“Yes, you are!” jeered Buster, behind the improvised plate. “You’re putting everything you’ve got on them! I dare you to put one in the groove, Toby!”
Toby took the dare, launching a straight, fast ball to the net that looked like a white streak. But Joe glued his eyes to it, swung short but from the shoulders, and there was a fine, resounding crack! Toby turned slowly and watched the ball streak far into the field. Then he held up both hands and grinned at Joe.
“You win!” he said.
That was the beginning of Joe’s batting success. After that day he faced the pitcher, whoever he might be, with a confident smile reflecting the inward conviction that he could hit. There was nothing remarkable about his batting that season and he was never spectacular. Usually his contribution proved a single, infrequently a double. He was in no danger of being dubbed “Home-Run” Faulkner. And frequently enough, more frequently than he approved of, you may be sure, he struck out just as ingloriously as anyone else on the team. But, somehow, he showed a reliability that began to be talked about toward the end of the season. It was a fair wager, when he went to the plate, that he would deliver a hit. Often he didn’t; more often he did. And what made his hits go safe was that practice in the baseball cage, for through that he had attained an almost uncanny ability to place them. Few pitchers could make him hit where he didn’t want to. Jack once declared that Joe, who was a right-handed batter, could hit a fast ball to right field and a slow one to left any time he wanted to! This was somewhat of an exaggeration, but certain it is that Joe was a clever batter when it came to “putting them where they ain’t,” and his title of Lucky Faulkner was felt to have been wisely bestowed. But I am ahead of my story, for Joe’s batting prowess, although it came into being that April afternoon at the net, was of gradual growth. When all is said, the way to learn to bat is to bat. And that is the way Joe learned.
Amesville played Lynton one warm, cloudy afternoon on the former’s grounds and took her first beating. Lynton had a way of winning from Amesville when all the signs pointed toward defeat. She never played remarkable ball; never, in fact, won from any other club of Amesville’s ability. But, somehow, almost every year Lynton managed to secure the decision in one or another of the two games played. And every year there came a loud and impatient demand for a third and deciding contest. But the third contest seldom occurred, seldom when it was demanded, because by that time both teams had filled their dates, and never by arrangement at the beginning of the season because at such times Amesville smiled confidently and said: “Well, this year we won’t have any fooling. We’ll take ’em both!”
Lynton’s perversity had secured for her the compliment of being looked on by Amesville as second only to Petersburg as a worthy foeman. Sometimes Lynton won by virtue of her enemy’s errors, caused by over-eagerness. Sometimes she won by sheer luck, as when, two years before, with the score 7 to 6 in Amesville’s favour in the ninth inning, the Amesville pitcher had let down long enough to allow two tail-enders to get to third and second bases, and then, with two down and two strikes on the batsman, had pitched a wild ball that had sent the batter staggering away from the plate and had seen in amazement the ball hit the shouldered bat, bound away to just behind first base, and land fair a yard beyond anyone’s reach while the runners crossed the home plate with enough tallies to take the game! That contest had become famous in Amesville legends, and nowadays it was the usual thing for someone to shout at a crucial moment in a game: “Don’t hit his bat, Tom!” Amesville had remained sore over that game for a whole year and had only regained her composure when, the following spring, she had tied the first Lynton contest and then routed her enemy in the second struggle by the generous score of 17 to 6!
This year Amesville appeared a trifle less confident of winning the two battles, although she perhaps secretly expected to do so. At all events, she took no chances in that first game. Tom Pollock started in the box and remained until the seventh inning, at which time Amesville had a satisfactory lead of four runs. Toby Williams relieved him, and Toby had an off-day if ever pitcher had! For two innings he escaped real punishment, although one of several passes resulted in the eighth in a tally for Lynton. But in the first half of the ninth, with the score then 8 to 5 in the home team’s favour, Toby simply laid down in the traces. Afterwards some of the blame was laid at the door of coach and captain, for it was said that Jack Speyer, who was put in Sam Craig’s place behind the bat in the eighth, showed poor judgment. In any case, after getting through the next to the last session at the expense of but one run, Toby went to the bad completely. Twice, when the batter had three balls and no strikes against him, Speyer and Toby met in consultation between plate and mound and Lynton howled and hooted. In that disastrous ninth Toby gave two passes, hit a batsman and was punished for four hits with a total of six bases! Before Carl Moran could even peel his sweater off preparatory to warming up the mischief was done. When Carl did go in the score was tied and there were runners on second and third, with two men out. The only wonder was that Lynton had managed to score so few runs! Carl did his best, which was not a very good best, but he was facing a desperate situation and was plainly nervous. The next batter hit safely past Hale and two more runs were scored. Then Carl gave a pass, just to show that Toby was not the only generous pitcher on the team, and, after Speyer had overthrown second in an effort to kill a steal and one more runner had scored, he persuaded the Lynton catcher to send a long fly to Jack Strobe’s waiting hands.
When that fatal half-inning was over the score told a far different tale! Lynton was in the lead, eleven runs to Amesville’s eight. Coach Talbot used all his science and shifted and substituted bewilderingly in the last of the ninth, and it was then that Joe made his début. Foley, while playing a clean game at the bag, had been hitting miserably all the afternoon, and when Mr. Talbot looked about for someone to bat in his stead Joe was about the only fellow left on the bench eligible to play. By that time Morris had struck out, Jack was on second and Healey on first. Joe faced the Lynton pitcher calmly and smilingly, but he confessed afterwards to Jack that he was a bit weak in the knees! However, that weakness didn’t prevent him from out-guessing the pitcher on the first delivery and driving the ball down the alley between first and second basemen, scoring Jack, putting Buster on third, and reaching second himself on his stomach with no time to spare! But that was the last sputter, for Loomis, rushed into the breach to bat for Speyer, took the count without a swing, and once more Lynton, the incorrigible, pesky varmint, had won!
The visitors went off with laughter and song, cheering and jeering, leaving Amesville to comfort herself with the knowledge of a future meeting and to once more raise the cry of “Give us a third game!”