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

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XXII

  AT THE END OF THE SIXTH

  If you are so fortunate as to be occupying a seat in the stand runningparallel with the line to first base, and if you are about midwaybetween that base and the home plate, you may congratulate yourselfupon being in the best place of all from which to watch the game.Under ordinary conditions you have a clear view of every player, thebatsman, unless he is left-handed, is facing you, and the run to firstbase is made directly in front of you. Make yourself as comfortable asthe narrow board seat and uncompromising back will permit, be gratefulfor the clear sky and warm sunlight, which, if it beats a little tooardently upon your cheek, makes up for it by limbering the joints andmuscles of the players and urging them to their best efforts, andwatch the game, prepared to applaud good work, joyfully if performedby your side, ungrudgingly if by the other, and to accept victory withgratitude and defeat with equanimity.

  From where you sit you see first the Erskine players on their bench atthe foot of the sloping stand, their purple caps thrust back on theirheads or held in their hands. You can't see their faces, but theirbroad shoulders suggest the best of physical condition. Beyond themto the right a white deal table is occupied by four men who are busywriting the history of the contest.

  At the feet of the players the field begins, a level expanse of closelycropped turf, which stretches away for a quarter of a mile like a greatgreen carpet. Beyond the field is a thicket of trees, elms, chestnuts,and maples. Beyond that, again, the warmly red roof of the gymnasiumpeers forth, the forerunner of many other roofs and turrets and towersset sparsely at first amid the foliage, but quickly grouping togetherabout the campus. There lies Robinson College. To the left, where thewhite spire pierces the tree-tops and glistens against the blue sky,the village of Collegetown commences and straggles away to a tinyriver, no wave or ripple of which is from here visible.

  But you have wandered far afield. About you the tiers are gay withpurple flags and ribbons, but farther along to your left the purplegives place grudgingly to brown, and from there on in a long sweep ofcolor the brown holds sway even beyond third base. Four hundred amongfour thousand is as a drop in a bucket. Yet the four hundred is massedclosely together, and every unit of it flaunts a purple banner, and istireless in cheering and in song. Across the diamond the Robinson bandplays lustily between the innings; you can see the leader swinging hislittle black wand, the cornetist's cheeks rising and falling like apair of red bellows, the player of the base drum thumping away with hispadded stick; but you hear nothing--nothing save an occasional muffledboom from the big drum; how can you when all about you cheers arethundering forth for "_Erskine! Erskine! Erskine!_" Your throat is dryand parched, the perspiration is trickling down your cheek, and youreyes are dazzled with the sunlight; but you're as happy as a clam athigh tide, for the sixth inning has begun, neither side has yet scored,Erskine is at bat, and your heart's in your mouth!

  Five innings without a tally doesn't sound exciting, and yet, ifwe except the second, every one of those five innings had kept theaudience on the edges of the seats. In every inning save the secondRobinson had placed men on bases, and at the end of each the supportersof the Purple had heaved sighs of heartfelt relief, finding sufficientsatisfaction in the fact that the Brown had not scored. Only oncehad Erskine dared hope for a tally. That was in the third. The tallydidn't come. It had been a pitcher's battle, and the palm had gone toVose, the tall, thin fellow whose spindle-shanks were encased in brownstockings. Not a single hit had been made off him, while Gilberth hadbeen struck freely, yet had frequently managed to puzzle the batsmanwhen a single would have brought in a run, or possibly two. When summedup it came to this: Erskine had been outplayed, and that Robinson didnot now lead by several tallies was due to her inability to make herhits at the right time. The players of each college, in batting order,were as follows:

  ERSKINE Perkins, catcher, captain. Motter, first base. Gilberth, pitcher. Bissell, center-field. Knox, shortstop. King, left-field. Northup, right-field. Stiles, second base. Billings, third base.

  ROBINSON Cox, first base. Condit, catcher. Hopkins, third base. Morgan, shortstop. Devlin, left-field. Wood, center-field, captain. Richman, second base. Regan, right-field. Vose, pitcher.

  At the beginning of the sixth inning it was anybody's game. Billings,the tag-ender, went to bat. On the Erskine stand the cheering diedaway and the purple flags ceased waving and fluttering in the stillafternoon air. Across the diamond the band laid aside its instruments,and the shadow of the western stand crept along the turf until itsedge touched the line of white that marked the coacher's box. On theplayers' benches the men leaned forward anxiously and watched Billingsthrust his cap back and grip his bat determinedly.

  But it was soon evident to the watchers that Erskine was not to score.Billings hit a short grounder to first-baseman who scooped it up andtagged the bag before the batsman was half-way toward it. Joe Perkinshad two strikes called on him ere he found the ball, and sent a highfoul into the hands of left-fielder. He tossed aside the bat with alook of disgust and paused on his way back to the bench to whisperinto the ear of Motter, the next victim to the deceptive curves of themerciless Vose. Joe crowded into a space between Billings and TracyGilberth.

  "_I_ can't find him," he sighed.

  "No, hang him," growled Tracy, "he's too much for any of us. But I'llbet he'll let down before the game's over; and then--well, then we wantto be ready, Joe!"

  "Do you think he will? It doesn't look like it."

  Tracy nodded knowingly.

