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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. TOUCHING SECOND 1 II. "MAKING THE TEAM" 16 III. THE "INSIDE" GAME 33 IV. THE TRIPLE PLAY 53 V. WINNING HIS SPURS 65 VI. THE FIRE 93 VII. TAKING HIS MEDICINE 107 VIII. SHOOTING THEM OVER 123 IX. A GALLANT RESCUE 144 X. A WILD RIDE 160 XI. THE NINTH INNING 182
BERT WILSON'S Fadeaway Ball
BY
J. W. DUFFIELD
AUTHOR OF "BERT WILSON AT THE WHEEL," "BERT WILSON, MARATHON WINNER," "BERT WILSON, WIRELESS OPERATOR."
Copyright, 1913, By SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
_All rights reserved._
Published and Printed, 1924, by Western Printing & Lithographing Company Racine, Wisconsin Printed in U. S. A.
Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball
CHAPTER I
TOUCHING SECOND
Crack!--and the ball soared into center field, while the batter, swiftas a flash, sped down to first. A tremendous roar went up from thethirty thousand loyal "fans" who packed the grandstands and filled thebleachers to overflowing. Staid citizens danced up and down like howlingdervishes, hats were tossed into the air or jovially crushed on theirowners' heads, and happy riot reigned everywhere. Pandemonium brokeloose.
The fight for the pennant had been a bitter one all season. First oneteam and then another had taken the lead, while the whole country hadbeen as excited as though the fate of an empire hung in the balance.The third chief contender, fighting grimly to the last, had fallenhopelessly behind, and the contest had narrowed down to a life-and-deathstruggle between the Giants and the Cubs. The team from the Western cityhad hung on doggedly and every battle had been fought "for blood."Contesting every inch, they had at last drawn up on even terms with theleaders, and to-day's game was to decide which club should be hailed aschampions of the National League and, later on, do battle with theleaders of the American League for the proud title of Champions of theWorld.
The excitement was intense, and, to a foreigner, would have beeninconceivable. Men stood in line all the night before to make sure oftickets when the gates should open in the morning. The newspapersdevoted columns of space to the gladiators of the opposing teams.Delegations poured in on special trains from neighboring cities. Thesurface cars and elevated trains, packed to the limit, rolled up to thegrounds and deposited their sweltering throngs. The lines of ticketbuyers extended for blocks, and the speculators did a rushing business.Long before the hour set for the game to begin, the grounds were crowdedto suffocation, and thousands, unable to get in, were turned away fromthe gates.
The scene within was inspiring. A band played popular airs, while thosewithin hearing joined lustily in the chorus. The great field, gleaminglike green velvet beneath the afternoon sun, had been especially groomedand rolled for this day of days. The base lines, freshly marked, stoodout in white and dazzling relief. All four sides of the huge enclosureheld their thousands of enthusiasts, and the host of special policemenhad their hands full to keep them from encroaching on the diamond. Aseach white-uniformed athlete of the home team came from the club housefor preliminary practice, he was boisterously and affectionatelygreeted.
Nor did the gray-clad visitors come short of a cordial reception. Thegreat crowd hoped that the home team would win, but they were fair, and,mingled with the good-natured chaffing, was a wholesome respect andfear of their prowess. Above all they wanted a rattling game and ahair-raising finish, with the Giants winning "by an eyelash."
The bell rang. The Giants took their places in the field and the umpirecried "Play ball!" The head of the Cubs' batting order came to the plateand the game was on. From the start it was a battle "for keeps." Bothteams were "on their toes." It meant not only honor but lucre. Thewinners would contest in the World's Series, and this meant thousands ofdollars for every player. Every point was bitterly fought, and plays weremade that under other circumstances would not even have been attempted.For eight innings, Fortune divided her favors equally, and it looked asthough the game were destined to go into extra innings.
The Cubs were easily disposed of in their half of the ninth, and theGiants came to the bat. The crowd, which had been alternately on theheights of hope or in the depths of despair, rose to their feet andcheered them wildly. The batters were frantically besought to "hit iton the seam," "give the ball a ride," "show them where you live." Theplayers responded nobly. By the time that two were out, a Giant wasperched on third and another on first. The shortstop, a sure hitter in apinch, strode to the plate. Now, indeed, excitement was at fever heat. Asafe hit into the outfield would bring the man on third to the platewith the winning run.
