I was second at bat, and went up with some reluctance.I happened to be leading the league in both long distance and safe hitting, and I doted on speed.But having stopped many mean in-shoots with various parts of my anatomy, I was rather squeamish about facing backwoods yaps who had no control.
When I had watched a couple of his pitches, which the umpire called strikes, I gave him credit for as much speed as Rusie.These balls were as straight as a string, singularly without curve, jump, or variation of any kind.I lined the next one so hard at the shortstop that it cracked like a pistol as it struck his hands and whirled him half off his feet.Still he hung to the ball and gave opportunity for the first crash of applause.
``Boys, he's a trifle wild,'' I said to my team-mates, ``but he has the most beautiful ball to hit you ever saw.I don't believe he uses a curve, and when we once time that speed we'll kill it.''
Next inning, after old man Hathaway had baffled the Canadians with his wide, tantalizing curves, my predictions began to be verified.Snead rapped one high and far to deep right field.To our infinite surprise, however, the right fielder ran with fleetness that made our own Deerfoot seem slow, and he got under the ball and caught it.
Doran sent a sizzling grasscutter down toward left.The lanky third baseman darted over, dived down, and, coming up with the ball, exhibited the power of a throwing arm that made as all green with envy.
Then, when the catcher chased a foul fly somewhere back in the crowd and caught it, we began to take notice.
``Lucky stabs!'' said Merritt cheerfully.``They can't keep that up.We'll drive him to the woods next time.''
But they did keep it up; moreover, they became more brilliant as the game progressed.What with Hathaway's heady pitching we soon disposed of them when at the bat; our turns, however, owing to the wonderful fielding of these backwoodsmen, were also fruitless.
Merritt, with his mind ever on the slice of gate money coming if we won, began to fidget and fume and find fault.
``You're a swell lot of champions, now, ain't you?'' he observed between innings.
All baseball players like to bat, and nothing pleases them so much as base hits; on the other hand, nothing is quite so painful as to send out hard liners only to see them caught.And it seemed as if every man on our team connected with that lanky twirler's fast high ball and hit with the force that made the bat spring only to have one of these rubes get his big hands upon it.
Considering that we were in no angelic frame of mind before the game started, and in view of Merritt's persistently increasing ill humor, this failure of ours to hit a ball safely gradually worked us into a kind of frenzy.From indifference we passed to determination, and from that to sheer passionate purpose.
Luck appeared to be turning in the sixth inning.
With one out, Lake hit a beauty to right.Doran beat an infield grounder and reached first.Hathaway struck out.
With Browning up and me next, the situation looked rather precarious for the Canadians.
``Say, Deerfoot,'' whispered Merritt, ``dump one down the third-base line.He's playin' deep.
It's a pipe.Then the bases will be full an' Reddy'll clean up.''
In a stage like that Browning was a man absolutely to depend upon.He placed a slow bunt in the grass toward third and sprinted for first.
The third baseman fielded the ball, but, being confused, did not know where to throw it.
``Stick it in your basket,'' yelled Merritt, in a delight that showed how hard he was pulling for the gate money, and his beaming smile as he turned to me was inspiring.``Now, Reddy, it's up to you! I'm not worrying about what's happened so far.I know, with you at bat in a pinch, it's all off!''
Merritt's compliment was pleasing, but it did not augment my purpose, for that already had reached the highest mark.Love of hitting, if no other thing, gave me the thrilling fire to arise to the opportunity.Selecting my light bat, I went up and faced the rustic twirler and softly said things to him.
He delivered the ball, and I could have yelled aloud, so fast, so straight, so true it sped toward me.Then I hit it harder than I had ever hit a ball in my life.The bat sprung, as if it were whalebone.And the ball took a bullet course between center and left.So beautiful a hit was it that I watched as I ran.
Out of the tail of my eye I saw the center fielder running.When I rounded first base I got a good look at this fielder, and though I had seen the greatest outfielders the game ever produced, I never saw one that covered ground so swiftly as he.
On the ball soared, and began to drop; on the fielder sped, and began to disappear over a little hill back of his position.Then he reached up with a long arm and marvelously caught the ball in one hand.He went out of sight as I touched second base, and the heterogeneous crowd knew about a great play to make more noise than a herd of charging buffalo.
In the next half inning our opponents, by clean drives, scored two runs and we in our turn again went out ignominiously.When the first of the eighth came we were desperate and clamored for the ``rabbit.''
``I've sneaked it in,'' said Merritt, with a low voice.``Got it to the umpire on the last passed ball.See, the pitcher's got it now.Boys, it's all off but the fireworks! Now, break loose!''
A peculiarity about the ``rabbit'' was the fact that though it felt as light as the regulation league ball it could not be thrown with the same speed and to curve it was an impossibility.
Bane hit the first delivery from our hoosier stumbling block.The ball struck the ground and began to bound toward short.With every bound it went swifter, longer and higher, and it bounced clear over the shortstop's head.Lake chopped one in front of the plate, and it rebounded from the ground straight up so high that both runners were safe before it came down.
Doran hit to the pitcher.The ball caromed his leg, scooted fiendishly at the second baseman, and tried to run up all over him like a tame squirrel.Bases full!