saw sucha hit! Gee whillikins! Dave, you're the stuff all right!"
"Easy does it," said David, who couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Easy!" exclaimed Billy. "You call that easy! I'd like to know what youdo to a ball when you hit it hard!"
Peter Cotterell's Treasure Page 7