Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER VII

  TAKING HIS MEDICINE

  The team had been tested almost to its limit this season, and the strainwas beginning to show. Each player was worked up to the highest possiblenervous tension, and no man can last long under such conditions. Evenwith professional players this condition becomes very apparent in ahard-fought series, and so was even more plainly seen among thesecomparatively inexperienced contestants for the honor of their almamater.

  Another thing that tended strongly to demoralize them was the fact ofBert's being unable to play. His burned hands, while rapidly mending,were still unable to grip the ball. Of course, they knew that this wasmerely a temporary calamity, but even to have the pitcher on whom theyhad based their strongest hopes out of commission for almost two weeksmeant much to them. Winters and Benson, while undoubtedly good pitchers,fell considerably short of the standard set by Bert, and all the playersrealized this.

  Of course, it may be argued that they should not allow themselves to beaffected by anything of this kind, but no one who has not actually beena ball player can fully realize what it means to a team, when they arenearing the end of a neck and neck struggle, to be deprived of theirstar pitcher. It must also be remembered that Bert, while not by anymeans as good a batter as he was a pitcher, was nevertheless a strongbatsman, and had the happy faculty of "swatting them out" at the timewhen they would do the most good. On this account, his loss was feltmore keenly than would have ordinarily been the case.

  Another thing, but one that was never openly alluded to, was theknowledge that each boy had, that Winters was not the pitcher he hadbeen once upon a time. His breaks from training were becoming more andmore frequent, and all that the coach could say in the way of threat orentreaty seemed to have no effect. Winters had gotten in with a fastset, and no argument or persuasion could induce him to see the error ofhis way.

  Reddy did not dare to remove him from the team, however, as that wouldhave left him only one pitcher of any value, namely, Benson, and nobodyknew better than the wily trainer that Benson could seldom be dependedon to pitch good ball during an entire game.

  Again and again Reddy had cursed the fate that deprived him of his starpitcher at such a crucial time, but of course, as is usually the case,that did little good. It was too late now to try to develop anotherpitcher, even had he known of anyone capable of training for thatimportant post, which he did not.

  So he just set his jaw, and resolved to make the best of what he had. Upto to-day, which was destined to see one of the season's most importantbattles, he had managed, by dint of skillful coaching and substitutingat critical moments, to maintain the lead that the team had gainedlargely through Bert's remarkable work in the box.

  He felt that if the team won to-day's game, they would have a comfortablelead until Bert was able to resume his pitching. If, on the other hand,they lost, he realized that they would have small chance of winning thechampionship. No one would have suspected from his outward appearancewhat thoughts were going on in his mind, but if they had, they would havebeen astonished. To the players, and to everybody else, he presented sucha calm and composed exterior that the boys felt more confident the minutethey saw him. As the time for the game drew near, he gathered the boystogether in the clubhouse, and proceeded to make a little speech and givethem some valuable advice.

  They listened attentively, and went out on the diamond with a do-or-dieexpression written on their faces. Needless to say, Bert was there, andnobody felt worse than he over his misfortune.

  "Gee!" he exclaimed to Tom, ruefully, "this is certainly what you mightcall tough luck. Here I am, with my arm feeling better than it ever didbefore, and just on account of a few pesky burns I can't pitch."

  "It's tough, all right, and no mistake," sympathized Dick, "but nevermind. If Winters can only do half way decent pitching, we'll comethrough all right."

  Bert said nothing, not wishing to discourage his friend, but to himselfhe admitted that things had a rather bad aspect. The team they were toplay to-day was noted for its heavy batters, and he knew that it wouldtake a pitcher in the most perfect condition to stand the strain of ninelong innings against such sluggers. His thoughts were not of thepleasantest, therefore, as he sat on the bench, nibbling a blade ofgrass, and watched the practice of the two teams with critical eyes.

  Murray, reputed to be the heaviest hitter on the Maroon team, wasknocking out flies to his teammates, and Bert was forced to admire theconfident way in which he lined the ball out, without ever missing aswing.

  His own team was playing with snap and ginger, though, and this factcomforted Bert somewhat.

