At the start of the seventh, with the Ballard rooters standing and
thundering, "The lucky seventh! Ballard—win the game in the lucky
seventh!" the score was 0-0. Only two hits had been made off Forsythe, of
Ballard, whose change of pace had the Bannister nine at his mercy, and
but three off Ichabod, who had superb control of his dazzling speed. T.
Haviland Hicks, Jr., cavorting in right field, had made the only error of
the contest, dropping an easy fly that fell into his hands after he had run
bewilderedly in circles, when any good fielder could have stood still and
captured it; however, since he got the ball to second in time to hold the
runner at third, no harm resulted.
"Hold 'em, Bannister, hold 'em!" entreated Butch Brewster, as they went
to the field at their end of the lucky seventh, not having scored. "Do your
best, Hicks, old man—never mind their Jokes. If you can't catch
the ball, just get it to second, or first, without delay! Pitch ball,
Ichabod—three innings to hold 'em!"
But it was destined to be the lucky seventh for Ballard. An error on a hard
chance, for Roddy Perkins, at third, placed a runner on first. Ichabod
struck out a hitter, and the runner stole second, aided somewhat by the
umpire. The next player flew out, sacrificing the runner to third; then—an
easy fly traveled toward the paralyzed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one that
anybody with the most infinitesimal baseball ability could have corralled,
as Butch said, "with his eyes blindfolded, and his hands tied behind him!"
But Hicks, who possessed absolutely no baseball talent, though he made
a desperate try, succeeded in doing an European juggling act for five
heartbreaking seconds, after which he let the law of gravity act on the
sphere, so that it descended to terra firma. Hence, the "Lucky Seventh"
ended with the score: Ballard, 1; Bannister, 0; and the Ballard cohorts in
a state bordering on lunacy!
"Oh, I've done it now—I've lost the game and the Championship!" groaned
the crushed Hicks, as he stumbled toward the Bannister bench. "First I made
that bonehead play, giving Skeet an old time-table I had on hand, and not
telling him to get one at the station. How was I to know the old railroad
would change the schedule, within two weeks of this game? And now—I've
made the error that gives Ballard the Championship. If I hadn't pulled that
boner, Skeet would be here, and the regular right-fielder would have had
that fly. What a glorious climax to my athletic career at old Bannister!"
Hicks' comrades were too generous, or heartbroken, to condemn the sorrowful
youth, as he trailed to the dug-out, but the Ballard rooters had absolutely
no mercy, and they panned him in regulation style. In fact, all through
the game, Hicks expressed himself as being butchered by the fans to make a
Ballard holiday, for he struck out with unfailing regularity at bat, and
dropped everything in the field, so that the rooters jeered him, whenever
he stepped to the plate, and—it was quite different from the good-natured
ridicule of his comrades, back at old Bannister.
"Never mind, Hicks," said good Butch Brewster, brokenly, seeing how
sorrow-stricken his sunny classmate was, "We'll beat 'em—yet! We bat this
inning, and in the ninth maybe someone will knock a home-run for us, and
tie the score."
The eighth Inning was the lucky one for the Gold and Green. Monty
Merriweather opened with a clean two-base hit to left, and advanced to
third on Biff Pemberton's sacrifice to short. Butch, trying to knock a
home-run, struck out-à la "Cactus" Cravath in the World's Series; but the
lanky Ichabod, endeavoring to bunt, dropped a Texas-Leaguer over second,
and the score was tied, though the sky-scraper twirler was caught off base
a moment later. And, though Ballard fought hard in the last of the eighth,
Ichabod displayed big-league speed, and retired two hitters by the
strike-out route, while the third popped out to first.
"The ninth Inning!" breathed Beef McNaughton, picking up his Louisville
Slugger, as he strode to the plate. "Come on, boys—we will win the
Championship right now. Get one run, and Ichabod will hold Ballard one
more time!"
Perhaps the pachydermic Beef's grim attitude unnerved the wonderful Bob
Forsythe, for he passed that elephantine youth. However, he regained his
splendid control, and struck out Cherub Challoner on three pitched balls.
After this, it was a shame to behold the Ballard first-baseman drop the
ball, when Don Carterson grounded to third, and would have been thrown
out with ease—with two on base, and one out, Roddy Perkins made a sharp
single, on which the two runners advanced a base. Now, with the sacks
filled, and with only one out—
"It's all over!" mourned Captain Butch Brewster, rocking back and forth on
the bench. "Hicks—is—at—bat!"