the Shortstop (1992)

by Grey, Zane

  At the commencement of the third inning neither side had yet scored. It was Chase's first time up, and as he bent over the bats trying to pick out a suitable one, Cas said to him:

  "Say, Kid, this guy 'll be easy for you. Wait him out now. Let his curve ball go.

  Chase felt perfectly cool when he went up. The crowd gave him a great hand, which surprised but did not disconcert him. He stood square up to the plate, his left foot a little in advance. He watched the Kenton pitcher with keen eyes; he watched the motion, and he watched the ball as it sped towards him rather high and close to his face. He watched another, a wide curve, go by. The next was a strike, the next a ball, and then following, another strike. Chase had not moved a muscle.

  The bleachers yelled: " Good eye, old man! hit her out now!"

  With three and two Chase lay back and hit the next one squarely. It rang off the bat, a beautiful liner that struck the right-field fence a few feet from the top. Chase reached third base, overran it, to be flung back by Cas.

  The crowd roared. Winters, the captain, came running out and sent Cas to the bench. Then he began to coach.

  " Look out, Chase! Hold your base on an infield hit! Play it safe! Play it safe ! Here's where we make a run, here's where we make a run! Here's where we make a run! Hey, there, pitcher, you're up in the air already! Oh! What we won't do to you! Steady, Chase, now you're off. Hit it out, old man! That's the eye ! Make it good! Mugg's Landing! Irish stew! Lace curtains! Ras-pa-tas ! Oh my - " Bawling at the top of his voice, spitting tobacco juice everywhere, with wild eyes and sweaty face, Winters hopped up and down the coaching line. When Benny put up a little fly back of second Winters started Chase for the plate and ran with him. The ball dropped safe and the run scored easily.

  When Chase went panting to the bench Mac screwed up his stubby cigar and gazed at his new find with enraptured eyes. " I guess maybe thet hit didn't bust our losin' streak! "

  Whatever Chase's triple had to do with it, the fact was that the Findlay players suddenly recovered their batting form. For two weeks they had been hitting atrociously, as Mac said, and now every player seemed to find hits in his bat. Thatcher tore off three singles; Cas got two and a double; and the others hit in proportion.

  Chase rapped another against the rightfield fence, hitting a painted advertisement that gave a pair of shoes to every player performing the feat; and to the delirious joy of the bleachers and stands, at his last time up, he put the ball over the fence for a home run.

  It was a happy custom of the oil-men of Findlay, who devoted themselves to the game, to throw silver dollars out of the stand at the player making a home run. A bright shower of this kind completely bewildered Chase. He picked up ten, and Cas handed him seven more that had rolled in the dust.

  " A suit of clothes goes with that hit, me boy," sang out Cas.

  It was plainly a day for Chase and Cas. The Kenton players were at the mercy of the growling pitcher. When they did connect with the ball, sharp fielding prevented safe hits. Chase had eleven chances, some difficult, one particularly being a hard bounder over second base, all of which he fielded perfectly. But on two occasions fast, tricky base !runners deceived him, bewildered him, so that instead of throwing the ball he held it. These plays gave Kenton the two lonely runs chalked up to their credit against seventeen for Findlay.

  "Well, we'll give you those tallies," said Cas, swaggering off the field. He had more than kept his threat, for Kenton made but one safe hit.

  " Wheeling to-morrow, boys," he yelled in the dressing-room. " We'll take three straight. Say! Did any of you cheap skates see my friend Chase hit today? Did you see him? Oh! I guess he didn't put the wood on a few! I guess not! Over the fence and far away! That one is going yet!"

  Chase was dumfounded to hear every player speak to him in glowing terms. He thought they had bitterly resented his arrival, and they had; yet here was each one warmly praising his work. And in the next breath they were fighting among themselves. Truly these young men were puzzles to Chase. He gave up trying to understand them.

  A loud uproar caused him to turn. The players were holding their sides with laughter, and Cas was doing a Highland fling in the middle of the floor. Mac looked rather white and sick. This struck Chase as remarkable after the decisive victory, and he asked the nearest player what was wrong.

