The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ said Cas, with a swing of his head, “I just dropped in to tell you guys that I’m going to pitch today, and I’m going to let you down with two hits. See!” A variety of answers were flung at him, but he made no reply and walked out. All the way up the street Chase heard him growling to himself.

      * * * *

      The afternoon could not come soon enough for Chase. He went out to the grounds in high spirits. When he entered the dressing-room, he encountered the same derisive clamor that had characterized the players’ manner toward him the day before. And it stunned him. He looked at them aghast. Every one of them, except Cas, had a scowl and hard word for him. Benny, not quite sober yet, was brutal, and Meade made himself particularly offensive. Even Winters, who had been so friendly the night before, now said he would put out Chase’s other lamp if he played poorly today. They were totally different from what they had been off the field. A frenzy of some kind possessed them. Roars of laughter following attacks on him, and for that matter on each other, detracted little, in Chase’s mind, from the impression of unnatural sarcasm.

      He hurriedly put on his uniform and got out of the room. He did not want to lose his nerve again. Cas sat on the end of the bleachers, pounding the boards with his bat.

      “Say, I was waiting for you,” he said in a whisper to Chase. “I’m going to put you wise when I get a chance to talk. All I want to say now is, I’ll show up this Kenton outfit today. They can’t hit my speed, and they always hit my slow ball to left-field, through short. Now you lay for them. Play deep and get the ball away quick. You’ve got the arm for it.”

      This was Cas’s way of showing his friendship, and it surprised Chase as much as it pleased him. Mac came along then, and at once said, “Howdy, boys. Cas, what are you dressed for?”

      “I want to work today.”

      “You do? What for?”

      “Well, I’m sore about yesterday, and I’m sore on—Kenton. If you’ll work me today, I’ll shut them out.”

      “You’re on, Cas, you’re on,” said Mac, rubbing his hands in delight. “Thet’s the way I want to hear you talk. We’ll break our losin’ streak today.

      Then Mac pulled Chase aside, out of earshot of the players pouring from the dressing-room, and said, “Lad, are you goin’ to take coachin’?”

      “I’ll try to do everything you tell me,” replied Chase.

      “Sure, thet’s good. Listen. I’m goin’ to teach you the game. Don’t ever lose your nerve again. Got thet?”

      “Yes.”

      “When you’re in the field with a runner on any base make up your mind before the ball’s hit what to do with it if it should happen to come to you. Got thet?”

      “Yes.”

      “Play a deep short unless you’re called in. Come in fast on slow hit balls; use a underhand snap throw to second or first base when you haven’t lots of time. Got thet?”

      “Yes.”

      “When the ball is hit or thrown to any base-man, run with it to back up the player. Got thet?”

      “Yes.”

      “All right. So far so good. Now as to hittin’. I like the way you stand up. You’re a natural-born hitter, so stand your own way. Don’t budge an inch for the speediest pitcher as ever threw a ball. Learn to dodge wild pitches. Wait, watch the ball. Let him pitch. Don’t be anxious. Always take a strike if you’re first up. Try to draw a base on balls. If there’s runners on the bases, look for a sign from me on the bench. If you see my scorecard stickin’ anywhere in sight, hit the first ball pitched. If you don’t see it—wait. Turn ’round, easy like, you know, an’ take a glance my way after every pitched ball, an’ when you get the sign—hit. We play the hit-an’-run game. If you’re on first or any base, look for the same sign from me. Then you’ll know what the batter is up to, an’ you’ll be ready. Hit an’ run. Got thet?”

      “Yes, I think so.”

      “Well, don’t get rattled even if you do make a mistake, an’ never, never mind errors. Go after everythin’ an’ dig it out of the dust if you can, but never mind errors! An’ Chase, wait,” called Mac, as the eager youngster made for the field. Then in a whisper, as if he were half afraid some of the other players would hear, he went on: “Don’t sass the umpire. Don’t ever speak to no umpire. If you get a rotten deal on strikes, slam your bat down, puff up, look mad, do anythin’ to make a bluff, but don’t sass the umpire. See!”

      “I never will,” declared Chase.

      * * * *

      The Findlay team came on the grounds showing the effects of the shakeup. They were an aggressive, stormy aggregation. Epithets the farthest remove from complimentary flew thick and fast as the passing balls. A spirit of rivalry pervaded every action. In batting practice, he who failed to send out a clean, hard hit received a volley of abuse. In fielding practice, he who fumbled a ball or threw too high or too low was scornfully told to go out on the lots and play with the kids. It was a merciless warfare, every player for himself, no quarter asked or given!

      Chase fielded everything that came his way and threw perfectly to the bases, but even so, the players, especially Meade, vented their peculiar spleen on him as well as on others who made misplays. All of which did not affect Chase in the least. He was on his mettle; his blood was up.

      The faith Mac had shown in him would be justified; that he vowed with all the intensity of feeling of which he was capable. The gong sounded for the game to start, and Castorious held forth in this wise:

      “Fellows, I’ve got everything today. Speed—well say! It’s come back. And my floater—why, you can count the stitches! You stiffs get in the game. If you’re not a lot of cigar-signs, there won’t be anything to it.”

      Big and awkward as Cas was in citizen dress, in baseball harness he made an admirable figure. The crowds in the stands had heard of his threat to the Kentons—for of all gossip, that in baseball circles flies the swiftest—and were out in force and loud in enthusiasm. The bleachers idolized him.

      As the players went for their positions, Cas whispered a parting word to Chase: “When you see my floater go up, get on your toes!”

      The umpire called play, threw out a white ball, and stood in expectant posture.

      As Cas faced the first Kenton player he said in low voice: “Look out for your coco!” Then he doubled up like a contortionist and undoubled to finish his motion with an easy, graceful swing. With wonderful swiftness the white ball travelled straight for the batter’s head. Down he fell flat, jumped up with red face and yelled at Cas. The big pitcher smiled derisively, received the ball from the catcher, and with the same violent effort delivered another ball, but with not half the speed of the first. The batter had instinctively stepped back. The umpire called the ball a strike.

      “’Fraid to stand up, hey?” inquired Cas, in the same low, tantalizing voice. When he got the ball again, he faced the batter, slowly lifted his long left leg, and seemed to turn with a prodigious step toward third base, at the same instant delivering the ball to the plate. The ball evidently wanted to do anything but reach its destination. Slowly it sailed, soared, floated, for it was one of Cas’s floaters.

      The batter half СКАЧАТЬ