Winning his game

by Ralph Henry Barbour

The score was 6 to 0 when the last half of the fifth started and there seemed to be no doubt as to who owned the game. Dud was beginning to feel tired, but believed himself fit for another inning, or two if necessary. But things broke bad at the start. The first of the enemy to face him showed no eagerness to hit and before he knew it Dud was two balls to the bad. Then, although he managed to get a strike across, he followed with a third ball, and the final result was that the Corliss youth smashed a hot liner straight over third base and took two bases on the hit. The succeeding batsman fouled out quickly to Winslow. Then Brooks tried to catch the runner off second and the ball got away from Murtha, who took the throw, and the runner reached third.

Dud felt himself slipping then and shot an inquiring look toward the bench. But Mr. Sargent was evidently still unworried, for Leddy and Weston were both there and no one was warming up. Dud gritted his teeth and went on. The batsman had a strike and two balls on him when Dud, trying to break a high one over the inner corner, lost control of the ball and it went straight for the batter’s head. But Dud’s shout of “Look out!” was not necessary. The man at the plate dropped just in time and the ball sailed past Brooks and brought up at the net, the runner on third sprinting home.

Murtha and the others did their best to steady Dud again, and Ed Brooks, walking down to place the ball in Dud’s hand, said: “That was my fault, Dud. I ought to have got it. Sorry, old man. Don’t mind it, though. Let’s have this fellow, eh?”

Dud nodded. It was nice of Brooks to call it his fault, but of course it hadn’t been anything of the sort. Dud glanced again toward the bench as he went back to his place on the mound. He wished that Mr. Sargent would get his relief ready. He wondered why he didn’t. He was giving way to a sort of fright now, although he didn’t show it unless by the longer time he took to grip the ball and study Brooks’ signal. About him the infield players were speaking words of encouragement. The batsman had him in the hole. He must make him hit. But something told him that he was worked out, that there was no use trying, that today was to be just a repetition of that other day when he had gone to pieces there on Lothrop Field with the whole school looking on!

Brooks had signaled for a straight ball and Dud tried to pitch it. Instead of being straight, though, it was a hook, but it crossed the corner of the plate and the umpire was charitable to Dud. Brooks, looking anxious, threw it back slowly and again spread his hands. The little group of Grafton rooters cheered. Dud, however, took no joy of the doubtful decision. Luck had aided him that time, but this time, he told himself, he would surely fail. And fail he did. The ball passed well inside the plate and the batsman, staggering away from it, dropped his bat and trotted down the path. Corliss was cheering madly now, sensing the fact that the Grafton pitcher was at last weakening. Guy Murtha hurried to the box and told Dud to take his time, to let them hit. Dud muttered agreement, conscious chiefly of disappointment. He had expected Guy to take the ball away from him! What, he wondered almost angrily, was the matter with them? Couldn’t they see that he was through? Why did they want to keep him there when he was only making things worse every minute?

None out now and a runner on first. The next batsman didn’t wait for a pass but lighted on Dud’s first offering and sent it rolling toward third. Dud and Brooks and Winslow all started for it, but it was Bert who scooped it up and pegged it to Ayer, and Bert wasn’t set for the throw and the ball went a yard away from the first-baseman. The first runner dashed to third and the next slid into second base. Dud went despairingly back to the mound to face the next ambitious blue-legged youth. A hit meant two more runs for Corliss, he told himself. Surely then they’d let him go out! But the hit didn’t come just then. Instead, it was a short fly that left the bat and Nick Blake ran back and got it safely and slammed it home. But the man on third didn’t try to score. Then the hit did come, after Dud by some miracle had induced the batsman to swing at two wide balls, and it sped into short center field and two joyful Corliss runners tallied.

Dud looked inquiringly at Murtha and got only a “Never mind that, Baker! Go to it!” Then his eyes sought the bench, and there sat Leddy, hands in pockets, and Gus Weston chatting unconcernedly with Barnes over the score-book, and Mr. Sargent, leaning forward with hands clasped loosely between his knees and his straw hat pulled over his eyes! Dud couldn’t understand it at all. Did they want to get beaten? Couldn’t they see that he was throwing the game away, that he wasn’t any good after all, that he never had been?

“Settle down, Dud!” called Nick Blake. “At a boy! Let’s have ’em, old top!”

“One gone!” chanted Captain Murtha. “Let’s have the double, fellows!”