The Lucky Seventh

“That’s a long way from school, though,” objected Fudge.

“Any place we find is going to be a long way,” replied Will. “There isn’t any place in town big enough to play baseball on. As a matter of fact, the whole thing is a good deal of a puzzle. It’s going to cost us a lot of money, any way you look at it. We’ve got to have a new track and we’ve got to fence the field in and move the grandstand to it. It’s going to cost like sixty. I wish old man Brent had to make us a present of the old field or lose his money.”

“Stingy old codger,” muttered Fudge.

“There’s no sense in blaming Mr. Brent, Fudge,” said Dick. “We ought to be grateful to him for letting us have the field as long as he has. What we’ll have to do is get subscriptions from the graduates and anyone else we can. The next station is ours, fellows. Get your bags together.”

Lesterville was an unlovely town filled with smoking chimneys and the busy whirr of looms. A muddy canal intersected it and on either side immense brick mill buildings ran for the better part of a mile. But the boys didn’t tarry long in the town. A green trolley car bore them swiftly away from the belching chimneys and the hot, weary looking streets and out to the edge of the country. The ball ground was surrounded by a sagging fence and was ridiculously small. A long hit down the right or left foul line was certain to go over the fence, while even a good clout into center was likely to disappear through some hole in the rotting boards. A few unsheltered seats were clustered close to the first base line and these were already occupied when the Clearfield team arrived. The dressing-room was a ten-foot square space, unroofed, thrown together behind the stand. As the fellows changed into their togs the spectators on the top row of seats looked down upon them and offered sarcastic advice and rude comments. Fudge in particular aroused their humor and he was pestered so that he got his playing shirt on wrong side to.

The Lesterville nine was a pretty husky aggregation. Most of them were mill employees and their average age must have been fully eighteen. The audience was particularly partisan and offensive, and Dick, settling himself on the visitors’ bench in the broiling sun and opening his score-book, reflected that it was perhaps well that there was no likelihood of Clearfield going home with the ball. He fancied that the hundred or so local sympathizers would make it quite uncomfortable for the visiting team if it won!

There’s no necessity of following Clearfield’s fortunes that afternoon in detail. The contest was fairly featureless up to the eighth inning. The visitors could do nothing with Moriarity, the Lesterville pitcher, only three hits, one of them distinctly scratchy, accruing to their score and bringing in but one tally. On the other hand the home team showed itself very capable with the stick and Tom Haley’s best offerings were not puzzling after the second inning.

A slight attack of stage-fright in that round on the part of Clearfield aided the home players. Almost every member of the visitors’ infield managed to make an error, while Tom’s wild throw to first in the third allowed Lesterville to add two runs to her already swelling score. When the eighth inning began Lesterville had nine runs to Clearfield’s one, and there seemed no reason to suppose that the final tally would be any more complimentary to Clearfield.

Dick had predicted that his charges would learn some new tricks and his prediction was verified. Clearfield was the innocent victim of several plays quite outside her ken. Unfortunately, most of them were the sort she didn’t care to emulate. For instance, when Curtis Wayland tried to steal second on Jack Tappen’s lucky grounder into short right he failed for the simple reason that second baseman and shortstop occupied the base line and Way had to crawl around them to touch the bag. Unfortunately, by that time right fielder had sped the ball to shortstop, and the umpire, a young gentleman whose impartiality had all along been in grave doubt, ruled Way out. Of course Clearfield protested. Way lost his head and threatened bodily injury to the second baseman, who topped him by six inches, and some dozen or so Lesterville youths flocked to the scene. Gordon, however, lugged Way, protesting bitterly, from the field and then quietly asked the umpire to reverse his decision. But the umpire wouldn’t even listen and there was nothing for the visitors to do but swallow their indignation and accept the ruling. Again, earlier in the contest, the Lesterville pitcher objected to having a new ball thrown to him after Lanny had fouled a soiled one into the street, and turning, threw the new one far into center field. The center fielder refused to go after it and the umpire yielded, throwing out another old ball.

