The Purple Pennant

by Ralph Henry Barbour

The new twirler, Crowell, was a right-hander and was regarded as slightly better than Newton. He took his time about starting to work, but when he finally began he finished the performance neatly enough, causing Bryan to swing at two very poor offerings and then sneaking a fast one over for the third strike.

Springdale ought to have realized then and there that she was beaten. Everyone else did, and there ensued the beginning of an exodus from the stands. But those who were on their way out three minutes after the ninth inning began either scuttled back to their seats or sought places along the side of the field.

The new pitcher had done the unexpected. Far out in the field Farrar and Cotner were chasing back after the rolling ball. Crowell had landed squarely on Haley’s first pitch and driven it whizzing past the surprised Captain Jones for three bases! Tom Haley looked about as astounded as he ever allowed himself to look as he walked to the box after backing up Lanny. With none out and a runner on third, victory looked less certain for the Purple. Springdale’s “rooters” yelled wildly and triumphantly and Springdale’s coachers leaped about like insane acrobats and volleyed all sorts of advice to the lone runner, most of it intended for the pitcher’s ears.

“It’s a cinch, Johnny! You can walk home in a minute! He’s up in the air like a kite! There’s nothing to it, old man, there’s nothing to it! Here’s where we roll ’em up! Watch us score! Hi! Hi! Look at that for a rotten pitch! His arm’s broken in two places! Just tap it, Hughie, just tap it! He’s all gone now, old man! He hasn’t a thing but his glove! Come on now! Let’s have it! Right down the alley, Hughie! Pick your place and let her go!”

But Hughie struck out, in spite of all the advice and encouragement supplied him, also the next man up, and Clearfield began to breathe a bit easier. But the trouble was by no means over, for an inshoot landed against the ribs of the next batsman and he ambled to first, solicitously rubbing his side and grinning at Tom Haley.

“Sorry,” called Tom.

“I’ll bet you are!” was the response.

Springdale’s center-fielder, second man on her batting list, waited until the runner on first had taken second unchallenged and then lifted a fly to Breen. The latter got it without altering his position and pegged to the plate, but Crowell beat out the throw by a yard and the score was 4 to 3. On the throw-in the batsman went to second and with two out and two on bases the infield spread out again. There was some delay while Springdale selected a pinch-hitter, and then, when he had rubbed his hands in the dirt, rubbed the dirt off on his trousers, gripped his bat and fixed his feet firmly to earth, all with the grim, determined air of an eleventh-hour hero, Lanny stepped to one side of the plate and Tom Haley tossed him four wide ones!

It was the Blue’s turn to howl derisively and the Blue did it. And the Purple shouted derisively back. So much, you see, depends on the point of view! The bases were filled now and a hit would not only tie the score but add a second tally to Springdale’s column. But neither Lanny nor Haley appeared worried, not even when the next batsman appeared in the person of the Blue’s captain and third-baseman. Still, Tom worked a bit more deliberately than usual, studied Lanny’s signals thoughtfully, seemed bent on consuming as much time as possible. The Blue’s captain swayed his bat back and forth and strove to restrain his impatience, but that he was impatient was proved when Tom’s first delivery, a ball that Lanny picked almost out of the dirt, fooled him into offering at it. Clearfield shouted joyfully as the bat swept harmlessly above the ball and the men on bases scuttled back. The batsman grew cautious then and let the next two deliveries pass unheeded, guessing them correctly. The noise which had been for some minutes loud and unceasing dwindled to silence as Tom nodded a reply to Lanny’s signal, wound up and lurched forward. The Springdale captain expected a good one and recognized it when he saw it. Bat and ball met sharply and he raced down the first base path.