Fast Nine: or, A Challenge from Fairfield

The two teams lined up for the fray in this order:

There was a wave of talk passing over the throng as the two captains conferred. It was understood that they were deciding finally on the ground rules that must prevail, on account of the mass of spectators pushing in on the lines. All Basking Ridge's local police force was on the spot, but half a dozen good-natured officers are next to useless when up against thousands; in contests of this sort dependence must be placed on the spirit of fair play that is generally a part of baseball crowds, especially in smaller towns, where the players are known.

"The game is called; now for it!" yelled the nearest spectators, as they saw the umpire pick up his mask and step forward to announce the batteries, while the Hickory Ridge players started for their positions.

"And we have the last look-in, as we take the field first!" howled an enthusiastic follower of the team that looked to Elmer as the keystone of their arch.

CHAPTER XIV.

HOW THE FIGHT WENT ON

"The batteries for to-day's game will be: Chenowith and Cummings for Hickory' Ridge; Tubbs and Ballinger for Fairfield!"

The last word of the umpire was drowned in a roar, and the air seemed filled with waving hats, parasols of gaudy hues, handkerchiefs, and anything else that could be utilized for the occasion.

Then came a dead silence. Every eye, doubtless, was at that moment riveted on the young pitcher of the nine in the field as he sent in a few straight ones to his catcher, just to find the plate.

"They say he's got speed to burn," remarked one Basking Ridge spectator who had never before seen Elmer pitch.

"But the best thing he's got is a nasty little slow drop that's running Christy Matthewson a close race," commented a second one.

"Oh, shucks!" laughed a Fairfield boy close by; "wait till you see how our fellows fatten their averages on those nice little drop balloons. We've heard a heap about 'em, and have been practicing at hitting all such. Why, mark my words, before the end of the fifth inning this wonderful Elmer will be so tame he'll be eating out of the Fairfield players' hands."

"Wait and see. The game is young," called another fellow.

"I should say it was, when the first ball hasn't been sent over the rubber yet," declared still a fourth spectator.

"Play ball!" shouted the umpire, as he settled himself back of the pitcher.

Again came silence as Elmer, receiving the ball from first base, rubbed it on the leg of his trousers preparatory to shooting the first one over.

A shout went up. Wagner, the stout second baseman, had failed to judge correctly and "one strike" was recorded against him.

"But did you hear the swish of his bat?" demanded the Fairfield enthusiast. "Say, if ever he leans up against one of those curves, good-by to the ball, that's all."

"Sure! Only let him lean; that's what we say. He just can't do it on Elmer," answered a devoted Hickory Ridge lad near by.

Then came a second strike, followed by a foul. Wagner looked puzzled. Evidently he was watching the pitcher closely and going by his signals to the catcher, but as these had been turned almost completely about, he mistook every one of them and was letting himself out at what would easily have been called balls.

When for the third time he had a strike called on him the batter retired amid a storm of mingled cheers and catcalls. He had allowed a good ball to pass by him without making an effort to strike, believing from the gestures of Elmer that it was meant to be a wide one.

Wagner went off, shaking his head. He was evidently mystified, and the Fairfield crowd began to sit up and take notice.

"That's a funny thing for Felix to do," they commented. "He's the most reliable batter in our bunch, and yet he acts as though he didn't know a good one from a wide curve a foot from the plate. Say, that pitcher must have him locoed."

Next came Adrian Cook. He, too, was known as a hitter, and when he stepped to the batter's line the fielders were accustomed to backing off, ready for a terrific drive.

But it began to look as though Adrian must have forgotten to bring his batting clothes along with him, judging by the way he swiped at the empty air twice, and then managed to pop up a measly little foul that Mark easily smothered in his big catcher's mitt.

"What are we up against?" the Fairfield crowd began to say.

"Oh, that's nothing," others put in, more confident. "The boys will wake up after a little. You wait and see them take his number. Once they begin, the air will be full of balls and those fielders' tongues will hang out of their mouths from chasing them!"

So they talked, as all partisan crowds do, while Bastian toed the mark. He looked particularly dangerous as he half crouched there watching Elmer like a cat might a mouse he expected to devour.

