The Steam-Shovel Man

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

"This is a glad reunion. And General Quesada and his parrot will bother you no more for some time," cried Walter.

"So I have heard. He is locked up in Uncle Sam's hotel with the iron bars, which is a very good place for him. I am going back to Washington to be a diplomat some more. And how is that dear family of yours? What do you hear from them?"

"They are all here," exclaimed Walter, as he dragged the surprised Colombian toward the grandstand. You may be sure that Mrs. Goodwin and her daughter found this young man entertaining company, for he promptly delivered himself of a eulogy of Walter as a noble, splendid young man who had saved his life. In his own country girls of fourteen were young ladies and to be treated as such, wherefore he instantly lost his heart to Eleanor and was so flatteringly attentive that she felt very grown-up indeed.

Their animated conversation ceased when the Cristobal players took their positions in the field, and the first of the Culebra batsmen marched to the plate. Mr. Horatio Goodwin actually shut his eyes when Walter was ready to deliver the ball. There was one other spectator quite as fidgety as he. It was that devoted patron of Isthmian base-ball, Major Glendinning.

The opponents from Culebra were brawny men, and they were not at all interested in the emotions of the Goodwin family. They proposed to hammer the young Cristobal pitcher out of the box, and during the first and second innings it looked as if they might be successful. That temperamental dynamite expert, Naughton, slumped in a disconsolate heap when he beheld Walter's pitching pounded for one hard, clean hit after another. The game was still young, however, and the Cristobal fielding was sharp and steady.

Walter gritted his teeth and took his punishment manfully. Jack Devlin was catching for Culebra, and as Walter came to the bat, the steam-shovel man muttered behind his mask:

"See here, my boy. I'll turn traitor for once. I want to see you make good. I am responsible for you. Don't try to win on your speed. Ease up. Save yourself. Use your head. You go at things too hard."

Here was friendship indeed. Devlin was as loyal to the Culebra nine as he was to the devouring monster of a steam-shovel, old Twenty-six, but he felt that as "Walter's godfather by brevet" he was in honor bound to stick to him through thick and thin. The advice was sound. Already Walter had felt warning twinges in his arm. He became more deliberate and wary, and Culebra's batting streak was checked. The Cristobal partisans cheered him lustily, and that elderly gentleman of large affairs, Major Glendinning, was guilty of pounding a perfect stranger on the back. Then "Bucky" Harrison and his comrades rallied and dismayed the Culebra pitcher by driving in three runs, which tied the score.

The game seesawed for some time, while Walter Goodwin became more effective and cool-headed. The fateful seventh inning arrived, and the score still stood at 6-6. Then Cristobal gained a run on a timely hit. A little later, Culebra filled the bases with two men out. Walter hitched up his belt and stole a glance at the grandstand. Eleanor was leaning forward, lips parted, hands clasped, "wishing hard enough to win," as he had so often beheld her on the high-school field at Wolverton. He turned to face the Culebra batter, a bronzed six-footer of the steam-shovel brigade. Just then there came booming across the field the voice of Naughton:

"Oh, you Goodwin! Remember how you handled the stuff on the dynamite ship. This is easy."