Frank Merriwell's Son; Or, A Chip Off the Old Block

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE SUBSTITUTES.

  After looking through the baths and the cozy little clubhouse, Bart andBerlin mounted the stairs to the observation cupola of the latter. Fromthis point they could look down on the field or back toward Farnham Halland Merry Home.

  "Truly a most fascinating spot. That's a grand old house of Frank's.Makes me think of the fine old colonial mansions of the South."

  "That was Merry's idea in remodeling it," nodded Hodge. "Although bornin the North, Frank is a man of the whole country. He's cosmopolitan. Hehas absorbed the spirit of the South, the East, and the West. He's inevery way what you may call a representative American. There's noquestion about the home atmosphere of those old colonial houses. Theymake one feel sorry for the dinky, finicky, filigree houses built bymost people in these days."

  There was a shout from the baseball field below, and, looking downthere, they saw several boys scampering round the diamond.

  "Somebody made a great hit then," observed Berlin. "It was a homer, andevidently the bases were full."

  "That's the regular team at bat," exclaimed Hodge. "It's playing thesecond team."

  "How many teams are there?"

  "Four in all, although beyond the second team the other two are notparticularly strong. The second team fancies it's as good as theregulars, and it has beaten the regulars once. Let's go down."

  A few minutes later they walked onto the field, where a hot disputeseemed to be taking place. Guy Featherstone, the pitcher of the secondteam, was furiously arguing with the umpire, who threatened to put himout of the game.

  "Put me out! put me out!" dared Feather. "You're robbing us, anyhow!You're giving Sparkfair's bunch everything! You passed Bemis when I hadhim fairly struck out, and that gave Sparkfair a chance to make thathit. Before that we had three to one and were trimming them in greatshape. Now they're two runs ahead of us. I suppose you've fixed it upwith Spark. He's bound to win, if he has to make a deal with the umpireto do it."

  Dale Sparkfair, a handsome lad with blue eyes, broke into a merry laugh.

  "Featherstone, your head is as light as the front part of your name andas thick as the rear end of it," he declared. "You know I'm not given tomaking deals with umpires. All I ever ask for is a square show, and I'llhave that or take to the warpath."

  "Well, what do I get, what do I get?" snarled Feather, showing histeeth. "You can't bully everybody, Dale Sparkfair! I demand a squareshow myself. I can tell when I strike a man out. I put the third strikeover fairly, and Bemis never wiggled at it. Kilgore called it a ball andfilled the bases."

  The umpire was a boy with a queer, crooked mouth, one corner of whichtwisted up while the other drooped.

  "You seem to think everybody's crooked, Featherstone," he said angrily."I'm not umpiring this game for fun, but because you--you asked me to."

  "I didn't suppose you were another of Sparkfair's sycophants!" flungback Featherstone. "You're as crooked as your mouth!"

  An instant later, had not Sparkfair and others held them apart, Kilgorewould have struck Featherstone.

  "Stop where you are, both of you!" commanded Dale sternly. "We'll haveno fighting here on this field."

  "He'll have to swallow his words, or I'll punch him for them!"

  "I'll play no further with that fellow umpiring!" declared Featherstone."I am going to stop right here, and I think some of the rest feel thesame. Come on, boys, let's quit."

  "The quitters will quit," came from Sparkfair; "but I don't believethere are many quitters here, Feather."

  Guy walked out and called for his men to follow him off the field.

  "I'm with you," said one of them. "I think you're right, Feather, andI'm done."

  "Yes, take Booby along with you, Feather," said Dale. "I thought likelyhe might hoist the white flag."

  "We'll stop the game!" sneered Featherstone. "The team can't playwithout us. Kilgore can forfeit to you, and you may feel as proud as youlike over your victory."

  "Perhaps we'll be able to pick up a pitcher and a second baseman to fillthe vacancies," said Sparkfair, looking around. "Who'll volunteer? Anyone will do. We want to finish out this practice game."

  "Come, Carson," urged Hodge, "let's you and I go into that game. I'llpitch, and you play second."

  "I'm all out of practice," said Berlin.

  "And I'm not a pitcher, you know," reminded Hodge. "We can limber up andhave some amusement, anyhow."

  He offered their services, and his offer was promptly accepted by thesecond team, not a little to the dissatisfaction and dismay ofFeatherstone.

  "I'm the captain of that team," cried Guy, "and I order it off thefield!"

  Bart walked up to the angry boy, placed a hand on his shoulder, andlooked straight into his eyes.

  "I'm afraid you're just what Sparkfair has called you, my son--aquitter," said Hodge, in a low tone. "The rest of the boys are going toplay. You and your friend had better run over to the Hall. Trot along,now."