The visitors were plainly worried. The "Peerless Leader" came in fromfirst, ostensibly to advise the pitcher, but really to give him amoment's rest before the final test. Hoots of derision showed thespectators' appreciation of the trick. The pitcher glanced at the mandancing about third, wound up deliberately and let the ball go with allthe force of his brawny arm. The batter caught it squarely "on thetrademark" and shot it like a rifle bullet into center field, while theman on third tore down the line and came like a racehorse to the plate.He crossed the rubber with the winning run, and thirty thousand men wentstark, raving mad.
The man on first ran part way toward second, and then, seeing that hiscomrade would certainly score, turned and scurried to the club house inright field. The jubilant crowd began to invade the diamond. Suddenlythe second baseman of the visitors secured the ball, rushed to his base,and then, surrounded by his teammates, ran toward the umpire, waving hishands wildly.
The crowd, at first bewildered, then angered, soon became panic-stricken.Few of them understood the nature of the claim. They only felt that thehard-won victory was being called in question, and a tidal wave of wrathand resentment swept over the field.
The point made by the quick-witted second baseman was simple, butsufficiently important to engage the grave attention of the umpires. Hiscontention was that the man on first had not touched second base, and,as he was legally compelled to leave first in order to make room for thebatter and had not touched second before the ball got there, he was_forced out_, and therefore the run didn't count. The rules on thispoint were clear and explicit. If the claim was granted, three men wereout, no run had come in and the score was still a tie at one to one.
The final decision was held in suspense, and the throng passed out, morelike a funeral than a triumphal procession. Disputes were rife amongheated partisans, and in all the vast city that night and, in a lesserdegree, in every city from New York to San Francisco, the game wasfought over and over again. The unfortunate first baseman almost losthis mind over the blunder. There was more pity than bitterness felttoward him, however, as it was known that he had merely followed ageneral custom that had been taken as a matter of course.
Among the crowd that filed out of the gates were Bert Wilson and hisinseparable friends, Dick Trent and Tom Henderson. With them also was aMr. Hollis, a gentleman much older than they in years, but quite asyoung in spirit. He had been in charge of the summer camp from which theboys had recently returned, and the respect and confidence that hissterling character evoked had become steadily stronger. They were allvery fond of the great national game, and had shared the enthusiasm overthe supposed victory of the home
team. Now, from the reaction, theirardor was correspondingly dampened.
"There's no use talking," broke out Tom hotly, "it was a low down trick.They couldn't beat us with the bat, so they try to do it on a quibble."
"I don't know," said Dick, "it's about a stand off. We may have been alittle bit better off in brawn, but they had it on us in the matter ofbrain. Whatever we may think of their sportsmanship, their wits were notwool gathering."
"And after all," chimed in Bert, "it is brain that counts to-day inbaseball as well as in everything else. More and more, the big leaguersare putting a premium on quick thinking. The mere 'sand lot slugger' isgoing to the rear, and the college man is coming to the front. It isn'tthat the collegian is necessarily any brainier, but he has been taughthow to use his brains. This is simply a case where the husky hit of theGiants' short-stop was wasted because of the nimble wit of the Cubs'second baseman. It was hit against wit, and wit won out."
"All the same," maintained Tom, "it was taking advantage of atechnicality. The same thing has been done a hundred times, and therehas never been a kick about it. Whenever a player has been sure that thewinning run has come in, he has considered it all over, and made a breakfor the clubhouse. I don't think the question has ever been raisedbefore."
"Yes it has," said Mr. Hollis. "That same quick thinker made a point ofit the other day in Pittsburgh, and that is all the more reason why thehome team ought to have been wide awake. But there is nothing to begained by post mortems, and anyway the thing isn't settled yet. It looksrather bad for us now, but there will be a full discussion of the matterand the umpires may find something in the rules that will cover the caseand give us the run. Even if they don't, it leaves it a tie, and thegame will have to be played over. We may win then and get the pennantafter all."
