But it wouldn’t do to put all the work on Fortune, and Chester realized it. The next man on the list, Berger, was the weakest sort of a batsman. It wouldn’t do to trust to Berger to bring in the two runs needed to tie the game. So he waved that youth aside and looked about him. Here were Poor and Tucker, but they weren’t likely to perform much better than Berger.
“Where’s Lippit?” demanded Chester of the team at large.
No one seemed to know, and so everyone began to yell at once for “Jerry! Jerry Lippit!” An answer came from back of third and Jerry raced across the diamond. Chester seized him by the arm, whispered instructions, and pushed him toward the plate. The uproar died away. The crowd watched almost breathlessly. At second, Jordan pawed the earth and shouted. At first, Jones danced about and uttered taunts, keeping, nevertheless, a sharp watch on the boxman, who had a way of turning with disconcerting quickness and throwing to first. But when first baseman left the bag Jones took a twelve foot lead and redoubled his antics. Behind him was Chester, coaching. Over by third stood Lyman. The voices of the two crossed the diamond like pistol volleys, crashing by the ears of the opposing pitcher, who, in spite of his efforts to keep cool, was plainly worried. The first ball proved it, for it struck the plate; and the enemy howled with mingled glee and derision. Catcher walked down the alley a few steps before he tossed the ball back. Pitcher nodded, hitched at his belt, rubbed a hand in the earth, and poised himself again. The catcher gave his signal, the ball sped to the plate, catcher caught it and almost with one movement sent it streaking to second. Jordan was a good fifteen feet away at the instant. He made one step toward second, saw the futility of it, and then, turning, dug out for third. A groan went up from the watchers. Shortstop, who had taken the throw-down, started along the path after the runner, then, pausing, snapped the ball to third baseman. Jordan, headed off, doubled back. Third closed in a few steps and then threw to second baseman, who was now covering the sack. Again Jordan turned, but they were closing in on him fast and it seemed that the end had come. But Fortune once more took a hand. Second baseman tossed the ball to pitcher, who had run over to back up third baseman. The throw was an easy one, over Jordan’s head, but it went high, and, although the pitcher got it in one hand, it was at that moment that Jordan, grown desperate, rushed for the third bag. Pitcher was on the base line and Jordan struck him full in the breast with his shoulder. Down swept the hand with the ball, as the pitcher staggered aside, and thumped against Jordan’s back. Tom, watching from twenty feet away, groaned. Then, in the next instant, he was dancing like a dervish and whacking Willard on the back! For the ball was rolling in the dust and Jordan was clutching third base frantically! Pitcher had dropped the ball! And on second base sat Jones!
Well, anyone could guess what would likely happen after that. With two balls already wasted, the pitcher tried to do what was wise; that is, pass the pinch hitter and wait for the next batsman. And so, while Audelsville howled and cheered and hooted, he tossed another wide ball. Then Jerry saw what he was up to, saw his chance to make a hero of himself being snatched from his grasp, and was enraged.
“Oh, put one over!” he taunted. “You don’t dare to give me a chance at one!” He leaped to the end of the batter’s box and waved his bat exasperatingly at the troubled pitcher. “You’re afraid, you Providence Prune!”
Now whether the pitcher meant to sneak a strike over or whether he meant the next delivery to be a ball will never be known, but Jerry will tell you that no one could ask for a better offering than came to him. It sped in fairly high, broke slowly and came straight over the plate. To have refused it would have been a positive crime, Jerry declared afterwards. So he didn’t refuse it. He swung sharply, met it fairly and squarely and sent it whizzing high and far into rightfield.
All eyes followed it and hearts began to sink. Out there rightfielder, turning, was running back slowly. He could catch it, certainly, and the game would be over. Then, suddenly, the fielder scurried back further, watching the descending ball over his shoulder. And then, just how it happened wasn’t apparent, up went his right hand high in the air, he toppled over backward, and the ball rolled away from him across the grass! The tying runs had crossed the plate and Jerry was faltering at second. Now he took up the running again. He was at third before the fielder had recovered the ball and sped it to second baseman. Lyman waved him toward home. Half-way there the ball left second baseman’s hands and Jerry, with a final frantic charge, slid over ten feet of dust and hooked one foot into the plate, avoiding the catcher’s wild lunge of the ball and scoring the eighth and winning tally!
The high school scorer credited Jerry with a home run, on the presumption that the ball had been an impossible one to handle. The Providence scorer gave him a two-base hit and put an error down to rightfielder. I fancy the latter story came nearer the truth of the matter. Not that it mattered much, however, for Audelsville tramped home in joyous triumph, Jerry became a hero, and Providence Preparatory Academy retired with trailing banners and muttered vows of revenge. So absorbed in the glorious ninth inning victory were Tom and Willard and Spider that they reached town before it dawned on them that Teddy Thurston had mysteriously disappeared and that they hadn’t got their sodas!
“Never mind,” said Willard darkly, “we’ll make him pay up yet. That kid will come to a bad end, you mark my words, fellows!”
Later, when Tom and Willard paused at a corner to say good night, Willard volunteered: