Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XVII

  ERSKINE _VS._ HARVARD

  The nine took its first long trip when it journeyed to Cambridgeand played Harvard in a warm drizzle of rain that made the ballslippery and hard to hold, and set the players to steaming like somany tea-kettles. Erskine met her second defeat of the season thatafternoon. She had an attack of the stage-fright usual to the teams oflesser colleges when confronting those of the "big four," and it lasteduntil the fifth inning, when, with the score 9 to 0 in her favor,Harvard's pitcher slumped and allowed the bases to fill for the firsttime during the contest.

  Erskine awakened, then, to the fact that her opponents were only humanbeings, after all, and not supernatural personages protected by thegods, a fact which Hanson had been seeking to convince them of all daylong, but without success. With bases full, one man out, and Bissell atbat, there seemed no reason why the Purple should not place a tallyin her empty column. This was evidently the view that Bissell himselftook, for after having two strikes and two balls called on him, hefound what he wanted and drove it hard and straight between first andsecond. Gilberth scored, but Billings was caught out at the plate.Motter reached third and Bissell went to second. Hanson whispered toLowe as he selected his bat. Harvard shortened field.

  "Last man!" called the crimson-legged first-baseman.

  "Last man!" echoed the shortstop.

  Lowe's first attempt at a bunt missed fire and the umpire called astrike on him. Then came two balls, each an enticing and deceptivedrop. Lowe was the last man on the batting list, but if he wasn't muchof a hitter he at least was capable of obeying orders. He watchedthe balls go by in a disinterested manner that was beautiful to see.Then came another strike, and for an instant his round, freckled faceexpressed uneasiness. The Harvard pitcher decided to end the half, andthrew straight over base. Lowe shortened his bat a trifle and found theball, and the next moment both were going toward first base, the ballvery slowly, Lowe about as rapidly as he ever moved in his life.

  It was the pitcher's ball, and the pitcher ran for it. Motter, atthird, started pell-mell for home, only to stop as suddenly and diveback to the bag. But the pitcher knew better than to throw there, andas soon as Motter had turned he sped the ball to first. But he haddelayed an instant too long, and the umpire dropped his hand in thedirection of Lowe, who, with both feet planted firmly on the bag, wasobeying Perkins's repeated command to "Hold it, Ted!" It was a closedecision, but there was no reason to judge it as unfair, and the gamewent on with the bases again filled and Erskine's heavy batters up.

  Joe Perkins stepped to the plate, gripped his bat, and looked overthe field. Shortstop was covering second, and the infield was playingclose. Out toward the corner of the Carey building the right-fielderwas stepping back. Erskine's captain had already sent two long fliesinto his territory, and it wouldn't do to take risks. Joe looked withlonging eyes upon a stretch of undefended territory behind first baseand out of reach of right-fielder. If he could bring a low fly downthere it was safe for another tally. But the pitcher had himself inhand again. He was more than usually deliberate and the first deliverydidn't lend encouragement to Joe's hopes, for although that youth,staggering away from the base, sought to impress the umpire with thefact that the ball had gone well inside of the plate, that astute,black-capped person called "Strike!"

  The three or four hundred students who, with raincoats and umbrellas,were braving the discomforting drizzle, applauded. Jack, huddledbetween Clover and Northup on the bench in the lee of the west stand,sighed and took his hand from the folds of his sweater to beat themanxiously on his knees. Clover wiped the rain from his cheek and turned.

  "We could use a home run, couldn't we?"

  "You might as well talk about winning the game," growled Northup, whohad overheard. "That pitcher hasn't given any one a home run yet thisseason, and you can bet he isn't going to present us with one."

  "Ball!" droned the umpire.

  "Well, I'll be satisfied with a hit," sighed Jack.

  "You're wise," Northup answered with a grin. "There it is again," hemuttered then, as Joe, reaching for an outshoot, swung in the air andstepped back to tap the plate with his bat and look exasperated.

  "Say, doesn't that make you mad," asked Clover, "to reach for somethingwhen you know you shouldn't, and then get fooled? I'll bet Cap couldbite nails now!"

  But Joe got over his annoyance the next instant, and gave his attentionto the ball. When it had passed he sighed with relief and silentlygave thanks to the little red-faced umpire. It was now two strikes andtwo balls. Back of first and third King and Gilberth were coachingfrantically:

  "Two out, Ted! Play off! Play away off!"

  "Run on anything, Teddy! Two gone! Now! _Now!_ NOW!"

  "With two Teds on bases," said Northup, "it seems as though somethingmight happen."

  "Two? Is Lowe's name Ted?"

  "Yes, Theodore Coveney Lowe, Esquire, is the gentleman's full-- _Hey!_"Northup was on his feet, and a second later the bench was empty. Tenpurple-stockinged maniacs danced and shrieked over the sopping turf,waving sweaters and caps. Motter and Bissell and Lowe were racing homealmost in a bunch. Joe Perkins was speeding for second. He had put theball where he wanted it, well over first-baseman's head, and yards andyards in front of right-fielder; had placed it there as carefully asthough he had walked across the diamond and dropped it exactly in themiddle of the uncovered territory.

  First-baseman started back for it, and the pitcher ran to cover first.But right-field was racing in, and it was that player who reachedthe ball first and fielded it home just too late to catch Lowe at theplate. Then the sphere flew back to second, but Joe, hearkening to thecoaching, slid across the brown mud and got his fingers on a corner ofthe bag in plenty of time.

  There followed a pause in the progress of the game while Harvard'spitcher and her captain tried to convince the umpire that Lowe had nottouched second base in his journey toward home. In that interim thelittle band of Erskine players and substitutes gathered together andcheered, with the rain falling into their wide-open mouths, until theHarvard stand applauded vigorously.

  "Four to nine!" yelled Knox. "We can beat them yet!"

  But King, with desperate purpose written eloquently over his face, wentto bat and ingloriously fouled out to third-baseman, and the half wasover. Erskine never came near to scoring again, although, now that theice was broken, every man felt capable of doing wonderful things, andtried his best to accomplish them. The difficulty was with the Harvardteam, and notably the Harvard pitcher; they objected. But if Erskinewas not able to add further tallies to her score, she, at least, heldher opponents down to two more runs, Gilberth pitching a remarkablegame, and what had looked for a time like an overwhelming defeatresolved itself into a creditable showing for the Purple.

  Jack didn't get into the game for an instant, nor, in fact, did any ofthe substitutes. But, as he had scarcely hoped to do so, he was notgreatly disappointed. After the game was over the team went back toBoston inside and outside a stage-coach, laughing, joking, cheering nowand then, and, on the whole, very well pleased with themselves. Hansondidn't see fit to dampen their enthusiasm by reminding them of thefaults which had been plentifully in evidence, but reserved his coldwater for the next day. They had dinner at a hotel. In the course ofthe meal, King called across the table to Joe:

  "I say, we've got old Tidball to thank for this feed, haven't we? If ithadn't been for that speech of his we'd never have had enough money inthe treasury to buy sandwiches."

  "I guess that's so," answered the captain.

  "You fellows needn't think, though," cautioned Patterson, "that you'regoing to get this sort of thing every trip."

  There was a groan.

  "Put him out!" called Gilberth.

  "Down with the manager!" cried King.

  "I wish," said Jack to Motter, who sat at his left, "that I could takesome of this dinner back to Tidball. I don't believe he ever had a realgood dinner in all his life!"

  "Guess you're righ
t," Motter laughed. "Anyway, he doesn't look asthough he ever had!"

  Patterson distributed tickets to one of the theaters, and the men werecautioned to be back at the hotel promptly at eleven in order to takethe midnight train for home.

  "The management doesn't pay for these, does it?" Jack asked.

  "Thunder, no!" answered Motter. "The theater gives them to us, andadvertises the fact that we're going to be there; calls it 'Erskinenight.' We're on show, as it were. Some of the Harvard team are going,too. You needn't fear that Patterson's going to buy theater seats forus; you're lucky if you get him to pay your car-fare to the station!"

  Jack's experience of theaters was extremely limited, and he enjoyedhimself thoroughly all the evening. The team occupied two big boxes atthe left of the stage, while across the house the corresponding boxeswere filled with members of the Harvard team. There was some cheeringon the part of the Purple's supporters, but neither Hanson nor Joeencouraged it.

  "Shut that up," begged the latter, once. "They'll think we're a prep.school!"

  At half past eleven they got into a train at North Station and wentpromptly to sleep, two in a berth, and knew little of events until theywere roused out in the early morning at Centerport.