The Young Pitcher by Zane Grey (classic children's novels TXT) 📕

“Come on, hurry! There's Burr.”

“Burr's the best of the lot, a good waiter and hard hitter, but he invariably hits a high curve up in the air.”

“All right. So far so good. How about the rest of the team?”

“I'll hand them up a straight, easy ball and let them hit. I tell you I've got Herne beaten, and if Gallagher or any one else begins to guy me I'll laugh in his face.”

“Oh, you will?... Say, you go down to your room now, and stay there till time for lunch. Study or read. Don't think another minute about this game.”

Ken strode soberly out of the room.

It was well for Ken that he did not see what happened immediately after his exit. Worry and Homans fell into each other's arms.

“Say, fellows, how I hated to do it!” Worry choked with laughter and contrition. “It was the hardest task I ever had. But, Cap, you know we had to make Peg sore. He's too blamed good-natured. Oh, but didn't he take fire! He'll make some of those Herne guys play low-bridge to-day. Wouldn't it be great if he gave Gallagher the laugh?”

“Worry, don't you worry about that,” said Homans. “And it would please me, too, for Gallagher is about as wordy and pompous as any captain I've seen.”

“I think you were a little hard on Ken,” put in Reddy. His quiet voice drew Worry and Homans from their elation. “Of course, it was necessary to rouse Ken's fighting blood, but you didn't choose the right way. You hurt his feelings. You know, Worry, that the boy is not in the least swelled.”

“'Course I know it, Reddy. Why, Peg's too modest. But I want him to be dead in earnest to-day. Mind you, I'm thinkin' of Place. He'll beat Herne to a standstill. I worked on his feelin's just to get him all stirred up. You know there's always the chance of rattles in any young player, especially a pitcher. If he's mad he won't be so likely to get 'em. So I hurt his feelin's. I'll make it up to him, don't you fear for that, Reddy.”

“I wish you had waited till we go over to Place next week,” replied Ray. “You can't treat him that way twice. Over there's where I would look for his weakening. But it may be he won't ever weaken. If he ever does it'll be because of the crowd and not the players.”

“I think so, too. A yellin' mob will be new to Peg. But, fellows, I'm only askin' one game from Herne and one, or a good close game, from Place. That'll give Wayne the best record ever made. Look at our standin' now. Why, the newspapers are havin' a fit. Since I picked the varsity we haven't lost a game. Think of that! Those early games don't count. We've had an unbroken string of victories, Peg pitchin' twelve, and Schoonover four. And if wet grounds and other things hadn't cancelled other games we'd have won more.”

“Yes, we're in the stretch now, Worry, and running strong. We'll win three out of these four big games,” rejoined Reddy.

“Oh, say, that'd be too much! I couldn't stand it! Oh, say, Cap, don't you think Reddy, for once, is talkin' about as swift as he sprints?”

“I'm afraid to tell you, Worry,” replied Homans, earnestly. “When I look back at our work I can't realize it. But it's time to wake up. The students over at college are waking up. They will be out to-day. You are the one to judge whether we're a great team or not. We keep on making runs. It's runs that count. I think, honestly, Worry, that after to-day we'll be in the lead for championship honors. And I hold my breath when I tell you.”

It was remarkably quiet about the training-house all that morning. The coach sent a light lunch to the boys in their rooms. They had orders to be dressed, and to report in the reading-room at one-thirty.

Raymond came down promptly on time.

“Where's Peg?” asked Worry.

“Why, I thought he was here, ahead of me,” replied Raymond, in surprise.

A quick survey of the uniformed players proved the absence of Ken Ward and Reddy Ray. Worry appeared startled out of speech, and looked helplessly at Homans. Then Ray came down-stairs, bat in one hand, shoes and glove in the other. He seated himself upon the last step and leisurely proceeded to put on his shoes.

“Reddy, did you see Peg?” asked Worry, anxiously.

“Sure, I saw him,” replied the sprinter.

“Well?” growled the coach. “Where is he? Sulkin' because I called him?”

“Not so you'd notice it,” answered Reddy, in his slow, careless manner. “I just woke him up.”

“What!” yelled Arthurs.

“Peg came to my room after lunch and went to sleep. I woke him just now. He'll be down in a minute.”

Worry evidently could not reply at the moment, but he began to beam.

“What would Gallagher say to that?” asked Captain Homans, with a smile. “Wayne's varsity pitcher asleep before a Herne game! Oh no, I guess that's not pretty good! Worry, could you ask any more?”

“Cap, I'll never open my face to him again,” blurted out the coach.

Ken appeared at the head of the stairs and had started down, when the door-bell rang. Worry opened the door to admit Murray, the trainer; Dale, the old varsity captain, and the magnificently built Stevens, guard and captain of the football team.

“Hello! Worry,” called out Murray, cheerily. “How're the kids? Boys, you look good to me. Trim and fit, and all cool and quiet-like. Reddy, be careful of your ankles and legs to-day. After the meet next week you can cut loose and run bases like a blue streak.”

Dale stepped forward, earnest and somewhat concerned, but with a winning frankness.

“Worry, will you let Stevens and me sit on the bench with the boys to-day?”

Worry's face took on the color of a thunder-cloud. “I'm not the captain,” he replied. “Ask Homans.”

“How about it, Roy?” queried Dale.

Homans was visibly affected by surprise, pleasure, and something more. While he hesitated, perhaps not trusting himself to reply quickly, Stevens took a giant stride to the fore.