"I hope so," said Tom, "but just at present I know how they felt inMudville:
"'O somewhere birds are singing and somewhere children shout, But there's no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out.'"
A few days later when the point had been decided in favor of the Cubsand the game played over, only to result in a conclusive victory for themen from the shore of Lake Michigan, the chums met in Bert's rooms.
"Well," said Dick, "I see that they put it over, all right. They'vecopped the pennant and we are only an 'also ran.'"
"Yes," replied Tom, "that hit by Tinker over Seymour's head did thebusiness. But there's no use crying over spilt milk. We'll stand them ontheir heads next year and get even."
"By the way, Bert," asked Dick, changing the subject, "have you heardfrom your examinations yet? How did you make out?"
"Fine," answered Bert. "I heard from the Dean this morning and he saysthat I passed with something to spare. The chemical and electricalmarks were especially good. He says that the questions along those lineswere unusually severe, but they didn't strike me that way. I supposeit's because I'm so interested in them that they come easy."
"Good for you, old scout," cried Dick, delightedly. "I'm tickled todeath that the thing is settled. You'll find that we have one of thefinest scientific schools in the country. I've been there a year now,and it's come to seem like home. I'll show you the ropes and we'll roomtogether. I only wish Tom here were coming along with us next week."
"So do I," said Tom ruefully, "but Father seems to think I'd betterstick to my engineering course right here in New York. It isn't that hethinks the course is any better than at your college, if as good. Isuppose the real reason is that he wants me to be where I can live athome. I'm going to get Mr. Hollis to have a talk with him. Perhaps hecan show him that it would be a good thing for me to get away from homeand be thrown on my own responsibility. Dad's pretty stubborn when hegets an idea in his head, but he thinks a lot of Mr. Hollis, and what hesays will go a long way with him."
It was a wholesome group of young fellows that thus discussed theirfuture plans. They were the best type of manly, red-blooded Americanyouth, full of energy and ambition and alive to their finger tips. Tomwas of medium height, while Bert and Dick were fully six feet tall. Allwere strongly built and looked as though they could give a good accountof themselves in any contest, whether of mind or body. A similarity oftastes and habits had drawn them closely together, and among theirfriends they were jokingly referred to as the "Three Guardsmen." Theywere rarely apart, and now their plans for the coming school year weredestined to cement their friendship still more firmly. In reality withthem it was "one for all and all for one."
All of them had chosen their life work along practical and scientificlines. The literary professions did not tempt them strongly. Dick, whowas the elder, was preparing to become a mining engineer, and hadalready spent a year at college with that end in view. Tom aimed atcivil engineering while Bert was strongly drawn toward electricalscience and research. This marvelous field had a fascination for himthat he could not resist. His insight was so clear, he leaped sointuitively from cause to conclusion, that it was felt that it would bealmost a crime if he were not permitted to have every advantage that thebest scientific schools could give him. For a long time past he had beenstudying nights, preparing for his entrance examinations, and now thathe had passed them triumphantly, nothing intervened between him and hischerished ambition.
Absorbed as he was in his studies, however, he spent enough time inathletic sports to keep himself in superb physical condition. His wasthe old Greek ideal of a "sound mind in a sound body." His favoritesport was baseball, and, like most healthy young Americans, he wasintensely fond of the great game. In public school and high school hehad always "made the team." Although at times he had played everyposition in the infield and outfield and behind the bat, he soongravitated towards the pitcher's box, and for the last three years hadplayed that position steadily. He was easily the best "flinger" in theInter-Scholastic League, and had received more than one invitation tojoin some of the semi-professional teams that abound in the great city.He elected, however, to remain purely and simply an amateur. Even when a"big league" scout, who had watched him play, gave him a quiet tip thathis club would take him on the Spring training trip to Texas and pay allhis expenses, with a view to finding out whether he was really "majorleague timber," the offer did not tempt him. He had no idea of making abusiness of his chosen sport, but simply a pleasant though strenuousrecreation. With him, it was "sport for sport's sake"; the healthy zestof struggle, the sheer physical delight in winning.
And now, as they talked over the coming year, the athletic feature alsocame to the fore.