  "Oh! nuthin' much ! Mac only swallowed his cigar stub! " It was true, as could be plainly seen from Mac's expression. When the noise subsided he said:

  "Shure, I did. Was it any wonder? Seein' this dead bunch come back to life was enough to make me swallow my umbrella. Boys," here a smile lighted up his smug face, "now we've got thet hole plugged at short the pennant is ours. We've got 'em skinned to a frazzle! "

  Chapter VII.

  MITTIE-MARU.

  CHASE, you hung bells on 'em yes-tiddy."

  Among the many greetings Chase received from the youngsters swarming out to the grounds to see their heroes whip Wheeling, this one struck him as most original and amusing. It was given him by Mittie-Maru, the diminutive hunchback who had constituted himself mascot of the team. Chase had heard of the boy, and had seen him on the day before but not to take any particular notice.

  " Let me carry yer bat."

  Chase looked down upon a sad and strange little figure. Mittie-Maru did not much exceed a yard in height; he was all misshapen and twisted, with a large head, which was set deep into the hump on his shoulders. He was only a boy, yet he had an almost useless body aid the face of an old man.

  Chase hurriedly lifted his gaze, thinking with a pang of self-reproach how trifling was his crooked eye compared to the hideous deformity of this lad.

  "Three straight from Wheelin' is all we want," went on Mittie-Maru.

  "We'll skin the coal diggers all right, all right. An' we 'll be out in front trailin' a merry 'Ha ! Ha!' fer Columbus. They're leadin' now, an' of all the swelled bunches I ever seen! Put it to us fer three straight when they was here last. But we got a bad start. There I got sick an' couldn't report, an' somehow the team can't win without me. Yestiddy was my first day fer - I don't know how long,-since Columbus trimmed us."

  " What was the matter with you?" asked Chase.

  "Aw! Nuthin'. Jest didn't feel good," replied the boy. "But I got out yestiddy, an' see what you done to Kenton! Say, Chase, you takes mighty long steps. It ain't much wonder you can cover ground."

  Chase modified his pace to suit that of his companion, and he wanted to take the bat, but Mittie-Maru carried it with such pride and conscious superiority over the envious small boys who trooped along with them that Chase could not bring himself to ask for it. As they entered the grounds and approached the door of the club-house Mac came out. He wore a troubled look.

  "Howdy, Mittie ; howdy, Chase," he said, in a loud voice. Then as he hurried by he whispered close to Chase's ear, " Look out for yourself!"

  This surprised Chase so that he hesitated. Mittie-Maru reached the dressing room first and turning to Chase he said; " Somethin' doin', all right, all right ! " This was soon manifest, for as Chase crossed the threshold a chorus of yells met him.

  " Here he is - now say it to his face !"

  " Salver! "

  " Jollier ! "

  "You mushy soft-soaper!"

  Then terms of opprobrium fell about his ears so thickly that he could scarcely distinguish them. And he certainly could not understand why they were made. He went to his locker, opened it, took out his uniform, and began to undress. Mittie-Maru came and sat beside him. Chase looked about him to see Winters lacing up his shoes and taking no part in the vilification. Benny was drunk.

  Meade's flushed face and thick speech showed that he, too, had been drinking. Even Havil made a sneering remark in Chase's direction.

  Chase made note of the fact that Thatcher, Cas, and Speer, one of the pitchers, were not present.

  "You're a Molly!" yelled Meade. "Been makin' up to the reporters, haven't you? Fixin' it all right for yourself, eh? Playin' for the newsp
apers? Well you'll last about a week with Findlay."

  " What do you mean? " demanded Chase.

  "Go wan!" shouted the first base man.

  "As if you hadn't seen the Chronicle! "

  " I haven't," said Chase.

  " Flash it on him," cried Meade.

  Some one threw a newspaper at Chase, and upon opening it to the baseball page he discovered his name in large letters. And he read an account of yesterday's game, which, excepting to mention Cas's fine pitching, made it seem that Chase had played the whole game himself. It was extravagant praise. Chase felt himself grew warm under it, and then guilty at the absence of mention of other players who were worthy of credit. " I don't deserve all that," said he to Meade, "and I don't know how it came to be there."

