Fast Nine: or, A Challenge from Fairfield

"He's got them all guessing," shouted Larry Billings, who was also in uniform as a substitute. "If they strike at it, they fan the air; and if they hold off the umpire says 'get out!' It's a cold, cruel world, Fairfield!"

Red was first to face Tubbs in their half of the second. He waited until he had two strikes and three balls called; and then, knowing that the pitcher in nine cases out of ten tries to put one straight over, Red lined it out for a single.

Ty stepped up with a firm manner, and gripped his bat as though he meant business. He spoiled several good ones by knocking long fouls, and finally walked. As two were now on bases with nobody out, the chances for a tally looked good to the Hickory Ridge fellows.

Amid a chorus of shouts Matty stepped up and, hitting the first ball a tremendous swipe, sent it speeding through the air. Everybody jumped up to see where it went.

They saw the agile Felix Wagner near second make a leap upward. As he came down he whirled, and sent the ball into second; and Mulligan, who had darted thither was just like lightning in getting it down to first. Red and Ty were thus caught between bases and a most brilliant triple play had been accomplished.

"Why, he caught it!" gasped the Hickory Ridge enthusiast, as though unable to believe the evidence of his eyes.

"You just bet he did," mocked the other fellow. "And the whole side's out in two shakes of the lamb's tail. Zip, bang, splash; and it's all over! That's the way we do it."

The crowd went fairly wild, even the people from Hickory Ridge joining in the applause that greeted this clever play.

And so the game went on, both sides struggling like giants for an opening; yet the third, fourth and fifth innings passed with no one getting past that fatal second.

The first half of the sixth opened with Fairfield looking dangerous. Elmer had passed Wagner, it being the first time he had given anyone transportation on four balls. Cook went out on three strikes, being led to bite at a slow one in the critical moment. Bastian hit for a single, and by clever running Wagner managed to reach third.

The crowd sat up and began to figure on a run, as there was only one man out, and almost any kind of a fly would allow Wagner to come in.

But they counted without their host. Cobb failed to do anything, also going out on the three-strike route. And Poole shot one straight for Red at short, who gathered it up in fine shape, getting the ball to first ahead of the runner.

A sigh went up from the great crowd. With the Fairfield rooters it signified despair; while those who were backing the other team expressed their relief that Elmer had managed to get out of a hole successfully.

"Now, fellows, it's time we did something," remarked Lil Artha, as the boys settled down on the ground, and Toby was selecting his bat, it being his turn to toe the rubber.

"Right you are, old hoss," remarked that worthy, grimly. "We've tried Matt Tubbs out, and got his wrinkles down pat. Just keep your eyes on me, and see if I don't flatten out one of his benders for keeps!"

"More power to your elbow, Toby," said Lil Artha. "Just get your base somehow, and depend on me to chase you in."

"And he can do it, Toby," declared Chatz, as the batter passed him.

"Yes, I've just got to, boys," chuckled the tall captain, as his eye roved out toward that particular place where Elmer had told him to aim; just as though he might be picking a good spot to land his ball.

CHAPTER XV.

LIL ARTHA PLANTS HIS GARDEN IN DEEP CENTER

"Crack!"

"He did it!" yelled the Hickory Ridge fellows, as Toby started on a run for the first sack, while Bastian was chasing the ball in short right.

"Bully boy, Toby! You're IT!" shrieked an excited rooter, jumping up and down as he swung his hat, and ending by dancing a hornpipe, to the amusement of some of the crowd, though a disgusted Cramertown fellow loudly advised him to "hire a hall."

"Now Lil Artha, you know what to do!" called a fellow near by.

"Does he!" echoed Larry Billings, waving his hand at the speaker. "Well, just keep your eye on him, that's all. Oh, it's good-by to that ball. It's going over into the next county!"

The tall captain of the Hickory Ridge nine stood at the plate in what some people considered a careless attitude.

"Why, he doesn't seem to care whether he hits the ball or not," they declared. "I think Matt Tubbs ought to have a snap with that bean pole!"

But every batter has his favorite way of waiting for the ball. Some swing their bats nervously, and often fail to recover in time; others stand there like statues, with every nerve contracted, and their eyes fixed on the pitcher.

Lil Artha did neither. He chopped at the tuft of short grass near the rubber, nodded at Tubbs, and then slouched there in his ungainly attitude. But Matt Tubbs was not deceived in the least. He knew that in Lil Artha he had the most dangerous batter in the entire nine to contend with. His movements were like lightning, once he started.

One, two, three balls followed in rapid succession.

"Hey, he's afraid of Lil Artha! he's goin' to give him his base!" arose the shout.

It looked very much that way, and Lil Artha himself feared that he was about to be cheated out of his chance for that little garden beyond right center. Those agile Fairfield fellows must be thinking that triple plays grow on bushes; and the pitcher was hoping to have another pulled off.

"Smash!"

"Oh, what a hit!"

"He leaned way out, and took a wide curve right on the nose!"

"Look at her go, would you!"

"A home run hit, fellows; bully for Lil Artha! He's all to the good!"

"What would he do if he was twice as tall, hey, tell me that?" demanded a disgusted Fairfield backer, as he watched the two figures careering around the circuit.

"Watch him run, boys! Why, he could get home ahead of Toby. There they come in, neck and neck!"

"But where's the ball?" demanded one fellow.

"McDowd is chasing it yet. He'll get it after a while. There never was such a long hit made on these grounds, that's dead sure. It was a peach!"

Two runs looked pretty big in such a bitterly contested game.

"Even if we don't get another, that ought to win, if Elmer can keep up his fine work," Mr. Garrabrant declared, as he sat in the midst of his boys, and shook hands with the tall panting first baseman as he dropped down.

"Then we've just got to work to hold them, see?" said Red, who was picking out a hat, as Chatz had stepped cut to the rubber.

"Oh, don't got that notion in your heads, boys," laughed Elmer. "Perhaps we can add a few more for good measure. Matt may be rattled after those two screamers. Try and hit her out, Red."

But Matt Tubbs instead of being upset by his misfortunes seemed better than ever. He easily disposed of Chatz; and while Red did get on first through an error of the shortstop, who threw wide, he died there. Ty shot up a zigzag foul that Ballinger managed to just grasp, after staggering back and forth like a drunken man in the effort to judge its eccentric motions; and Matty's offering was taken by Cook in left field.

So the seventh began. The Fairfield rooters, faithful to their team, began to call out encouraging words, such as the "lucky seventh."

McDowd started out well. He drew a pass by refusing to try to take the slow one that just failed to cross over the rubber. Then he stole second, though Mark got the ball down to Red in good style; but a great slide saved the runner, according to the umpire, who was on the spot. There was no protest against the decision, even though most of the Hickory Ridge players thought the man was fairly out. They were much too game to show that they could not take their medicine when the decision went against their side.

Elmer put on a little more speed.

"Hey!" called out Mulligan as he stood there and heard a strike called: "what're ye thryin' to do wid me, Elmer? Sure that wan had whiskers on it: I heard 'em brush past me leg. Thry it again, me honey, and see what I do."