Jack Winters' Baseball Team by Mark Overton (short books to read .TXT) 📕

that’s sure. The only thing I can see is to let Fred keep on, and hope the game will not be so close that he could lose it for Chester by a bad break. Besides that I could have a heart-to-heart talk with him, not letting him see that we suspected his loyalty, but impressing it on his mind that every fellow in the team believed in him to the utmost, and that we’d be broken-hearted if anything happened to lose us this game on which the whole future of clean sport in Chester hangs.”

“That might do it, Jack!” snapped Toby, eagerly. “You’ve got a way about you that few fellows can resist. Yes, that’s our only plan, it seems; Fred is indispensable on the team at this late stage, when a sub couldn’t be broken in, even if we had one handy, which we haven’t. Play him at his regular position, and let’s hope there’ll be no chance for double-dealing on his part.”

“But we’ll all be mighty anxious as the game goes along, believe me,” asserted Steve, as they arose to leave the vicinity of the bench. “I’ll be skimpy with my throws to third to catch a runner napping, for fear Fred might make out to fumble and get the ball home just too late to nab the runner. And, Jack, try your level best to convince Fred that the eyes of all Chester will be on him during that game, with his best girl, pretty Molly Skinner, occupying a front seat in the grand stand!”

CHAPTER III
THE LAST PRACTICE GAME

On the following morning, twice Jack walked around to where the humble cottage of the Badger family stood, on purpose to call on Fred, and have a chat with him; but on each occasion missed seeing the third baseman. His mother Jack had never met before, and he was quite interested in talking with her. Purposely Jack influenced her to speak of Fred, and his ambitions in the world. He could see that, like most mothers, she was very proud of her eldest son, and had an abiding faith in his ability to accomplish great things when later on he took his place in business circles.

She had been a widow for some years. The house was very tidy, and a pretty flower and vegetable garden spoke well for Fred’s early rising and assiduous labors as a young provider. When Jack purposely mentioned that he had heard something about her anticipating a visit to the city to spend a little while at a hospital, she shook her head sadly, and a look of pain crossed her careworn face as she said:

“Dr. Cooper wants me to go and see his friend, who is a famous surgeon, but I’m afraid the cost is much more than I can afford at present, unless some miracle comes up before long. But I try to forget my troubles, and feel that I have much to be thankful for in my three children, all so healthy and so clever. Why, there’s hardly a thing Fred wouldn’t do for me. Ah! if only his father could have lived to see him now, how proud he would be of such a boy!”

When Jack came away after that little interesting talk, he felt very down-hearted. What a shock it would be to his fond mother should she ever be forced to learn that her boy had taken money from those who were betting on the outcome of the great game, in order to betray his comrades who placed the most implicit confidence in his loyalty.

Even though it were done with the best motive in the world, that of trying to make his mother a well woman again, she would bitterly regret his having yielded to such an ignoble temptation and fallen so low as to sell a game.

Then came the last practice that afternoon, to prepare for the morrow, when Harmony’s confident hosts would come with brooms waving, to indicate how they meant to sweep up the ground with poor Chester’s best offering.

Coach Hooker was on deck, for already the spirit of newly awakened sport had permeated the whole place, so that the boss at his factory gladly released him from duty for that special afternoon, in order that the Chester boys might profit from his sage advice.

Fred did not show up until just before the game with the scrub team was being called, so that of course Jack could not find an opportunity just then to indulge in any side talk with the keeper of the third sack. He determined not to let anything prevent his walking home in company with Fred, however, and trying to see behind the mask which he believed the other was wearing to conceal the real cause of his uneasiness.

The game started and progressed, with every fellow filled with vim and vigor. To those who had come to size up the team before the great battle, it seemed as if every member had made strides forward since the last match, when Harmony won out in that last fierce inning after the rally that almost put Chester on top.

From time to time, each, individual player would seem to rise up and perform the most remarkable stunts. Now it was Joel Jackman, out in center, who made a marvelous running catch, jumping in the air, and pulling down a ball that seemed good for at least a three-bagger, also holding the horse-hide sphere even while he rolled over twice on the ground.

Later on, a great triple play was pulled off, Winters at first to Jones on second, and home to Mullane in time to catch a runner attempting to profit by all this excitement. Such a wonderful handling of the ball in a match game would give the crowd a chance to break loose with mighty cheers, friends and foes joining in to do the clever athletes honor.

