Brewster looked nervous, but he didn’t act so. He judged the first offering correctly and let it go, started to swing at the next, changed his mind, and heard it called a strike and held back from the third, which dropped at the bag and almost got away from Hunt. The shouting of spectators and coaches was having its effect on Ellis at last. A third ball followed. The uproar increased. Even the base-runners added their voices to the pandemonium of sound. Ellis fumbled his cap, looked around the field, rubbed a perspiring hand in the dust, took the signal very deliberately, although it could mean but one thing unless Hunt had decided to pass the batsman, wound up slowly, and pitched.
Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom to have walked Brewster, under the circumstances, but Toonalta chose otherwise and so things happened as they did. The ball, fast and straight, went to the plate like a shot from a gun, but Brewster was ready for it. A fine, heartening crack sounded over the diamond, the ball sailed off toward left field, Billy White sprang into his stride and Wayne lit out for third. Left fielder came in on the run, got the ball on the first long bounce, set himself quickly, and plugged it home. It was a good throw and it reached Hunt only one stride from the plate. But that one stride was sufficient to bring victory to the Blues and defeat to the Browns, for when Hunt fell to his knee and swept the ball downward Wayne was stretched on his back with one scuffed, dust-covered shoe fairly on the rubber!
After that, confusion, cheering, a grinning, white-toothed June pulling Wayne to his feet, an influx of shouting, happy Medfieldians, amongst them Arthur Pattern, and hands thumping Wayne on the back as he pushed his way toward the bench. He was breathless, dusty, and tired, as he added his feeble voice to the cheer for the defeated rival, but he was terrifically happy at the same time.
[CHAPTER XIV]
“A GENTLEMAN TO SEE MR. SLOAN”
There was a Fourth of July entertainment at the Y. M. C. A. that evening, and Wayne and June stayed in town for supper and afterward walked around to the Association building through the warm summer night. June still talked about that ninth inning. “Mas’ Wayne, that was surely one fine ol’ innin’,” he declared for the tenth time. “Lawsy-y-y, but I certainly was scared, yes, sir! When that yere Mister Brewster grab a bat an’ walk up to that yere plate I didn’ look for nothin’ but jus’ disappointment. But he delivered the goods, didn’ he? He certainly did! But I was mortal ’fraid you wasn’ goin’ get home before that ol’ ball!” June chuckled. “You surely did run some, Mas’ Wayne!”
They found most of the other players present when they reached the building and when it was time to adjourn to the hall they flocked in together, June accompanying them protestingly, and received a round of applause as they went to their seats. The entertainment was enjoyable but didn’t last long, and when it was over an impromptu reception took place in the big lounging-room and everyone flocked around and said nice things about the team and the game was played over again several times. It was difficult to decide who the real hero of the contest was, since so many had performed. Pete Chase came in for a good share of praise; for five strike-outs, three assists, and no errors was considered a fine record against as strong a team as the Toonaltas. The five passes that he had issued were easily pardoned since none had resulted in a score. In hitting, Toonalta stood seven for a total of ten bases and Chenango nine for a total of eleven.
Brewster was lauded for his rescue hit, Jim Wheelock for his steady playing on base and at bat, Collins for a brilliant defence of left field and a timely two-base wallop, Hoffman for his heady catching, and Despaigne for his work at short. Even Billy White came in for a share of the compliments, for Billy had worked Ellis for a pass in the last inning and subsequently landed the tying run. But when all was said Wayne was really the star. He had fielded without an error, having three assists and two put-outs to his credit, had made three hits for a total of four bases in four appearances at the plate, and had tallied the winning run. In the batting line Jim Wheelock was his nearest competitor, Jim having two hits to his credit. In fielding Wayne had no competitor that day. Many kind things were said about him, and Arthur Pattern’s prediction that Wayne would make himself heard some day as a baseman was concurred in by all. Perhaps the Chenangos and their admirers were a bit too lavish with their praise that evening, but they felt exceptionally good over the victory and may be pardoned for indulging in what our English cousins would call “swank.”
In the middle of the session of mutual admiration word came from the office that a gentleman was inquiring for Wayne, and Wayne wondered who it could be and decided that Jim Mason had at last accepted his oft-repeated invitation to the Association. But it wasn’t Jim who awaited him. The caller was a somewhat thick-set man of forty with a much wrinkled face from which a pair of shrewd, light-blue eyes peered forth from under heavy brows. He wore a suit of gray plaid, the coat a trifle tight across the big chest, a pair of wonderfully brilliant tan shoes, a heavy gold chain across his waistcoat, and a big diamond ring on one hand, and carried a soft straw hat adorned with a black-and-yellow scarf. Wayne didn’t observe all these details at first, for he was much too busy speculating as to the man’s errand, reflecting, as he crossed to meet him, that the letter to his stepfather had reached him well over a week ago, allowing plenty of time for him to set the law on his track. But the visitor didn’t quite look the part of Authority, for he had a genial smile and a ready expression of polite apology.