“I—yes, sir. I mean, I have hit some, but——”
“All right. We’ll soon see. Better try to wait him out the first time. Watch his pitching and try to make him give you what you can hit after that. All right, fellows! On the run!”
Then the game started, Nye in the box for the Badgers, Dan Young catching, LaCroix on first in place of Morgan, Jones playing third for Bennett, and an unknown at second. The umpire had announced the latter’s name as Sloan, or something like that, but no one had ever seen him before or heard of him. He was a well-set-up youngster and, in spite of the spills he had made during practice, carried himself like a ball player. The “fans” watched him and reserved judgment, asking each other how Steve had managed to get hold of him at less than a half-hour’s notice. For it had been five minutes past three when the accident had happened that had sent three of the Badgers’ best players to the hospital, Bennett, as was learned later, with a broken leg, Morgan with three ribs caved in, and Pitcher Cotton with enough contusions to keep him out of the game for a week at least. Morgan, said that evening’s paper, would be back at work in a fortnight possibly, but young Bennett was out of it for the rest of the year.
Ripley occupied the mound for Damascus that afternoon, and was discouragingly effective. After “Hop” Nye had escaped punishment in the first half of the initial inning by the skin of his teeth, a fine stop of a possible two-bagger by Cross and a phenomenal catch of a long fly by O’Neill warding off disaster, Harrisville went in to be mowed down one, two, three by the elongated spit-ball artist of the visiting club. No one got the ghost of a hit in that inning or any other while Ripley was in the box; no one on the home team, that is. Damascus had better luck, touching up Nye for three hits with a total of five bases, but failing to score for all of that. The game went to the sixth a pitcher’s battle pure and simple, with Ripley getting the long end of it, both teams working like beavers and not a runner passing second.
Wayne’s opportunities to distinguish himself were few, for strike-outs were numerous. Four chances were accepted by him in the first five innings, but none was difficult. At the bat, he followed Manager Milburn’s advice the first time up and tried his best to work a pass. But Ripley was not generous that way and Wayne soon walked back to the bench with the umpire’s “He’s out!” in his ears. In the last of the fifth, with LaCroix on first base and none out, he had a second trial at the plate and, after getting in the hole, landed on a straight ball and smacked it squarely into third baseman’s hands.
It was in the sixth inning that the ice was broken by Damascus. Before anyone realised it she had filled the bases with only one out. Nye was plainly wabbling and “Red” Herring and Nick Crane were warming up back of third. The Damascus left fielder landed on the first pitch and Cross got it on the bound and hurled it to the plate. But the throw was wide and, although Young made the catch, the runner was safe and Damascus had scored. She scored again a minute later when the following batsman flied out to short left, for the best “Sailor” O’Neill could do was to hold the next runner at third. With two gone, a hit out of the infield was imperative and the Damascus catcher tried his best to get it. That he didn’t was no one’s fault but Wayne’s, for he started the ball off his bat at a mile a minute and streaked down the base path, while the other bags emptied like magic. Four yards to the left of first base sped the ball, ascending as it went. LaCroix stabbed at it and missed it by inches and it was Wayne, who had started with the sound of the hit, who leaped into the air behind LaCroix and brought joy to the stands and sorrow to Damascus. That circus catch, for it was scarcely less, started Wayne on the road to fame, a fame at present presaged by cheers and hand-clapping as, somewhat embarrassed, he walked back to the bench.
“Lift your cap,” chuckled Cross as he and Wayne neared the first base stand. “Where’s your manners, kid?”
Wayne obeyed sketchily and dropped onto the bench aware of the amused glances of his team mates. From the other end Mr. Milburn nodded to him. “Good stop, Sloan,” he said. But that was all.
Harrisville again failed to hit or score and the seventh began. Nye was derricked when he had passed the first man up and “Red” Herring ambled to the mound. “Red” was wild for a few minutes but then settled down and, after Young’s clever peg to Cross had retried the man from first, the inning was virtually over. A long fly to right and a stop and throw by Jones settled matters.
The seventh witnessed a change of fortunes. “Sailor” O’Neill led off with a clean single and LaCroix advanced him to second and reached first safely. Ripley retired then and a left-hander named Marks took his place. Marks was a man of wide curves and slow delivery. Wayne tried desperately to get a hit but fanned, which, considering that his advance to the plate had been greeted by applause, was horribly humiliating. But Leary found Marks for one, scoring O’Neill and putting LaCroix on third. Young flied out to deep centre and LaCroix scored, Leary advancing. Herring smashed a liner to shortstop too hot to handle and Leary beat out the subsequent throw to the plate by inches. Cross hit safely but was doubled up with Briggs a few minutes later.