  "Well," he thought to himself, "the teams seem to be about equallymatched, and if nothing out of the ordinary happens, we ought to have agood show to win. I only hope that all the rumors I've been hearingabout Winters lately are not true."

  As Bert had seen, both teams showed up well in the preliminary practice,and each made several plays that evoked applause from the grandstandsand bleachers.

  Soon the umpire walked out on the field, adjusting his mask andprotecting pads, and the crowds settled down for a couple of hours ofwhat they realized would be intense excitement.

  "Battery for the Maroons, Moore and Hupfel!" shouted the umpire. "Forthe Blues, Winters and Hinsdale!"

  As they were the visitors to-day, the Blues of course went to the batfirst. They were quickly retired by snappy work and took the field.Winters seemed in fine form, and struck out the opposing batters in goodshape, only one getting a hit, and he was caught stealing.

  This ended the first inning, with no runs scored for either side, andReddy began to feel more confident. However, little could be prophesiedregarding the outcome at this early stage of the game, and Reddy walkedover to the bench and sat down beside Bert.

  "Well, my boy," he said, "if they don't get any more hits off us thanthey did in that inning, we won't be so bad off, after all. Wintersseems to be in fine shape, don't you think?"

  "He certainly does," replied Bert, "he's holding them down in finestyle. You couldn't ask for better pitching than he's putting up."

  "Ye couldn't, fer a fact," said the trainer, and both settled back tosee what the Blues would accomplish in their turn at bat.

  Dick was next on the batting list, and he strode to the plate with hisusual jaunty step. He waited two balls before he got one to suit him,but then landed out a hot grounder, and just managed to beat it to firstbase.

  "That's good! that's good!" yelled Reddy, dancing about on one leg. "Theboys are beginning to get their batting caps on now, and it won't belong before we have a string of runs longer than a Dachshund. Go to it,Blues, go to it!"

  Poor Reddy! His high hopes were doomed to fall quickly. Hodge struckout, and with lightning-like rapidity the catcher snapped the ball downto second. For once, Dick was the fraction of a second too slow, andthe ball beat him to the base by a hair's breadth.

  "Two out!" yelled the umpire, and Reddy dropped into his seat with adismal groan. White, the strong hitting shortstop, was the next batsman,but after knocking two high flies, he was struck out by a fast inshoot.

  However, Winters appeared to be pitching airtight ball, and while a fewfeeble flies were garnered from his delivery, the fielders had nodifficulty in catching them.

  When the home team came to bat, their first man up, who happened to bethe catcher, cracked out a swift, low fly between Winters and Tom, andtore around to second base before the ball came in from the field.

  To Reddy's keen eyes, studying carefully every phase and mood of gameand man, it was apparent that Winters' confidence was shaken a little bythis occurrence. His pitching to the next batter was wild, and hefinally gave the man a base on balls. Bert leaned forward intently, andhis eyes were fairly glued on the players. Oh, if he could only goout there and pitch for the rest of the game! But he knew this wasimpossible with his hands in the condition they were, and he uttered animpatient exclamation.

  With two men on bases and none out, matters began
to look doubtful forthe devoted Blues. The very first ball Winters pitched to the nextbatter was hit for a long two-bagger, and the runner on second canteredleisurely home.

  Now even the fans in the bleachers realized that something was amisswith the pitcher of the Blues, and those opposed to them set up anuproarious clapping and hooting in the hope of rattling him stillfurther. This was not wholly without effect, and Bert noted withever-growing anxiety that Winters appeared to be unable to stand quietlyin the box during the pauses in the game, but fidgeted around nervously,at one time biting his nails, and at another, shifting constantly fromone foot to the other. A meaner nature than our hero might have beenglad to note the discomfiture of one whom he had every reason todislike, but Bert was not built after such a pattern. His one thoughtwas that the college would suffer heavily if this game were lost, and hehardly gave a thought to his private grievances. The college was thething that counted.

  Winters, by a great effort, tightened up a little after this, and withthe help of snappy support retired the Maroons, but not before thelatter had garnered another precious run.

  The visiting team did nothing, however, for although they got a runnerto third at one time, he was put out by a quick throw from pitcher tofirst.

