Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant. Fullerton Hugh Stuart

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ if you like."

      Clancy sat gazing at his visitor as if undecided as to whether he should explode in wrath, laugh at some joke too deep for him, or believe the slender youth was in earnest.

      "Say, kid," he said slowly after studying the youth for a moment, "I admire your nerve, anyhow. If you have half the confidence on a ball field that you have off it, you'll be a wonder. Where did you ever play ball?"

      A troubled expression came over the boy's face.

      "Mr. Clancy," he said, quietly, "if you take me you'll have to do it without asking questions. I can play ball, and it's up to me to make good at something. All I ask is a chance to prove to you I can play. It will not cost you a cent to find out."

      "Done anything?" Clancy asked, sharply.

      "Criminal? No," responded the boy, flushing.

      "Ever signed a professional contract?"

      "No."

      Clancy studied him as if trying to decide what to do. Then, raising his voice, he called:

      "Oh, Sec. Come here a minute."

      A tall man, his hair gray, his face wearing a frown of perpetual worry, came from the hotel lobby.

      "Mr. Tabor," said Clancy, without rising, "this is Mr. Jimmie McCarthy, who is to have a try-out with us at third base. Room him with the players. You aren't stopping anywhere else, are you?"

      The last question was directed to the surprised youth.

      "No – I'm broke," answered the youth, flushing quickly.

      "I'll fix you up in a moment," said the secretary in friendly tones as he shook hands with the youth. "Wait until I finish settling up with the baggage man."

      The secretary hastened from the room, and the boy turned impulsively to the manager.

      "Mr. Clancy," he said in a tone of gratitude, "I want to thank you – I don't know how. I was broke – ball playing is about all I'm good at. How did you know I didn't want to use my own name?"

      "I figured you might want to forget it for a time, anyhow," said Clancy. "McCarthy is a good name and it fits your eyes."

      "I can't tell you how grateful I am," said the boy impetuously. "I'll make good for you. I've failed trying to make a living. Baseball is the only thing they taught me at college that I'm good at, and when I read that you needed a third baseman I" —

      "College man, eh?" asked Clancy quickly. "Well, I won't hold that against you or tip it off. Don't thank me. If you make good I'll be the one to give thanks."

      The youth turned to follow the secretary as if to hide a little mist that came into his eyes, and he left Manager Clancy gazing thoughtfully after him and nibbling the end of his penholder.

      "It would be a miracle," said Clancy to himself. "But I've got a hunch it will come true. He's bred right – tell it from his looks. He's game, light on his feet; good shoulders, and – and – and a pair of eyes."

      CHAPTER II

       A Miracle Called McCarthy

      Thirty thousand persons, banked in the great grandstands and massed upon the field seats, roared with increasing excitement as from every direction solid streams of humanity poured toward the park to witness the second game of the series between the Bears and the Panthers.

      The batting practice of the teams had ended and the Bears trotted out upon the field.

      "Who is that red-head practicing at third?" inquired "Chucky" Rice, the veteran reporter of the Panthers.

      "Name is McCarthy, a busher Clancy picked up somewhere. He is to have a trial this fall – after the pennant fight is over," said Koerner, of the Globe, who traveled with the Bears.

      "Looks sweet on ground balls," commented Rice, watching the slender, graceful athlete, who was occupying Pardridge's place at third base. "Where did Clancy find him, Tech?"

      The question was addressed to "Technicalities" Feehan, the odd little reporter who had traveled with the Bears for twenty years.

      "I have not been informed," responded Feehan, adjusting his glasses and watching McCarthy closely. "He came to the hotel last night and asked for a try-out. Did you see him hit?"

      "Yes," replied Rice. "Hits right-handed and he cracked two on the nose. Will he play?"

      "Clancy hardly will take a chance with him at this stage," replied Koerner.

      McCarthy tossed his glove to the veteran third baseman and ran toward the plate to bat grounders to the infielders. He was not aware of the fact, but Clancy had been watching him keenly during the entire practice and had asked Kennedy, the star catcher, to keep an eye on the recruit and report how he liked his actions.

      "Handles himself like a ball player," commented the catcher. "He hit a curve ball {22} with a snap swing that had a lot of drive in it and he gets the ball away like a flash when it hits his hands."

      "He takes things easily," said the manager. "I haven't seen him fight a ball yet. Blocks it down and recovers in plenty of time. If this game didn't mean so much" —

      The game went against the Bears from the start, the break of the luck seeming always to favor the Panthers. Twice, with runners perched on second and third, Holleran had hit feeble grounders to the infield, one resulting in a runner being caught at the home plate and one in an easy out at first that finished an inning in which the Bears had threatened to amass a half dozen runs.

      The seventh inning started with the Panthers leading 3 to 1, and the Bears seemingly beaten beyond hope of recovery. An error, followed quickly by a base on balls and a successful sacrifice bunt put Bear runners on second and third bases with but one out and Holleran coming to the bat. Clancy signaled him, and an instant later Umpire Maxwell announced:

      "McCarthy batting for Holleran. McCarthy will play third base, Pardridge in left field."

      McCarthy came to the batter's box quickly, swinging a long, light bat. He let a fast ball cut across the plate just at his shoulders and only glanced inquiringly at the umpire when it was called a strike. The next one was a quick-breaking curve, seemingly coming straight at him. He stepped slightly forward, snapped the long bat against the ball and drove it down the left field foul line; two runners sprinted across the plate, and the score was tied.

      "That auburn baby can hit them curves," commented Rice. "He certainly called the turn and waded into that one."

      The game went into the ninth, then the tenth, the pitchers working harder and harder and the teams batting behind them without a break to bring the victory that meant so much to them.

      Jimmy McCarthy was the first batter for the Bears. From an unknown recruit he had become the sensation of the game, and thousands were asking who he was. Twice he had hit Cooke's fast "hook curve," and hit it hard, and Cooke, remembering, shook his head as his catcher signaled for another curve. The recruit watched him, and, with a sudden jerk of his belt, he stepped into position. The first ball was fast and across his shoulders, as Cooke had placed it twice before. This time instead of taking the first strike McCarthy met the ball squarely and drove it on the line over the first baseman's head. He turned first base, going at top speed, although already McKeever, the Panther's right СКАЧАТЬ