Still, Lesterville did show some playing that the visitors opened their eyes at. Such base-running Gordon’s team had never witnessed. One red-headed youth named Myers never failed to steal second yards ahead of the ball and on one occasion stole all the way around the bases, reaching home on Tom’s wind-up and subsequent hurried and wild pitch. The Lesterville fellows were born ball players and had graduated from the back lots outside the factories. They knew every trick of the game and used them all.

When Clearfield went to bat in the eighth it was Jack’s turn with the stick and Jack connected with a straight one and slammed it far out into left field, where it banged against the fence and rolled away from the fielder while Jack reached second with time to spare. Tim Turner fanned, Pete Robey worked a pass and Lanny hit into what should have been an easy double. But the Lesterville second baseman fumbled the ball and the bases were full. Unfortunately, with one out, it was Fudge’s turn at bat and Tom Haley followed Fudge. It looked to the visitors on the bench very much like another shut-out. But Fudge, perhaps still smarting under the gibes that had been thrown at him all the afternoon, surprised himself and everyone else by hitting cleanly between first and second. Two runs came in, Lanny reached third and Fudge stood panting on first. Tom Haley went out on strikes and Will Scott came to bat. Fudge stole without challenge. Will fouled off three and had two balls to his credit. Then something that looked good came his way and he swung at it mightily. The ball streaked far out into center field and the bases emptied. Will got to second safely, heard the frantic cries of the coachers and sprinted for third. Then in came the ball to shortstop, and that youth turned quickly and pegged to third. The sphere went fully four feet above third baseman’s head and Will legged it home while his team-mates on the bench shouted and cavorted and Dick, being unable to jump around, beat the ground with a crutch!

Nine to seven looked a heap better than nine to one, and there was still but one man out. Clearfield had ecstatic visions of a victory. But the Lesterville pitcher settled down and disposed of Gordon with five pitched balls and made Way pop up an easy fly to right fielder, and the eighth inning was over for the visitors.

Lesterville came back in her half with vigor and poor Tom was kept dodging liners that soon filled the bases. But the home team had a streak of bad luck in that inning. The runner from third was struck by a streaking liner that was meant for left field, and, fortunately for the opponents, the ball, after colliding sharply with the base-runner’s leg, rolled toward the pitcher’s box and Tom scooped it up and got it to first ahead of the batsman, who, counting on a two-base hit, had made a slow start. Lesterville resented her ill-fortune and, with two gone, the next batsman sent a long fly into left field that barely escaped going over the fence and had Way chasing around like a chicken with its head off while two tallies were added to Lesterville’s nine. A moment later Tom secured his fifth strike-out of the contest and the teams changed sides.

There was still a chance to win, declared Dick, and Jack was instructed to lay down a bunt along third base line. Jack followed instructions deftly and to the letter. The ball trickled a scant ten feet and, although third baseman came in for it and both catcher and pitcher did their best, Jack was easily safe. Young Turner, instructed to sacrifice Jack to second, did his best but struck out miserably for the fourth time. Pete got the signal for a hit-and-run play and swung at the third ball. He missed it, but the Lesterville catcher, who so far had been pegging the ball to second with deadly aim, threw low and before the shortstop had secured the ball Jack was sprawled in the dust with one foot on the bag.

Pete, with two strikes against him, was wary. Twice he spoiled good ones by fouling and then he was caught napping and retired to the bench with trailing bat. With two down the game looked to be over. But Lanny evidently thought otherwise, for he hit the first delivery squarely on the nose and Jack leaped away for third. The ball sped high toward center and although second baseman made a gallant attempt to get it, it went over his head. Jack turned third and streaked for the plate. The center fielder, however, had come in fast and now the ball was flying to the catcher. Lanny sped to second on the throw-in. Ten feet away from the home plate Jack hurled himself feet-foremost through a cloud of dust, rolled over the base and out of the way just as the ball settled into the catcher’s mitt. The umpire spread his hands wide to signify that the runner was safe, but the catcher turned fiercely on him.

“He never touched it!” he bawled. “Look at where he went!” He indicated a mark far back of the plate.

“Who didn’t touch it?” demanded Jack, scandalized and indignant. “I rolled over it!”

