by Zane Grey
One out. Two runners on bases. The bleachers rose and split their throats. Would the inning never end?
Spears kept telling himself: “They’ll score, but we’ll win. It’s our game!”
I had a sickening fear that the strange confidence that obsessed the Worcester players had been blind, unreasoning vanity.
“Carl will steal,” muttered Spears. “He can’t be stopped.”
Spears had called the play. The Rube tried to hold the little base-stealer close to second, but, after one attempt, wisely turned to his hard task of making the Bisons hit and hit quickly. Ellis let the ball pass; Gregg made a perfect throw to third; Bogart caught the ball and moved like a flash, but Carl slid under his hands to the bag. Manning ran down to second. The Rube pitched again, and this was his tenth ball over the plate. Even the Buffalo players evinced eloquent appreciation of the Rube’s defence at this last stand.
Then Ellis sent a clean hit to right, scoring both Carl and Manning. I breathed easier, for it seemed with those two runners in, the Rube had a better chance. Treadwell also took those two runners in, the Rube had a way those Bisons waited. They had their reward, for the Rube’s speed left him. When he pitched again the ball had control, but no shoot. Treadwell hit it with all his strength. Like a huge cat Ashwell pounced upon it, ran over second base, forcing Ellis, and his speedy snap to first almost caught Treadwell.
Score 8 to 7. Two out. Runner on first. One run to tie.
In my hazy, dimmed vision I saw the Rube’s pennant waving from the flag-pole.
“It’s our game!” howled Spears in my ear, for the noise from the stands was deafening. “It’s our pennant!”
The formidable batting strength of the Bisons had been met, not without disaster, but without defeat. McKnight came up for Buffalo and the Rube took his weary swing. The batter made a terrific lunge and hit the ball with a solid crack It lined for center.
Suddenly electrified into action, I leaped up. That hit! It froze me with horror. It was a home-run. I saw Stringer fly toward left center. He ran like something wild. I saw the heavy Treadwell lumbering round the bases. I saw Ashwell run out into center field.
“Ah-h!” The whole audience relieved its terror in that expulsion of suspended breath. Stringer had leaped high to knock down the ball, saving a sure home-run and the game. He recovered himself, dashed back for the ball and shot it to Ash.
When Ash turned toward the plate, Treadwell was rounding third base. A tie score appeared inevitable. I saw Ash’s arm whip and the ball shoot forward, leveled, glancing, beautiful in its flight. The crowd saw it, and the silence broke to a yell that rose and rose as the ball sped in. That yell swelled to a splitting shriek, and Treadwell slid in the dust, and the ball shot into Gregg’s hands all at the same instant.
Carter waved both arms upwards. It was the umpire’s action when his decision went against the base-runner. The audience rolled up one great stentorian cry.
“Out!”
I collapsed and sank back upon the bench. My confused senses received a dull roar of pounding feet and dinning voices as the herald of victory. I felt myself thinking how pleased Milly would be. I had a distinct picture in my mind of a white cottage on a hill, no longer a dream, but a reality, made possible for me by the Rube’s winning of the pennant.
THE RUBE’S HONEYMOON (1920)
“He’s got a new manager. Watch him pitch now!” That was what Nan Brown said to me about Rube Hurtle, my great pitcher, and I took it as her way of announcing her engagement.
My baseball career held some proud moments, but this one, wherein I realized the success of my matchmaking plans, was certainly the proudest one. So, entirely outside of the honest pleasure I got out of the Rube’s happiness, there was reason for me to congratulate myself. He was a transformed man, so absolutely renewed, so wild with joy, that on the strength of it, I decided the pennant for Worcester was a foregone conclusion, and, sure of the money promised me by the directors, Milly and I began to make plans for the cottage upon the hill.
The Rube insisted on pitching Monday’s game against the Torontos, and although poor fielding gave them a couple of runs, they never had a chance. They could not see the ball. The Rube wrapped it around their necks and between their wrists and straight over the plate with such incredible speed that they might just as well have tried to bat rifle bullets.
That night I was happy. Spears, my veteran captain, was one huge smile; Radbourne quietly assured me that all was over now but the shouting; all the boys were happy.