Then there was Big Bob Jeffries, a terror at the bat; three times up, and each occasion saw him almost knock the cover off the ball, making two home runs, and a three-bagger in the bargain. Why, if only Big Bob could duplicate that performance on the following day, it was “good-night to Harmony.” But then there was a slight difference between the pitcher of the scrub team and the mighty slab artist who officiated for Harmony; and possibly, Bob might only find thin air when he struck savagely at the oncoming ball, dexterously tagged for a drop, or a sweeping curve.

Nevertheless, everybody seemed satisfied that the entire team was “on edge,” and in the “pink of condition.” If they failed to carry off the honors in that deciding game, there would be no valid excuse to offer, save that Harmony was a shade too much for them. Even though they might be defeated, they meant to fight doggedly to the end of the ninth inning, and feel that they had given the champions of the county a “run for their money.”

Win or lose, Chester had awakened to the fact that the local team was well worth patronizing. Another season would see vast improvements, and the time might yet come when Chester would write her name at the top of the county teams. All sorts of other open-air sports were being talked of, and there was a host of eager candidates ready to apply for every sort of position. Jack Winters had managed to awaken the sleepy town, and “start things humming,” most fellows admitted, being willing to give him the greater part of the credit.

So when the game was ended, the players gathered around Joe Hooker to listen to his frank criticisms, and pledge themselves anew to do their level best to “take Harmony’s scalp” on the morrow.

Jack kept on the watch, and both Toby and Steve saw what he was aiming at when he hurriedly left the group and walked quickly after Fred, who had started toward home.

“Only hope he makes his point,” muttered Toby to the other. “Fred certainly played like a fiend today. Nothing got by him, you noticed. He scooped that hummer from Bentley’s bat off the ground as neat as wax. No professional could have done better, I heard Joe Hooker say. He thinks Fred is a jim-dandy at third, and that he’s a natural ball player, strong at the bat, as well as in the field.”

Meanwhile, Jack had overtaken Fred, who, hearing his footsteps, turned his head to see who might be hurrying after him. Jack fancied he looked a trifle confused at seeing the captain of the team trying to come up with him, though that might only be imagination, after all. Still, doubtless Fred’s mother must have mentioned the fact that Jack had been at the house twice that morning, as though he had something of importance to communicate.

“I’m going your way, it happens, this afternoon, Fred,” Jack remarked as he came up, “as I have an errand over at your neighbor, Mrs. Jennings, a commission for my mother; so I’ll step alongside, and we can chat a bit as we walk along.”

“Glad to have your company, Jack,” said Fred; but all the same he did not seem so very enthusiastic over it. “The boys all worked like a well-oiled machine today, I noticed, and if only we can do as well in the big game, we ought to have a look in, I should think.”

“We’ve just got to make up our minds we mean to win that game tomorrow, no matter how Hendrix pitches gilt-edged ball,” Jack told him. “Every fellow must tell himself in the start that he will let nothing whatever interfere with his giving Chester of his very best. I don’t care what it may be that stands in the way, we must brush it aside, and fight together to carry the day. Why, Chester will just go crazy if only we can down the boasting team that has never tasted defeat this season up to that fluke game, when they underestimated the fighting qualities of the rejuvenated Chester nine. And we can do it, Fred, we surely can, if only we pull together in team work, and every fellow stands on his honor to do his level best. You believe that, don’t you, Fred?”

The other looked at Jack, and a slight gleam, as of uncertainty, began to show itself in his eyes. Then he shut his jaws together, and hurriedly replied:

“Of course I do, Jack. I’m not the one to show the white feather at such an early stage of the game. They’ve never accused me of having cold feet, no matter how bad things seemed to be breaking for my side. In fact, I’ve been a little proud of the reputation I have of being able to keep everlastingly at it. Stubbornness is my best hold, I’ve sometimes thought.”

“Glad to know it, Fred, because that’s a quality badly needed in baseball players. There’s always hope up to the time the last man is down. Joe Hooker tells lots of wonderful stories of games he’s seen won with two out in the ninth frame, and the other side half a dozen runs to the good. You are never beaten until the third man is out in the last inning. I’m glad to hear you say you mean to fight as never before in your life to get that game for the home club. Fact is, Fred, old fellow, I’ve been a little anxious about you latterly, because I thought you seemed upset over something or other, and I was afraid it might interfere with your play.”

Fred started plainly, and shot Jack a quick look out of the corner of his eye, just as though he might be asking himself how much the other knew, or suspected.

“Well, the fact of