  "You've been salvin' the reporter, jollyin' him."

  "No, I haven't."

  " You 're a liar!"

  A hot flame leaped to life inside Chase. He had never been called that name. Quickly he sprang up, feeling the blood in his face. Then as he looked at Meade, he remembered the fellow's condition, and what he owed to Mac, and others far away, with the quieting affect that he sat down without a word.

  A moment later Benny swaggered up to him and shook a fist in his face.

  "I 'm a-goin' t' take a bing at yer one skylight an' shut 't for ye."

  Chase easily evaded the blow and arose to his feet. "Benny, you 're drunk."

  Matters might have become serious then, for Chase, undecided for the moment what to do, would not have overlooked a blow, but the gong ringing for practice put an end to the trouble. The players filed out.

  Mittie-Maru plucked at Chase's trousers and whispered, "You ought to 've handed 'em one!"

  Chase's work that afternoon was characterized by the same snap and dash which had won him the applause of the audience in the Kenton games. And he capped it with two timely hits that had much to do with Findlay's victory. But three times during the game, to his consternation, Mac took him to task about certain plays. Chase ran hard back of second and knocked down a base-hit, but which he could not recover in time to throw the runner out. It was a splendid play, for which the stands gave him thundering applause. Nevertheless, as he came in to the bench Mac severely reprimanded him for not getting his man. " You've got to move faster 'n thet," said the little manager, testily. "You're slow as an ice-wagon."

  And after the game Mac came into the dressing-room, where Chase received a good share of his displeasure.

  Didn't you say you knew the game? Well, you're very much on the pazaz today. Now the next time you hit up a fly-ball, don't look to see where it's goin', but run! Keep on runnin'. Fielders muff flies occasionally, an' some day runnin' one out will win a game. An' when you make a base-hit, don't keep on runnin' out to the foul-flag just because it's a single. Always turn for second base, an' take advantage of any little chance to get there. If you make any more dumb plays like thet they'll cost you five each. Got thet?"

  Chase was mystified, and in no happy frame of mind when he left the grounds. Evidently what the crowd thought good playing was quite removed from the manager's consideration of such.

  " Hol' on, Chase," called Mittie-Maru from behind.

  Chase turned to see the little mascot trying to catch up with him. It sud!denly dawned on Chase that the popular idol of the players had taken a fancy to him.

  "Say, Cas tol' me to tell you to come to his room at the hotel after supper."

  " I wonder what he wants. Did he say ?"

  " No. But it's to put you wise, all right, all right. Cas is a good feller. Me an' him has been friends. I heard him say to Mac not to roast you the way he did. An' I wants to put you wise to somethin' myself. Mac's stuck on you. He can't keep a smile off his face when you walk up to the plate, an' when you cut loose to peg one acrost he jest stutters. Oh! he's stuck on you, all right, all right! `Boys, will you look at thet wing?' he keeps sayin'. An' when you come in he says you're rotten to yer face. Don't mind Mac's roasts."

  All of which bewildered Chase only the more. Mittie-Maru chattered about baseball and the players, but he was extremely reticent in regard to himself. this latter fact, in conjunction with his shabby appearance, made Chase think that all was not so well with the lad as it might have been. He found himself returning Mittie-Maru's regard. "Good-bye," said Mittie-Maru at a cross street. " I go down here. See you to-morrer."

  After supper Chase went to the hotel, and seeing that Cas was not among the players in the lobby, he found his room number, and with no little curiosity mounted the stairs.

  "Come in," said Cas, in answer to his knock.

  The big pitcher sat in his shirt sleeves blowing rings of smoke out of the open window.

  "Hello, Chase; was waiting for you. Have a cigar. Don't smoke? Throw yourself round comfortable - but say, lock the door first. I don't want any one butting in."

  Chase found considerable relief and pleasure in the friendly manner of Findlay's star pitcher.

  " I want to have a talk with you, Chase. First, you won't mind a couple of questions."

  " Not at all. Fire away."

  "You're in dead earnest about this baseball business? "

  " I should say I am."

  " You are dead set on making it a success? "

  " I 've got to." Chase told Cas briefly what depended on his efforts.