And the Rube was the happiest of all. At the hotel he burst out with his exceeding good fortune. He and Nan were to be married upon the Fourth of July!
After the noisy congratulations were over and the Rube had gone, Spears looked at me and I looked at him.
“Con,” said he soberly, “we just can’t let him get married on the Fourth.”
“Why not? Sure we can. We’ll help him get married. I tell you it’ll save the pennant for us. Look how he pitched today! Nan Brown is our salvation!”
“See here, Con, you’ve got softenin’ of the brain, too. Where’s your baseball sense? We’ve got a pennant to win. By July Fourth we’ll be close to the lead again, and there’s that three weeks’ trip on the road, the longest and hardest of the season. We’ve just got to break even on that trip. You know what that means. If the Rube marries Nan—what are we goin’ to do? We can’t leave him behind. If he takes Nan with us—why it’ll be a honeymoon! And half the gang is stuck on Nan Brown! And Nan Brown would flirt in her bridal veil! … Why Con, we’re up against a worse proposition than ever.”
“Good Heavens! Cap. You’re right,” I groaned. “I never thought of that. We’ve got to postpone the wedding.… How on earth can we? I’ve heard her tell Milly that. She’ll never consent to it. Say, this’ll drive me to drink.”
“All I got to say is this, Con. If the Rube takes his wife on that trip it’s goin’ to be an all-fired hummer. Don’t you forget that.”
“I’m not likely to. But, Spears, the point is this—will the Rube win his games?”
“Figurin’ from his work today, I’d gamble he’ll never lose another game. It ain’t that. I’m thinkin’ of what the gang will do to him and Nan on the cars and at the hotels. Oh! Lord, Con, it ain’t possible to stand for that honeymoon trip! Just think!”
“If the worst comes to the worst, Cap, I don’t care for anything but the games. If we get in the lead and stay there I’ll stand for anything.… Couldn’t the gang be coaxed or bought off to let the Rube and Nan alone?”
“Not on your life! There ain’t enough love or money on earth to stop them. It’ll be awful. Mind, I’m not responsible. Don’t you go holdin’ me responsible. In all my years of baseball I never went on a trip with a bride in the game. That’s new on me, and I never heard of it. I’d be bad enough if he wasn’t a rube and if she wasn’t a crazy girl-fan and a flirt to boot, and with half the boys in love with her, but as it is—”
Spears gave up and, gravely shaking his head, he left me. I spent a little while in sober reflection, and finally came to the conclusion that, in my desperate ambition to win the pennant, I would have taken half a dozen rube pitchers and their baseball-made brides on the trip, if by so doing I could increase the percentage of games won. Nevertheless, I wanted to postpone the Rube’s wedding if it was possible, and I went out to see Milly and asked her to help us. But for once in her life Milly turned traitor.
“Connie, you don’t want to postpone it. Why, how perfectly lovely! … Mrs. Stringer will go on that trip and Mrs. Bogart.… Connie, I’m going too!”
She actually jumped up and down in glee. That was the woman in her. It takes a wedding to get a woman. I remonstrated and pleaded and commanded, all to no purpose. Milly intended to go on that trip to see the games, and the fun, and the honeymoon.
She coaxed so hard that I yielded. Thereupon she called up Mrs. Stringer on the telephone, and of course found that young woman just as eager as she was.
For my part, I threw anxiety and care to the four winds, and decided to be as happy as any of them. The pennant was mine! Something kept ringing that in my ears. With the Rube working his iron arm for the edification of his proud Nancy Brown, there was extreme likelihood of divers shut-outs and humiliating defeats for some Eastern League teams.
How well I calculated became a matter of baseball history during that last week of June. We won six straight games, three of which fell to the Rube’s credit. His opponents scored four runs in the three games, against the nineteen we made. Upon July 1, Radbourne beat Providence and Cairns won the second game. We now had a string of eight victories. Sunday we rested, and Monday was the Fourth, with morning and afternoon games with Buffalo.