  Thus ended the second inning, and to the casual observer it seemed asthough the teams were pretty evenly matched. To Reddy's practised eye,however, it was apparent that the Blues had a little the edge on theiropponents, except in the matter of pitching. Here, indeed, it was hardto tell who was the better pitcher, the Maroon boxman or Winters. Bothwere pitching good ball, and Reddy realized that it would probablynarrow down to a question of which one had the greater staying power.

  "If only we had young Wilson pitching," he thought to himself, "I wouldbreathe a whole lot easier. However, there's no use crossing a bridgetill you come to it, and I may be having all my worriment for nothin'.Somethin' tells me, though, that we're goin' to have trouble beforethis game is over. May all the Saints grant that I'm wrong."

  For the next three innings, however, it appeared as though the trainer'sforebodings were without foundation. Both teams played with snap anddash, and as yet only two runs had been scored.

  At the beginning of the sixth inning, Tom was slated as the first manup, and he walked to the plate filled with a new idea Bert had givenhim. "Wait until about the fourth ball that that fellow pitches," Berthad told him, "and then bounce on it good and plenty. The first two orthree balls he pitches are full of steam, but then, if nobody has evenstruck at them, he gets careless, and puts one over that you ought to beable to land on without any trouble. You just try that and see whathappens."

  This Tom proceeded to do, and found that it was indeed as Bert had said.The first ball pitched seemed good, but Tom let it go by, and had astrike called on him. The next one was a ball, but the third one was ahot curve that looked good, and ordinarily Tom would have taken a chanceand swung at it. Now, however, he was resolved to follow Bert's advice tothe letter, and so allowed the ball to pass him. "Gee, that guy's scaredstiff," someone yelled from the bleachers, and the crowd laughed. Itcertainly did seem as though Tom had lost his nerve, and his teammates,who were not in on the secret yet, looked puzzled. Tom paid no attentionto the shouts from the grandstand, and his well-known ability as a"waiter" stood him in good stead. True to Bert's prediction, the pitchereased up a little when winding up for the next ball, and Tom saw that heshared the general impression that he had lost his nerve. The ball provedto be a straight, fast one, and Tom slugged it squarely with all thestrength in his body. Amid a hoarse roar from the watching thousands, hetore around the bases and slid into third before he was stopped by White,who was waiting for him.

  "Gee, Tom!" ejaculated the excited and delighted shortstop. "How in timedid you ever think of such a clever trick. You sure fooled that pitcherat his own game."

  "It wasn't my idea, it was Bert's," said Tom, truthfully.

  "Whoever's it was, it was a crackerjack one, at any rate," said White,jubilantly. "If Flynn can only get a hit now we'll have a run, and itlooks as though we would need all that we can get."

  Flynn, in accordance with instructions from Reddy, laid an easy buntdown toward first base, and, although he was put out, Tom scurried overthe plate about two jumps in front of the ball, and the first run forthe Blues had been scored.

  The small band of loyal rooters for the Blues struck up one of thefamiliar college songs, and things looked bright for their team. Theopposing pitcher was not to be fooled again, however, and while Drakewas waiting for a ball to suit him he was struck out, much to thedelight of the hostile fans.

  Thus at the end of the seventh inning the score stood two to one infavor of the Maroons, and their pitcher was "as good as new," as hehimself put it.

  Now Dick went to bat, and waited, with no sign of the nervousness thatwas beginning to be manifested by his teammates, for a ball that was tohis liking. He let the first one go past, but swung hard at the second,and cracked out a hot liner right at the pitcher. Most pitchers wouldhave let a smoking fly like that pass them, for fear of injuring theirhands, but evidently this boxman was not lacking in nerve. The ballcracked into his outstretched mitt with a report like a pistol shot, andhe held on to it.

  "Out!" shouted the umpire, and Dick, who had started to sprint to first,walked to the bench with a disgusted air.

  "Hang it all, anyway," he exclaimed disgustedly, "who'd have thought hewould stop that one? I could just see myself resting peacefully atsecond base, and then he has to go and do a thing like that. A meantrick, I call it."