Players ran up excitedly. The umpire hesitated, glanced from the belligerent catcher to the astounded Jack, shook his head and said: “He’s out!”

“What!” shrieked Jack.

“Sure you’re out,” said the pitcher with a grin. “You didn’t go anywhere near the plate. Beat it, kid!”

Gordon grabbed Jack’s arm and hustled him toward the bench, pursued by the laughter of the Lesterville players and the gibes of the spectators, crowding off the stand. At second Lanny got to his feet and tramped morosely in to the bench.

“I was all over the plate!” Jack was declaring fiercely. “He’s a robber!”

“Of course you were,” agreed Gordon soothingly. “He knows it, but he’s scared of the bunch. Never mind, it’s all in the day’s work, Jack.”

“I tell you I was safe!” sputtered Jack. “What do you want to quit for? Why don’t you make them play it out?”

“No good, Jack. Shut up and change your things. We’ve got to hustle for the train.”

Just then the Lesterville captain walked up to Gordon. “Say,” he said, “we’ll play you fellows again some time if you like. You put up a good game, all right, Merrick.”

“Thanks, I dare say we can get together again,” replied Gordon not overly enthusiastic. “I’ll let you know.”

“Next time we’ll have a decent umpire,” cried Jack, pausing on his way to the dressing shed. “That man’s a thief!”

“Aw, don’t be a baby,” growled the opposing captain. “You were out all right enough. I saw the play, didn’t I?”

“I don’t care whether you did or not. I was perfectly safe. I crossed the plate before the ball ever got to him!”

“What if you did, kid? You didn’t touch it. That ump is all right. The trouble is you can’t take a beating. Chase yourself.”

Jack was fighting mad then and pushed his way back, but Gordon and some of the others seized him, while the stragglers from the audience clustered around, eager for trouble.

“Jack, you get out of here,” directed Dick sternly.

“Like fun I will! That big chump can’t tell me – ”

“Just one more word and you’ll be suspended!” Dick spoke very quietly. Jack stared open-mouthed, his gaze traveling from the derisive face of the Lesterville captain to the stern countenance of the Clearfield manager. Gordon and Lanny still held him firmly. He swallowed hard, rewarded Dick with a baleful glare and said:

“Go ahead and suspend! You’re a peach of a manager, anyhow, to stand around and let those robbers swipe the game on us! You – ”

But Gordon and Lanny hustled him promptly through the throng at that, the crowd dissolved and the field emptied. In spite of Jack’s protest the game was recorded: Lesterville, 11; Clearfield, 7.

CHAPTER XIII

JACK IS SUSPENDED

They talked it over on the way back in the train and the consensus of Clearfield opinion was that, taking into consideration the indisputable fact that the umpire had been against them all through the game, the final score was nothing to be ashamed of. Only Jack failed to subscribe with any enthusiasm to that verdict. Jack frankly sulked.

Dick called Gordon over to his seat after the discussion had waned and the fellows had quieted down. “Who,” he asked, moving his crutches to make room for Gordon, “can we get to take Jack’s place?”

“To take Jack’s place?” exclaimed Gordon. “Why, what’s the matter with Jack?”

“I thought you understood that he was suspended,” replied Dick calmly. “I certainly gave him a fair warning.”

“But – but – ” blurted Gordon in bewilderment, “you can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

Gordon stared. Finally, “Are you in earnest?” he asked.

“Of course. I’m manager of this team. And while I’m manager the fellows have got to behave. Jack was all wrong. He had no business talking like that. In the first place, it wasn’t up to him to protest the decision. In the next place he might have got us into a nasty row with those toughs over there. They were dying for a scrap all along. If they had started anything we’d have got pretty well mussed up, Gordie.”

Gordon nodded. “I know,” he said gloomily, “but – Jack was excited, Dick. And it was a robbery. You can’t blame him for getting a bit hot about it.”

“I don’t. I blame him for showing it, or, at least, proclaiming it. If I’m manager, I’m going to manage. If I can’t manage, I’m not manager. Which is it?”

“Why, you’re manager, of course, Dick. But – Jack won’t like being suspended. In fact, he will probably get mad and quit altogether.”