Upon the morning of the Fourth, I looked for the Rube at the hotel, but could not find him. He did not show up at the grounds when the other boys did, and I began to worry. It was the Rube’s turn to pitch and we were neck and neck with Buffalo for first place. If we won both games we would go ahead of our rivals. So I was all on edge, and kept going to the dressing-room to see if the Rube had arrived. He came, finally, when all the boys were dressed, and about to go out for practice. He had on a new suit, a tailor-made suit at that, and he looked fine. There was about him a kind of strange radiance. He stated simply that he had arrived late because he had just been married. Before congratulations were out of our mouths, he turned to me.
“Con, I want to pitch both games today,” he said.
“What! Say, Whit, Buffalo is on the card today and we are only three points behind them. If we win both we’ll be leading the league once more. I don’t know about pitching you both games.”
“I reckon we’ll be in the lead tonight then,” he replied, “for I’ll win them both.”
I was about to reply when Dave, the ground-keeper, called me to the door, saying there was a man to see me. I went out, and there stood Morrisey, manager of the Chicago American League team. We knew each other well and exchanged greetings.
“Con, I dropped off to see you about this new pitcher of yours, the one they call the Rube. I want to see him work. I’ve heard he’s pretty fast. How about it?”
“Wait—till you see him pitch,” I replied. I could scarcely get that much out, for Morrisey’s presence meant a great deal and I did not want to betray my elation.
“Any strings on him?” queried the big league manager, sharply.
“Well, Morrisey, not exactly. I can give you the first call. You’ll have to bid high, though. Just wait till you see him work.”
“I’m glad to hear that. My scout was over here watching him pitch and says he’s a wonder.”
What luck it was that Morrisey should have come upon this day! I could hardly contain myself. Almost I began to spend the money I would get for selling the Rube to the big league manager. We took seats in the grand stand, as Morrisey did not want to be seen by any players, and I stayed there with him until the gong sounded. There was a big attendance. I looked all over the stand for Nan, but she was lost in the gay crowd. But when I went down to the bench I saw her up in my private box with Milly. It took no second glance to see that Nan Brown was a bride and glorying in the fact.
Then, in the absorption of the game, I became oblivious to Milly and Nan; the noisy crowd; the giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the presence of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team and their opponents. Fortunately for my hopes, the game opened with characteristic Worcester dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the ball over the right-field fence—three runs!
Three runs were enough to win that game. Of all the exhibitions of pitching with which the Rube had favored us, this one was the finest. It was perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and unhittable curves that made the game one memorable in the annals of pitching; it was his perfect control in the placing of balls, in the cutting of corners; in his absolute implacable mastery of the situation. Buffalo was unable to find him at all. The game was swift short, decisive, with the score 5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did not tell all of the Rube’s work that morning. He shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave no base on balls; not a Buffalo player got to first base; only one fly went to the outfield.
For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I hurried to find Morrisey, and carried him off to have dinner with me.
“Your rube is a wonder, and that’s a fact,” he said to me several times. “Where on earth did you get him? Connelly, he’s my meat. Do you understand? Can you let me have him right now?”
“No, Morrisey, I’ve got the pennant to win first. Then I’ll sell him.”
“How much? Do you hear? How much?” Morrisey hammered the table with his fist and his eyes gleamed.
Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was yet able to calculate shrewdly, and I decided to name a very high price, from which I could come down and still make a splendid deal.
“How much?” demanded Morrisey.
“Five thousand dollars,” I replied, and gulped when I got the words out.
Morrisey never batted an eye.
“Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!”
Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing my name to a contract whereby I was to sell my pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close of the current season. I never saw a man look so pleased as Morrisey when he folded that contract and put it in his pocket. He bade me good-bye and hurried off to catch a train, and he never knew the Rube had pitched the great game on his wedding day.
That afternoon before a crowd that had to be roped off the diamond, I put the Rube against the Bisons. How well he showed the baseball knowledge he had assimilated! He changed his style in that second game. He used a slow ball and wide curves and took things easy. He made Buffalo hit the ball and when runners got on bases once more let out his speed and held them down. He relied upon the players behind him and they were equal to the occasion.