  Dick made a pretence of taking the matter in this light manner in orderto keep up the spirits of his teammates, but not by any means because hefelt happy about it. Quite the contrary.

  Hodge, the right fielder, came up next, but only succeeded in popping upa feeble fly that the third baseman caught easily after a short run in.White waited patiently for one to suit him, but while he was waiting,three strikes were called on him, and he retired in a crestfallenmanner.

  In the meantime, Reddy had been talking to Winters. "How do you feel,Winters?" he had inquired anxiously, "do you feel strong enough to holdthem down for the rest of this game?"

  "Aw, don't worry yourself about me," Winters had replied in a surlyvoice. "I'm all right. I never felt better in my life," but something inhis voice belied his words.

  "All right," returned the trainer, "but remember this, my lad: if we putBenson in now, we might be able to hold them down. I'm going to takeyour say so, though, and let you pitch the next inning. If they get toyou, however, you'll have to take your medicine. It will be too latethen to put Benson in, and of course Wilson is in no shape to pitch.Now, it's up to you."

  "That's all right," growled Winters. Then he suddenly flared up: "Isuppose if that blamed Freshie were in condition you'd have put him into pitch long ago, wouldn't you?"

  "That I would, my lad," returned Reddy, in an ominously quiet voice."Now, go in there and pitch, and don't give me any more back talk thatyou'll be sorry for afterward."

  Winters seemed about to make some hot reply to this, but after amoment's hesitation, thought better of it, and turned sullenly away,putting on his glove as he walked slowly to his position.

  He vented his anger on the first few balls he pitched, and they wentover the plate with speed and to spare. This did not last long, however,and after he had struck out one man his speed began to slacken. Thesecond man up landed a high fly into right field that Hodge, although hemade a brave try for it, was unable to get to in time. The runner racedaround to third before he was stopped by the warning cries of histeammates.

  "We've got 'em going! We've got 'em going!" chanted the home rooters inone mighty chorus, and Winters scowled at them viciously.

  The next five balls he pitched were "wild as they make 'em," and onlyone strike was registered. In consequence the batter walked leisurely tofirst, and as he neared Winters said, "Much obliged, old chap." If lookscould have killed, Winters would surely have been
a murderer, butfortunately it takes more than that to kill a ball player, and so thegame went on without interruption.

  The following batter made a clever sacrifice bunt, and the man on thirdbrought home a run, while the one on first reached second.

  "Gee, it's all over now, I'm afraid," groaned Bert to himself. "Wintersis up in the air sky high, and after their argument Reddy probably willnot put Benson in, because he's cold and it would do no good. We'll bebaked brown on both sides before this game is finished."

  And Bert was not far wrong. The Maroons landed on Winters "like a ton ofbrick," as Tom afterward said, and proceeded to wipe up the field withhim. The game became a massacre, and when the home team was finallyretired the score stood six to one in their favor.

  When Winters came in from the field he was white and shaking, and Reddyfelt sorry for him. "Just the same," he reflected, "this will teach hima lesson, maybe, and it may lead to his sticking more closely toregulations and the training table. Midnight booze-fighting and goodball playing don't mix very well." Reddy might have gone further, andsaid that "booze fighting" did not mix very well with anything worthwhile, and not have been far wrong.

  Actuated by these reflections, the trainer resolved to make Winterspitch out the rest of the game, as it was hopelessly lost anyway, in thehope of making him reform.

  The Blues were thoroughly demoralized by this time, and theirhalf-hearted attempts to score met with little success. Hinsdale, afterboth the batsmen preceding him had been struck out, landed on the ballfor a long high fly into center, and got to second on it. He went nofurther, however, as Tom lifted a high foul to the opposing catcher. Ofcourse this ended the game, as it would have been useless to finish theninth inning.

  The Maroon rooters rose in a body and rent the air with their songs andcollege yells. The loyal Blues present did their best, but could notmake themselves heard amidst the general uproar.

  "The Blues haven't got a chance for the pennant now," exulted one rooterto his friend. "They're on the downward road now, and will stay theretill the end of the season. You watch and see if they don't."

  But there was a Freshman pitcher on the bench that knew better.