“Homans, we've got a hunch that Wayne's going to win,” he said, in a deep-bass voice. “A few of us have been tipped off, and we got it straight. But the students don't know it yet. So Dale and I thought we'd like them to see how we feel about it—before this game. You've had a rotten deal from the students this year. But they'll more than make it up when you beat Herne. The whole college is waiting and restless.”

Homans, recovering himself, faced the two captains courteously and gratefully, and with a certain cool dignity.

“Thank you, fellows! It's fine of you to offer to sit with us on the bench. I thank you on behalf of the varsity. But—not to-day. All season we've worked and fought without support, and now we're going to beat Herne without support. When we've done that you and Dale—all the college—can't come too quick to suit us.”

“I think I'd say the same thing, if I were in your place,” said Dale. “And I'll tell you right here that when I was captain I never plugged any harder to win than I'll plug to-day.”

Then these two famous captains of championship teams turned to Homans' players and eyed them keenly, their faces working, hands clenched, their powerful frames vibrating with the feeling of the moment. That moment was silent, eloquent. It linked Homans' team to the great athletic fame of the university. It radiated the spirit to conquer, the glory of past victories, the strength of honorable defeats. Then Dale and Stevens went out, leaving behind them a charged atmosphere.

“I ain't got a word to say,” announced Worry to the players.

“And I've very little,” added Captain Homans. “We're all on edge, and being drawn down so fine we may be over-eager. Force that back. It doesn't matter if we make misplays. We've made many this season, but we've won all the same. At the bat, remember to keep a sharp eye on the base-runner, and when he signs he is going down, bunt or hit to advance him. That's all.”

Ken Ward walked to the field between Worry Arthurs and Reddy Ray. Worry had no word to say, but he kept a tight grip on Ken's arm.

“Peg, I've won many a sprint by not underestimating my opponent,” said Reddy, quietly. “Now you go at Herne for all you're worth from the start.”

When they entered the field there were more spectators in the stands than had attended all the other games together. In a far corner the Herne players in dark-blue uniforms were practising batting. Upon the moment the gong called them in for their turn at field practice. The Wayne team batted and bunted a few balls, and then Homans led them to the bench.

Upon near view the grand-stand and bleachers seemed a strange sight to Ken Ward. He took one long look at the black-and-white mass of students behind the back-stop, at the straggling lines leading to the gates, at the rapidly filling rows to right and left, and then he looked no more. Already an immense crowd was present. Still it was not a typical college baseball audience. Ken realized that at once. It was quiet, orderly, expectant, and watchful. Very few girls were there. The students as a body had warmed to curiosity and interest, but not to the extent of bringing the girls. After that one glance Ken resolutely kept his eyes upon the ground. He was conscious of a feeling that he wanted to spring up and leap at something. And he brought all his will to force back his over-eagerness. He heard the crack of the ball, the shouts of the Herne players, the hum of voices in the grand-stand, and the occasional cheers of Herne rooters. There were no Wayne cheers.

“Warm up a little,” said Worry, in his ear.

Ken peeled off his sweater and walked out with Dean. A long murmur ran throughout the stands. Ken heard many things said of him, curiously, wonderingly, doubtfully, and he tried not to hear more. Then he commenced to pitch to Dean. Worry stood near him and kept whispering to hold in his speed and just to use his arm easily. It was difficult, for Ken felt that his arm wanted to be cracked like a buggy-whip.

“That'll do,” whispered Worry. “We're only takin' five minutes' practice.... Say, but there's a crowd! Are you all right, Peg—cool-like and determined?... Good! Say—but Peg, you'd better look these fellows over.”

“I remember them all,” replied Ken. “That's Gallagher on the end of the bench; Burr is third from him; Stern's fussing over the bats, and there's Hill, the light-headed fellow, looking this way. There's—”

“That'll do,” said Worry. “There goes the gong. It's all off now. Homans has chosen to take the field. I guess mebbe you won't show 'em how to pitch a new white ball! Get at 'em now!” Then he called Ken back as if impelled, and whispered to him in a husky voice: “It's been tough for you and for me. Listen! Here's where it begins to be sweet.”

Ken trotted out to the box, to the encouraging voices of the infield, and he even caught Reddy Ray's low, thrilling call from the far outfield.

“Play!” With the ringing order, which quieted the audience, the umpire tossed a white ball to Ken.

For a single instant Ken trembled ever so slightly in all his limbs, and the stands seemed a revolving black-and-white band. Then the emotion was as if it had never been. He stepped upon the slab, keen-sighted, cool, and with his pitching game outlined in his mind.

Burr, the curly-haired leader of Herne's batting list, took his position to the left of the plate. Ken threw him an underhand curve, sweeping high and over the inside corner. Burr hit a lofty fly to Homans. Hill, the bunter, was next. For him Ken shot one straight over the plate. Hill let it go by, and it was a strike. Ken put another in the same place, and Hill, attempting to bunt, fouled a little fly, which Dean caught. Gallagher strode third to bat. He used a heavy club, stood right-handed over the plate, and looked aggressive. Ken gave the captain a long study and then swung slowly, sending up a ball that floated like a feather. Gallagher missed it. On the second pitch he swung heavily at a slow curve far off the outside. For a third Ken tried the speedy drop, and the captain, letting it go, was out on strikes.

The sides changed. Worry threw a sweater around Ken.

“The ice's broke, Peg, and you've got your control. That settles it.”

Homans went up, to a wavering ripple of