The Baseball MEGAPACK ®. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ as he could not finish what he wanted to say no one caught his meaning.

      Daddy’s watchful eye had never left that wonderful, infernal little yarn ball. Daddy was crushed under defeat, but his baseball brains still continued to work. He saw Umpire Gale leisurely step into the pitcher’s box, and leisurely pick up the ball and start to make a motion to put it in his pocket.

      Suddenly fire flashed all over Daddy.

      “Hyar! Don’t hide that ball!” he yelled, in his piercing tenor.

      He jumped up quickly, forgetting his crutch, and fell headlong. Lane and Sam got him upright and handed the crutch to him. Daddy began to hobble out to the pitcher’s box.

      “Don’t you hide that ball. See! I’ve got my eye on this game. That ball was in play, and you can’t use the other.”

      Umpire Gale looked sheepish, and his eyes did not meet Daddy’s. Then Bo came trotting up.

      “What’s wrong, boss?” he asked.

      “Aw, nuthin’. You’re tryin’ to switch balls on me. That’s all. You can’t pull off any stunts on Madden’s Hill.”

      “Why, boss, thet ball’s all right. What you hollerin’ about?”

      “Sure that ball’s all right,” replied Daddy. “It’s a fine ball. And we want a chanst to hit it! See?”

      Bo flared up and tried to bluster, but Daddy cut him short.

      “Give us our innin’—let us git a whack at that ball, or I’ll run you off Madden’s Hill.”

      Bo suddenly looked a little pale and sick.

      “Course youse can git a whack at it,” he said, in a weak attempt to be natural and dignified.

      Daddy tossed the ball to Harris, and as he hobbled off the field he heard Bo calling out low and cautiously to his players. Then Daddy was certain he had discovered a trick. He called his players around him.

      “This game ain’t over yet. It ain’t any more’n begun. I’ll tell you what. Last innin’ Bo’s umpire switched balls on us. That ball was lively. And they tried to switch back on me. But nix! We’re goin’ to git a chanst to hit that lively ball, And they’re goin’ to git a dose of their own medicine. Now, you dead ones—come back to life! Show me some hittin’ and runnin’.”

      “Daddy, you mean they run in a trick on us?” demanded Lane, with flashing eyes.

      “Funny about Natchez’s strong finishes!” replied Daddy, coolly, as he eyed his angry players.

      They let out a roar, and then ran for the bats.

      The crowd, quick to sense what was in the air, thronged to the diamond and manifested alarming signs of outbreak.

      Sam Wickhart leaped to the plate and brandished his club.

      “Sam, let him pitch a couple,” called Daddy from the bench. “Mebbe we’ll git wise then.”

      Harris had pitched only twice when the fact became plain that he could not throw this ball with the same speed as the other. The ball was heavier; besides Harris was also growing tired. The next pitch Sam hit far out over the center fielder’s head for a home run. It was a longer hit than any Madden’s Hill boy had ever made. The crowd shrieked its delight. Sam crossed the plate and then fell on the bench beside Daddy.

      “Say! that ball nearly knocked the bat out of my hands,” panted Sam. “It made the bat spring!”

      “Fellers, don’t wait,” ordered Daddy. “Don’t give the umpire a chanst to roast us now. Slam the first ball!”

      The aggressive captain lined the ball at Bo Stranathan. The Natchez shortstop had a fine opportunity to make the catch, but he made an inglorious muff. Tay Tay hurried to bat. Umpire Gale called the first pitch a strike. Tay slammed down his club. “T-t-t-t-to-to-twasn’t over,” he cried. “T-t-t-tay—”

      “Shut up,” yelled Daddy. “We want to git this game over today.”

      Tay Tay was fat and he was also strong, so that when beef and muscle both went hard against the ball it traveled. It looked as if it were going a mile straight up. All the infielders ran to get under it. They got into a tangle, into which the ball descended. No one caught it, and thereupon the Natchez players began to rail at one another. Bo stormed at them, and they talked back to him. Then when Tom Lindsay hit a little slow grounder into the infield it seemed that a just retribution had overtaken the great Natchez team.

      Ordinarily this grounder of Tom’s would have been easy for a novice to field. But this peculiar grounder, after it has hit the ground once, seemed to wake up and feel lively. It lost its leisurely action and began to have celerity. When it reached Dundon it had the strange, jerky speed so characteristic of the grounders that had confused the Madden’s Hill team. Dundon got his hands on the ball and it would not stay in them. When finally he trapped it Tom had crossed first base and another runner had scored. Eddie Curtis cracked another at Bo. The Natchez captain dove for it, made a good stop, bounced after the rolling ball, and then threw to Kelly at first. The ball knocked Kelly’s hands apart as if they had been paper. Jake Thomas batted left handed and he swung hard on a slow pitch and sent the ball far into right field. Runners scored. Jake’s hit was a three-bagger. Then Frank Price hit up an infield fly. Bo yelled for Dundon to take it and Dundon yelled for Harris. They were all afraid to try for it. It dropped safely while Jake ran home.

      With the heavy batters up the excitement increased. A continuous scream and incessant rattle of tin cans made it impossible to hear what the umpire called out. But that was not important, for he seldom had a chance to call either ball or strike. Harris had lost his speed and nearly every ball he pitched was hit by the Madden’s Hill boys. Irvine cracked one down between short and third. Bo and Pickens ran for it and collided while the ball jauntily skipped out to left field and, deftly evading Bell, went on and on. Bob reached third. Grace hit another at Dundon, who appeared actually to stop it four times before he could pick it up, and then he was too late. The doughty bow-legged Sam, with his huge black eye, hung over the plate and howled at Muckle. In the din no one heard what he said, but evidently Muck divined it. For he roused to the spirit of a pitcher who would die of shame if he could not fool a one-eyed batter. But Sam swooped down and upon the first ball and drove it back toward the pitcher. Muck could not get out of the way and the ball made his leg buckle under him. Then that hit glanced off to begin a marvelous exhibition of high and erratic bounding about the infield.

      Daddy hunched over his soap-box bench and hugged himself. He was farsighted and he saw victory. Again he watched the queer antics of that little yarn ball, but now with different feelings. Every hit seemed to lift him to the skies. He kept silent, though every time the ball fooled a Natchez player Daddy wanted to yell. And when it started for Bo and, as if in revenge, bounded wickeder at every bounce to skip off the grass and make Bo look ridiculous, then Daddy experienced the happiest moments of his baseball career. Every time a tally crossed the plate he would chalk it down on his soap box.

      But when Madden’s Hill scored the nineteenth run without a player being put out, then Daddy lost count. He gave himself up to revel. He sat motionless and silent; nevertheless his whole internal being was in the state of wild tumult. It was as if he was being rewarded in joy for all the misery he had suffered because he was a cripple. He could never play baseball, but he had baseball brains. He had been too wise for the tricky Stranathan. He was the coach СКАЧАТЬ