Making the Nine

by Albertus T. Dudley

Sands threw down his mask and protector and joined the coach.

“That hit of Poole’s was the second made off Tompkins in five innings,” said the coach. “A pretty hit and a good slide. Too bad he’s so young, for he seems about the only man on your scrub team who stands up to the plate and keeps his head. He’s been up twice: the first time he got his base on balls; the second he made a hit.”

“He’s doing better than I expected,” said Sands. “Probably it’s his lucky day; but he’s too light and too green for us. He’ll make good material for about two years from now. We must have steady men for the Hillbury game or they’ll go to pieces. The strain’s terrific.”

“He’s had two fielding chances with one error,” said the coach, consulting his record. “Oh, yes, I remember; the error was on a long hit close by the foul line, but he got it back well to the in-field.”

In the sixth inning Robinson, second baseman on the first team, led off with a single over third. Maine, who was being tried at short, followed with a hot grounder to right-field, which the scrub-fielder let bounce past him, allowing the batsman to reach second and advancing Robinson to third; and Sands followed with a liner over the short-stop’s head that set the runners moving again. By some unaccountable instinct—he certainly had not seen enough of Sands’s playing to know the general direction of his hits—Phil had moved up toward the in-field. Suddenly he heard the crack of the bat, and saw the ball shooting straight toward him, apparently likely to strike a dozen yards ahead. Impulse drove him forward to meet it; intelligence, with tardier admonition, held him back. So he took a step forward, then several back, and just reached the ball as it skimmed above his head, and pulled it down.

It was a creditable catch, but more creditable still was the unhesitating, accurate throw to Rhines at third to cut off Robinson, who had started for home; for it was proof that the boy could think quickly and take advantage of the chances of the game.

Whatever the merit of quick thought, Rhines evidently lacked it; for he stupidly held the ball on third, without perceiving that the other base-runner was thirty feet from second, and might have been caught equally well. Smith, who was pitching, finally made it clear to him with expletives and yells, but the opportunity for the triple play had passed. Vincent went out on a pop fly to the pitcher, and the scrub came in triumphant.

The coach made another mental note in Phil’s favor. A catch may be by chance, a double play never. It was no great feat, but the boy could use his brains; that was worth remembering.

Phil’s side went out readily enough, one hitting to pitcher, one on a little fly to second, one on strikes. The first followed in similar fashion, and the scrub in their turn advanced no farther than second. It was still early in the season, and schoolboys are likely to be poor batters. The pitchers were the only men who had had any regular practice for their positions. Then with the return of the first to bat, came a set of in-field fumbles and wild throws, and general heedless passing of the ball around the diamond, that set the first to running recklessly, and drove the scrub to wilder errors. Such practice is as vicious for base-runners and coachers as for fielders.

“Stop, stop!” cried Lyford, running out into the diamond. The scrub short-stop had fumbled a grounder, and then after juggling the ball a second had thrown to first when it was quite impossible to catch the man; the first baseman had put it frantically across the diamond to Rhines six feet off the base, in a wild attempt to catch a runner at third; and Rhines had made haste to contribute his part to the general demoralization by throwing several feet over the second baseman’s head, in an equally hopeless effort to intercept the man speeding down to second.