"I wonder if I'll have the slightest show to make the baseball team,"said Bert. "I suppose, as a newcomer I'll be a rank outsider."
"Don't you believe that for a minute," replied Dick warmly. "Of coursethere'll be lots of competition and a raft of material to pick from. Isuppose when the coach sends out the call for candidates in the Spring,there'll be dozens of would-be players and a bunch too of have-beensthat will trot out on the diamond to be put through their paces. Onething is certain, though, and that is that you'll get your chance. Theremay be a whole lot of snobbery in college life--though there isn'thalf as much as people think--but, out on the ball field, it's a puredemocracy. The only question there is whether you can deliver the goods.If you can, they don't care whether you're a new man or an old-timer.All they want is a winner."
"Well," chimed in Tom, "they'll find that they have one in Bert. Justshow them a little of the 'big medicine' you had in that last game withNewark High when you put out the side on three pitched balls. Gee,I never saw a more disgusted bunch of ball tossers. Just when theythought they had the game all sewed up and put away in their bat bag,too."
"That's all right," said Bert, "but you must remember that those highschool fellows were a different proposition from a bunch of seasoned oldcollege sluggers. When I come up against them, if I ever do, they'llprobably smash the back fences with the balls I feed to them."
"Some of them certainly can slaughter a pitcher's curves," laughed Dick."Old Pendleton, for instance, would ha
ve the nerve to start a battingrally against three-fingered Brown, and Harry Lord wouldn't be hypnotizedeven if Matty glared at him."
"I understand you did some fence breaking yourself last Spring on thescrubs," said Tom. "Steve Thomas told me you were the heaviest batter incollege."
"O, I don't know," returned Dick modestly, "I led them in three-basehits and my batting average was .319, but Pendleton was ahead of me inthe matter of home runs. I hope to do better next Spring, though, asAinslee, the coach, gave me some valuable tips on hitting them out. Atfirst I swung too much and tried to knock the cover off the ball. Theresult was that when I did hit the ball it certainly traveled some. Butmany a time I missed them because I took too long a swing. Ainsleeshowed me how to chop at the ball with a sharp, quick stroke thatcaught it just before the curve began to break. Then all the power of myarms and shoulders leaned up against the ball at just the right second.Ainslee says that Home-Run Baker uses that method altogether, and youknow what kind of a hitter he is. I got it down pretty fine before theseason ended, and if I make the team next Spring----"
"If you make it," said Bert incredulously. "As though it wasn't a deadcertainty."
"Not a bit of it," protested Dick, seriously. "You never can tell fromyear to year. You can't live on your reputation at college. There may bea regular Hal Chase among the new recruits, and he may win the firstbase position over me without half trying. It's a good thing it is so,too, because we have to keep hustling all the time or see somebody elsestep into our shoes. The result is that when the team is finally lickedinto shape by the coaches, it represents the very best the college canturn out. It's a fighting machine that never knows when it is whippedand never quits trying until the last man is out in the ninth inning."
"Yes," broke in Tom, "and that's what makes college baseball so muchmore pleasing than the regular professional game. The fellows go at itin such deadly earnest. It is the spirit of Napoleon's Marshal: 'TheOld Guard dies, but never surrenders.' The nine may be beaten, but notdisgraced, and, when the game is over, the winning team always knowsthat it has been in a fight."
"Well," said Bert, as the fellows rose to go, "if we do make the team,it won't be through lack of trying if we fail to land the pennant."
"No," laughed Dick. "Our epitaph at least will be that of the Texascowboy,
"'He done his blamedest--angels can no more.'"
A week later, the three friends--for Tom and Mr. Hollis had won hisfather over--stood on the deck of a Sound steamer, saying goodby tothose who had come to see them off. Mr. Hollis wrung Bert's hand, justas the last bell rang and he prepared to go down the gangway.
"Good luck, Bert, and whatever else you do, don't forget to touchsecond."
He smiled at Bert's puzzled expression, and added: "I mean, my boy, bethorough in all you do. End what you begin. Don't be satisfied with anyhalf-way work. Many a man has made a brilliant start, but a most dismalfinish. In work, in play, in the whole great game of life--touchsecond."
Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Page 1