  "His arm's getting stiff. I know the signs. So's mine, for that matter,and I've pitched perfectly rotten ball, Joe!"

  "Nonsense, you've done good work. But let me know as soon as you wantto quit, Tracy. How about the next inning?"

  "That's for you to say," answered Tracy. "But I guess I can hold outthrough the seventh, if you don't mind."

  "All right; I'll put King in for the eighth. Oh, hang! Come on,fellows! Out on the run!"

  Motter had struck out, and was trotting to his position at first,drawing on his glove and looking wofully sad. The Robinson band struckup again, and the Erskine contingent, not to be outdone, started thecheers once more, while the purple-sleeved players spread out over thediamond.

  Joe thumped his big mitten and Tracy picked up the ball. The umpire,a rotund little man in a navy-blue blouse shirt, ran nimbly to hisposition.

  "First man!" cried Joe confidently.

  The batsman was the Robinson captain and center-fielder, Wood. Tracywas not greatly afraid of Wood, and so saved his arm by pitching afew slow balls, none of which the Robinson captain was able to touch.When he struck out the Erskine cheers rang across the field. Richmancame next. He was the first of the Brown's tail-enders on the battinglist, and he followed the way of his captain, while the purple flagsfluttered joyously.

  Perhaps Tracy was overconfident, for when Regan, the enemy'sright-fielder, stepped to the plate, he shook his head at Joe's signalfor an outshoot, and sent a straight, slow ball over the corner of thebase. And Regan got it on his bat and sent it arching in easy flighttoward second, and raced for the bag.

  "Mine!" called Stiles.

  "Take it!" shouted little Knox, backing him up.

  But Stiles didn't take it. Instead he let it slip through his fingers,and so when Knox had recovered and fielded it to Motter the runner wassafe.

  "Twenty minutes!" yelled the Robinson coach derisively. Then he began adesperate effort to rattle Gilberth. "On your toes!" he shrieked. "Goon, go on! He daren't throw it! Way off now! I'll look out for you! Wayoff! Now! _Now!_ NOW!"

  Tracy was disgusted because he had allowed Regan to hit him, and theshrieks of the coacher annoyed him. Earlier in the game he would nothave minded twenty coachers, but now his arm was aching and growingstiff and tired and his temper and nerves were not so well in command.The next batsman was Vose, the Robinson pitcher. Vose was the poorestperformer with the st
ick of any of his team, and in the natural orderof things should have been struck out without difficulty. But thistime he found the second ball that came to him and hit it safely intoright-field, and Regan took second. Then came Cox, the head of thebatting list, and swung his ash wickedly while he waited.

  There were coaches behind both first and third now, and their shriekshurtled back and forth across the diamond. Tracy looked bothered, andJoe strove to hide his anxiety under a show of confidence.

  "Next man, fellows!" he called cheerily. Motter took his cue from himand added his voice. "He's a goner, Tracy! Strike him out, old man!"

  And for a while it seemed that Tracy would do it. But when the littlefat umpire had called two strikes and two balls on him Cox managed tofind something that suited him, and cracked it out past shortstop.Regan reached third, and, with two out, the bases were full. Joe andTracy had a whispered consultation, while the Robinson stands hootedderisively, and then took their places again. Condit, the Brown'scatcher, and one of the best batters, tapped the plate and looked asthough he meant to bring in a run. The coachers kept up their medley oftaunts and warnings, but Tracy had found his head again and paid notthe slightest attention.

  The first ball went wide, and Joe's brilliant stop brought forth aburst of applause. Tracy hurried up, apologetic, keeping an eye on thebases. "Sorry, Joe," he said.

  "All right, old man," answered the captain cheerfully. "Now let's puthim out."

  Two strikes followed.

  "Good eye, Tracy!" "Fine work, old man!" "That's the pitching!"encouraged the infielders. Then the batsman elicited laughter andapplause from his supporters by crossing the plate and suddenlybecoming a left-handed batter. Tracy looked surprised, and his next twoefforts were pronounced balls. Joe leaned far to the left and squeezedhis hands between his knees. Tracy nodded. But the batsman was anold hand, and was not deceived by the inshoot that followed. "Threeballs!" cried the umpire. Everything depended on the next pitch. Tracystraightened his arms, swung his foot, and hurled a straight ball waisthigh for the plate. Condit met it with his bat, but failed to hit itsquarely, and it went high into the air, and the men on bases racedtoward home.

  When the sphere came down it was undeniably second-baseman's ball, andStiles stood ready for it. Regan reached home, and the next man, Vose,swung around third. Suddenly a shout of joy burst from the Robinsonstands and the coachers were screaming like mad. Stiles had muffed!

  Vose, with a coacher racing along beside him, sped for home. But Knoxhad seized the ball almost before it had touched the ground, and nowhe threw it straight and sure toward the plate. Vose hurled himselfforward when fully ten feet distant, and slid for his goal, but theball was there before him, and Joe's right hand swept down and taggedhim. The side was out. The Erskine players hurried in to the bench, andGilberth picked out his bat.

  It was the beginning of the seventh inning, but the score was no longera blank; Robinson led 1 to 0. The band played wildly. Jack Weatherby,on the bench, felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find Hansonspeaking.

  "You cover second, Weatherby," said the coach.