SAM ARRIVES
Whether the Stars were determined to show their opponents what they could do when they tried or whether it was because they wanted to show their confidence in Joe, or even whether it was due to a slump in the playing of the Academy team, was not made manifest, but at any rate in their half of the sixth inning our friends gathered in four runs, making the score ten to three in their favor.
“Oh, it’s a walk-over,” boasted Tom Davis as he did an impromptu war dance.
“Yes, we’ve got ’em beat a mile,” added Seth Potter.
“Don’t be too sure,” commented the Academy captain. “No game is won until it’s over and we’ve got three more innings yet. The seventh is always our lucky number.”
“You’re welcome to all you can get,” rejoined Captain Rankin with a laugh. “Seven is where we always eat pie, too.”
The Stars were about to take the field for the beginning of the seventh when there was a commotion over at one entrance gate. A lad came running through the crowd.
“Hold on!” he cried. “Wait! I’m going to play. Let me pitch!”
“Sam Morton!” burst out Tom Davis. “Why couldn’t he stay away until we had the game won? I’ll bet we slump as soon as he goes in the box.”
Sam came on running. He was panting and out of breath.
“What’s the matter? Where were you?” demanded Darrell.
“I got on—the wrong car. I thought it—came here. They—took me off—in the woods—somewhere. I’ve had an awful time—getting here. Is the game—over?”
“No, we’re just starting the seventh.”
“Can’t I pitch?”
Darrell hesitated. It was a perfectly natural request for Sam and yet Joe had been doing so well that both the manager and the captain disliked to take him off the mound.
“Can’t I pitch?” again demanded Sam. “You don’t mean to tell me that Joe Matson has——”
“Joe hasn’t done anything but what we wanted him to,” put in Rankin quickly, “and he’s made a good record.”
“Oh, I suppose so,” sneered Sam. “Well, if you don’t want me to——”
“Of course you can pitch,” said Darrell quietly. It was unquestioningly Sam’s right and though he was in rather an exhausted condition still the manager and captain knew that he was at his best early in his game.
“What are you going to do; change pitchers?” demanded the manager of the Academy team, striding up to Darrell and Captain Rankin.
“Yes.”
“You can’t do it now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s against the rules. You’ve got to have some one bat for him first. You can’t change until next inning.”
There was quite a mix-up, and rules were quoted and mis-quoted back and forth, for, as I have said, the lads were far from being professional or even college players. The upshot of it was that Sam was allowed to go in, whether or not in accordance with the rules the boys did not decide, and the little feeling that had been raised soon subsided, for they were all true sportsmen.
As for Joe, at first he felt humiliated that he was displaced but he realized that he had had more honor that he had at first expected, and his arm was beginning to pain him very much. So, on the whole, he was glad Sam had arrived when he did.
Not so the captain, manager and other Star players, however, for Sam allowed two runs while he occupied the box, and the Academy team and their friends were jubilant.
The Stars managed to get two runs in their half of the seventh. Joe did not play, his place at centre field continuing to be filled by Tom. Joe was glad of the rest and he watched the efforts of his rival closely.
In the eighth Sam did not seem able to pull himself together and three runs were due to his poor pitching.
“Say, if we play innings enough we’ll beat ’em even with their new pitcher!” called some one in the crowd, anxious to get Sam’s “goat,” or nerve.
And this seemed likely. In their half of the eighth the Stars only got one run, and when the ninth inning opened there were some anxious hearts among the members of the visiting team.
And then came a terrible slump. Sam grew wild, allowed bases on balls, struck one man and muffed an easy fly. When the route and riot were over there were five runs to the credit of the schoolboy players and they had tied the score, pulling up from a long way in the rear. The crowd went wild for them.
“Fellows, we’ve got to make our half of this inning count,” said Darrell earnestly. “They’re making fools of us and they’re not in our class at all. We’ve got to beat them! Sam, wake up!” he said sharply.
“I’m not asleep!” retorted the pitcher. “If you think I am why don’t you send that Matson in again?”
“Easy now, easy,” spoke Rankin. “You can pitch if you pull yourself together, and if we can’t make a run this inning and it goes to the tenth you’ll have to unwind some curves.”
“I will, but it won’t go to the tenth.”
It didn’t, for the Stars took a brace and pulled off one run, winning the game by a score of fourteen to thirteen. But it had been a close call.
“Well, you beat us,” acknowledged the Academy manager as the winning run came in. “But it took two pitchers to do it, and you’d have done better if you’d stuck to the first one.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Darrell. “You played better than I gave you credit for.”
“Why don’t you use that first pitcher regularly?” the home captain wanted to know.
“Oh, maybe——” began Darrell, and then he saw Sam standing close beside him, and he did not finish.
“What were you going to say?” demanded Sam roughly.
“Nothing,” answered the manager in some confusion. He was saved a further reply by the approach of a boy who held a note in his hand.
“Is Joe Matson here?” the lad asked.
“Right over there,” said Darrell, pointing to where the young pitcher was talking to Tom Davis.
“I’ve got a letter for him,” the messenger went on.
Joe rapidly tore open the envelope and read the few words the note contained.
“I’ve got to leave here,” he said to Tom.
“Why? What’s the matter? Nothing wrong I hope.”
“I don’t know,” answered Joe. “The note says I’m to come home at once. They’ve sent a carriage for me. I hope nothing has happened to—to anybody,” and gulping down a suspicious lump in his throat Joe followed the lad off the diamond.