  " I thought as much. Well, you'll find more than one fellow trying the same. Baseball is full of fellows taking care of mothers and fathers and orphans, too. People who pay to see the game and keep us fellows going don't know just how much good they are doing. Well, Chase, it takes more than speed, a good eye, and a good arm and head to make success."

  " How so? "

  "It's learning how to get along with managers and players. I 've been in the game ten years. Most every player who has been through the mill will let the youngster find out for himself, let him sink or swim. Even managers will not tell you everything. It's baseball ethics. I'm overstepping it because - well, because I want to. I don't mind saying that you 're the most promising youngster I ever saw. Mac is crazy about you. All the same, you won't last two weeks on the Findlay team, or a season in fast company, unless you change."

  " Change? How? "

  " Now, Chase, don't get sore. You 're a little too soft for this business.

  You 're too nice. Lots of boys are that way, but they don't keep so and stay in baseball. Do you understand me?"

  "No, I don't."

  " Well, baseball is a funny game. It's like nothing else. You've noticed how different the players are off the field. They'll treat you white away from the grounds, but once in uniform, lookout ! When a professional puts on his uniform he puts on his armor. And it 's got to be bullet-proof and spike-proof. The players on your own team will get after you, abuse you, roast you, blame you for everything, make you miserable, and finally put you off the team. This may seem to you a mean thing. But it's a way of the game. When a new player is signed everybody gets after him, and if he makes a hit with the crowd, and particularly with the newspapers, the players get after him all the harder. In a way, that's a kind of professional jealousy. But the main point I want to make clear to you is the aggressive spirit of the players who hold their own. On the field ball-playing is a fight all the time. It's good-natured and it's bitter-earnest. Every man for himself! Survival of the fittest ! Dog eat dog ! "

  " Then I must talk back, strike back, fight back?"

  " Exactly. Else you will never succeed in this business. Now, don't take a bad view of it. Baseball is all right; so are the players. The best thing is that the game is square -absolutely square. Once on the inside, you'll find it peculiar, and you've got to adapt yourself."

  "Tell me what to do."

  " You must show your teeth, my boy, that's all. The team is after your scalp. Apart from this peculiarity of the players to be eternally after someone, I'm sure they like you. Winters said you'd make a star if you had any sand. Thatcher said if you lasted you 'd make his batting a
verage look sick. One of them, I think, has it in for you just because he's that sort of a guy. But I mention no names. I'm not a knocker, and let me tell you this - never knock any lad in the business. The thing for you to do, the sooner the better, is to walk into the dressing-room and take a punch at somebody. And then declare yourself strong. Say you'll punch the block off any one who opens his trap to you again."

  "And after that?"

  "You'll find it different. They'll all respect you; you'll get on better for it. Then you'll be one of us. Play hard, learn the game, keep sober - and return word for word, name for name, blow for blow. After a little this chewing the rag becomes no more to you than the putting on of your uniform. It's part of the game. It keeps the life and ginger in you. "

  " All right. If I must - I must replied Chase, and as he spoke the set of his jaw boded ill to some one.

  "Good. I knew you had the right stuff in you. Now, one thing more. Look out for the players on the other teams. They'll spike you, knee you, put you out, if they can. Don't ever slide to a base head first, as you did to!day. Some second-baseman will jump up and come down on you with both feet, and break something, or cut you all up. Don't let any player think you are afraid of him, either."

  IAEm much obliged to you, Cas. What you've told me explains a lot. I suppose every business has something about it a fellow don't like. IAEll do the best I can, and hope I 'll make good, as Mittie-Maru says."

  " There's a kid with nerve! " exclaimed Cas, enthusiastically. " Best fan I ever Knew. He knows the game, too. Poor little beggar! "

  "Tell me about him," said Chase.

  " I don't know much. He turned up here last season, and cottoned to the team at once. Some one found out that he ran off from a poor-house, or home for incurables or bad boys or something. There was a fellow here from Columbus looking for Mittie, but never found him. He has no home, and I don't know where he lives. I'll bet it 's in a garret some!where. He sells papers and shines shoes. And he's as proud as he's game - you can't give him anything. Baseball he's crazy over.