But Bastian was no better than the others who had preceded him. He had two strikes called on him by the umpire without having even made a motion.

"Hey, wake up! Get out of that trance. Jack! He's feeding you good ones and you don't know it! Now, altogether, and send one out in center for a homer!"

Jack did his best, just as Elmer knew he was bound to. He believed he saw the pitcher signal that he meant to cut the middle of the plate with the next; when in reality it was intended to be a wide one. And so he too perished, amid the cheers of Hickory Ridge, and the groans of Fairfield.

By the time another chance at bat came for Matt Tubbs's band, there would be excited conferences going on. These heavy batters would soon awaken to the fact that the signals given to them by Lon Braddock were all wrong; and that by trying to take a mean advantage of Elmer they were only digging their own graves.

Matt Tubbs was certainly at his best that day; and he had always been known as a clever pitcher. Ted followed the fate of the three Fairfield batters, and along the same road, for he struck out.

Toby lifted a great fly that soared away up in the air. He was making for second under full steam, believing that McDowd out in center field could never get under the ball, when the cheers that broke forth announced a clever catch. And Toby was compelled to walk back to the bench, resolving that another time he would try to put it far over McDowd's head.

Lil Artha succeeded in placing a corking one that landed him on first, to the accompaniment of riotous cheers; but he died there; for Chatz was able only to connect with the ball after he had had two strikes called on him, and put up one of those miserable pop fouls that make a batter rave.

So the second inning began.

When Cobb had also fanned at most unreasonable balls, that could never have been hit, his comrades stared at each other. There was a hasty conference. Then Matt Tubbs was observed to say something to the next batter, Poole.

Elmer smiled broadly at Mark, and nodded. It was just as though he had remarked the words: "It's all off, Mark, they've finally caught on to the fact that we've switched our signals. And now to play a different brand of ball!"

That was exactly what the Fairfield players had decided. When such batters made guys of themselves trying to meet balls that never came where they expected to find them, the truth could not long remain hidden. And now Tubbs had told his players to forget entirely everything they had learned from Lon Braddock. They must depend on their own judgment of balls, and nothing else.

Poole struck a vicious one, but it fell foul clearly enough, so that there was no chance for any disputing the umpire's decision.

"See that!" exclaimed a spectator; "they're getting his size already. If that had only landed fair it would have been a two-bagger."

Elmer realized that the time had already come to play the game. The next one he sent in was with exactly the same movement that he used to shoot a cannon-ball express over the rubber; yet it hung there in the air in the most exasperating manner, passing over the plate long after Poole had struck.

Then arose a tremendous shout as the crowd became aware of the fact that Elmer had disclosed his long suit – that tantalizing floating drop by which Matthewson long ago won his fame on the diamond.

"Get that, did you, partner!" laughed the Hickory Ridge backer, turning to the adherent of the rival nine. "Now you'll see who's going to do the eating out of hand business. Before the ninth inning comes he'll have your fellows breaking their poor old backs trying to connect with that dead one. Just wait, and see the fun!"

Poole did not get on base, but perished on a feeble little infield hit that Lil Artha gobbled close to the bag, prancing back with ease.

"Gee, look at that daddy-long-legs, will you!" shouted an amazed Fairfield rooter, as he stared at the way Lil Artha got over the ground. "Hey, if he ever gets his base he c'n just step down to second! No cutting him off by a throw."

McDowd, the center fielder, generally a reliable batter, did succeed in making a hit, the ball just eluding the fingers of Red at short, as he jumped up in the air, hoping to make a dazzling stop.

But it did him no good. Elmer just toyed with Mulligan, and after feeding him two swift curves with which he could not connect, he gave him one of those lovely slow balls. Now Mulligan was a crafty chap, and he saw what was coming. Thinking to have the laugh on Elmer, he declined to strike; and was already grinning with joy over his smartness, when the ball seemed to receive a new impetus somehow, and went jumping by.

"Batter's out!" declared the umpire; at which Mulligan dashed his bat down, and walked away, also shaking his head.

The crowd yelled like mad. This was work well worth coming miles to see.