  Muttering and growling, Featherstone turned away.

  Hodge and Carson removed their coats, vests, collars, and neckties, andprepared for business.

  "How does the game stand?" asked Bart, as he walked out to the pitcher'sposition.

  "Score is five to three against you, and this is the sixth inning,"answered Sparkfair. "You have your last turn at bat."

  "How many men out?"

  "Two."

  "Come here, catcher," invited Bart. "I'll have to know your signals."

  Walter Shackleton hurried to meet Hodge and explained his system ofsignals. Bart listened and nodded.

  "Give me a few minutes to get the kinks out of my arm, Sparkfair?" heasked, as he again resumed the position at the pitching plate.

  "Sure, sure," smiled Dale. "Go ahead and unbend your wing."

  Hodge threw a dozen balls to Brooks at first. Then, with Lander, thenext batter, standing back, he sent two or three over the plate toShackleton.

  "All right," he finally nodded.

  "Play!" called Kilgore.

  Jake Lander stepped into the batter's box and smashed the first ballpitched by Bart. He drove it whizzing past Hodge, who did not have timeto touch it.

  Carson trapped it cleanly, scooped it up, and threw it to Higgins atfirst.

  "Out!" shouted Kilgore.

  "Great support, Berlin, old boy!" laughed Bart, as the second teamtrotted in, and Sparkfair's nine took the field.

  "Now we want to take a little fire out of this bright Spark, boys," saidBart. "We need a couple of runs right off the reel. Who's the firsthitter?"

  "I am," answered Sam Higgins.

  "What's your position on the list?"

  "Third."

  "All right. Play your own game."

  Higgins stepped out and swiped rather wildly at the first two balls,missing them both.

  "Make him get it over, my boy!" urged Bart.

  With Sam anxious to hit, Sparkfair did his best to "pull" him on wideones, but Higgins let them pass, and three balls were called.

  "Now you have him where you want him," came from Hodge. "If he doesn'tcut the pan, you will saunter."

  Sparkfair attempted to cut the pan with a swift one, but Higgins hit it.It was a hot grounder to Netterby, who fumbled it long enough forHungry Sam to arrive at first in safety.

  Tommy Chuckleson and Sam Scrogg were on the coaching lines.

  "We're off again!" shouted Scrogg.

  "Off again, on again, gone again!" piped Chuckleson. "It's up to you,Balloon! Don't take an ascension!"

  Abe Bunderson, nicknamed "Balloon," was the next man to strike. Ere heleft the bench, Hodge whispered in his ear:

  "Bunt, my boy. You know what Joe Crowfoot can do throwing. Higgins can'tsteal. Sacrifice him to second."

  Balloon nodded.

  He obeyed instructions, bunting rather awkwardly, yet skillfully, andsacrificing himself at first, while Higgins took second.

  "Hodge next!" called the scorer.

  "You're up against
it now, Sparkfair," came from Lawrence Graves, asBart stood forth to the plate.

  "I'm scared to death!" laughed Dale. "See me tremble! See me vibrate!"

  The infielders crept in for a bunt, while Sparkfair pitched a swift,high ball.

  Hodge attempted to drop the ball just inside the first-base line, butmade a foul tip, and the sphere plunked into young Joe Crowfoot's mitt.

  "Don't pick 'em right off the bat, Joseph," remonstrated Bart. "If youget so close, you'll catch the ball before I have time to hit it."

  The Indian boy smiled grimly.

  "Mebbe that keep you from tying score," he said.

  Sparkfair worked cautiously with Hodge, and, as a result, two balls werecalled after this first strike.

  "Walking is easier than running, Spark," reminded Bart.

  "Then I think I'll let you chase," said Dale. "I hope you chase the ballinstead of chasing round the bases."

  Hodge was watching Dale's every movement. He saw Sparkfair hold theball, covered by his hands, close to his mouth. Evidently the pitcherintended to use the spit ball. Nevertheless, something warned Bart thatDale had turned the ball over and grasped the dry side. His pretense oftrying a spit ball was all a bluff.

  Whiz! The ball came whistling from Spark's fingers.

  Crack! Hodge met it fairly on the trade-mark.

  Away, away, away sailed the sphere, passing far over the head of ThadBarking, the center fielder, who had turned and was running as fast ashis legs would carry him.

  Guy Featherstone and Booby Walker had paused at a distance to watch thegame a few moments.

  Featherstone uttered a furious exclamation of anger.

  "I'm glad he hit that ball, and yet it makes me mad!" he grated. "Imight have done the same myself. Just look at that--just look at it!It's a home run! It ties the score!"

  He was right.