It was a totally different game from that of the morning, and perhaps one more suited to the pleasure of the audience. There was plenty of hard hitting, sharp fielding and good base running, and the game was close and exciting up to the eighth, when Mullaney’s triple gave us two runs, and a lead that was not headed. To the deafening roar of the bleachers the Rube walked off the field, having pitched Worcester into first place in the pennant race.
That night the boys planned their first job on the Rube. We had ordered a special Pullman for travel to Toronto, and when I got to the depot in the morning, the Pullman was a white fluttering mass of satin ribbons. Also, there was a brass band, and thousands of baseball fans, and barrels of old foot-gear. The Rube and Nan arrived in a cab and were immediately mobbed. The crowd roared, the band played, the engine whistled, the bell clanged; and the air was full of confetti and slippers, and showers of rice like hail pattered everywhere. A somewhat dishevelled bride and groom boarded the Pullman and breathlessly hid in a state room. The train started, and the crowd gave one last rousing cheer. Old Spears yelled from the back platform:
“Fellers, and fans, you needn’t worry none about leavin’ the Rube and his bride to the tender mercies of the gang. A hundred years from now people will talk about this honeymoon baseball trip. Wait till we come back—an’ say, jest to put you wise, no matter what else happens, we’re comin’ back in first place!”
It was surely a merry party in that Pullman. The bridal couple emerged from their hiding place and held a sort of reception in which the Rube appeared shy and frightened, and Nan resembled a joyous, fluttering bird in gray. I did not see if she kissed every man on the team, but she kissed me as if she had been wanting to do it for ages. Milly kissed the Rube, and so did the other women, to his infinite embarrassment. Nan’s effect upon that crowd was most singular. She was sweetness and caprice and joy personified.
We settled down presently to something approaching order, and I, for one, with very keen ears and alert eyes, because I did not want to mi
ss anything.
“I see the lambs a-gambolin’,” observed McCall, in a voice louder than was necessary to convey his meaning to Mullaney, his partner in the seat.
“Yes, it do seem as if there was joy aboundin’ hereabouts,” replied Mul with fervor.
“It’s more spring-time than summer,” said Ashwell, “an’ everything in nature is runnin’ in pairs. There are the sheep and the cattle and the birds. I see two kingfishers fishin’ over here. And there’s a couple of honey-bees makin’ honey. Oh, honey, and by George, if there ain’t two butterflies foldin’ their wings round each other. See the dandelions kissin’ in the field!”
Then the staid Captain Spears spoke up with an appearance of sincerity and a tone that was nothing short of remarkable.
“Reggie, see the sunshine asleep upon yon bank. Ain’t it lovely? And that white cloud sailin’ thither amid the blue—how spontaneous! Joy is a-broad o’er all this boo-tiful land today—Oh, yes! And love’s wings hover o’er the little lambs and the bullfrogs in the pond and the dicky birds in the trees. What sweetness to lie in the grass, the lap of bounteous earth, eatin’ apples in the Garden of Eden, and chasin’ away the snakes and dreamin’ of Thee, Sweet-h-e-a-r-t—”
Spears was singing when he got so far and there was no telling what he might have done if Mullaney, unable to stand the agony, had not jabbed a pin in him. But that only made way for the efforts of the other boys, each of whom tried to outdo the other in poking fun at the Rube and Nan. The big pitcher was too gloriously happy to note much of what went on around him, but when it dawned upon him he grew red and white by turns.
Nan, however, was more than equal to the occasion. Presently she smiled at Spears, such a smile! The captain looked as if he had just partaken of an intoxicating wine. With a heightened color in her cheeks and a dangerous flash in her roguish eyes, Nan favored McCall with a look, which was as much as to say that she remembered him with a dear sadness. She made eyes at every fellow in the car, and then bringing back her gaze to the Rube, as if glorying in comparison, she nestled her curly black head on his shoulder. He gently tried to move her; but it was not possible. Nan knew how to meet the ridicule of half a dozen old lovers. One by one they buried themselves in newspapers, and finally McCall, for once utterly beaten, showed a white feather, and sank back out of sight behind his seat.