Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Part 10

When Winters came in from the field he was white and shaking, and Reddy felt sorry for him. "Just the same," he reflected, "this will teach him a lesson, maybe, and it may lead to his sticking more closely to regulations and the training table. Midnight booze-fighting and good ball playing don't mix very well." Reddy might have gone further, and said that "booze fighting" did not mix very well with anything worth while, and not have been far wrong.

Actuated by these reflections, the trainer resolved to make Winters pitch out the rest of the game, as it was hopelessly lost anyway, in the hope of making him reform.

The Blues were thoroughly demoralized by this time, and their half-hearted attempts to score met with little success. Hinsdale, after both the batsmen preceding him had been struck out, landed on the ball for a long high fly into center, and got to second on it. He went no further, however, as Tom lifted a high foul to the opposing catcher. Of course this ended the game, as it would have been useless to finish the ninth inning.

The Maroon rooters rose in a body and rent the air with their songs and college yells. The loyal Blues present did their best, but could not make themselves heard amidst the general uproar.

"The Blues haven't got a chance for the pennant now," exulted one rooter to his friend. "They're on the downward road now, and will stay there till the end of the season. You watch and see if they don't."

But there was a Freshman pitcher on the bench that knew better.

CHAPTER VIII

SHOOTING THEM OVER

Bert and d.i.c.k and some of the other fellows were having a discussion.

They had been talking on various topics, and, as was usually the case, the talk had drifted around to baseball. They had discussed the game pro and con, when d.i.c.k said:

"I wonder how fast a pitcher really can throw a ball, anyway. Of course, there's no possibility of such a thing, but it certainly would be interesting, if we could measure the speed of a pitched ball, and settle the question once and for all."

"That's easy," laughed Bert. "You just stand up there, d.i.c.k, and give me a baseball and let me hit you with it. If it kills you, we will know it was going pretty fast, but if it just cripples you, we will be forced to the conclusion that the ball wasn't traveling so very fast, after all."

"Yes, that certainly is a brilliant idea," snorted d.i.c.k, "and there is only one thing that keeps me from doing it. If, as you say, it should kill me, you fellows would have settled the question, all right, but then it would be too late for me to share in the knowledge. Therefore, I guess we'll leave the question open for the present."

"Aw, gee, d.i.c.k," laughed one of the others, "you certainly have a mean disposition. Here you are in college, and yet you evidently haven't enough of the college spirit to make a sacrifice of yourself for the general good. Besides, it doesn't show the scientific desire for knowledge that we would like to see in you, does it, fellows?" appealing to the laughing group.

Everybody seemed to think the same thing, judging from the unanimous chorus of a.s.sent to this speech, but, strange to say, d.i.c.k proved very obstinate, and refused to offer his services in the capacity of official tester.

"But seriously, fellows," said one of the boys, John Bennett by name, "I don't see why we couldn't do something of the kind. I shouldn't think it would be so hopeless, after all."

At first they thought he was joking, but when they realized that he was in earnest, a chorus of ridicule arose. Bennett refused to be hooted down, however, and finally managed to get a hearing.

"You see, it's this way," he explained: "My father, as you all know, manufactures guns and rifles of all descriptions. Now, some people with a little more sense in their noodles than you poor b.o.o.bs," with a sarcastic inflection, "have asked what the speed of a rifle bullet was, and what's more, have managed to find out. Going on the same principle, I don't see why we couldn't find out the speed of a baseball."

"How do they find that out?" asked one, unbelievingly, "a rifle bullet has been known to go pretty fast at times, you know."

"You don't mean it, do you?" asked Bennett, sarcastically. "I always thought bullets crept along the ground something after the manner of snails, or something equally fast, didn't you fellows?"

"Go on, go on," they laughed, "if you've got an idea in what you call your brain, for heaven's sake get it out before you forget it. Go on and tell us how it is that they measure the speed of a bullet."

"Well, it's this way," said Bennett, "they arrange an electric wire in front of the muzzle of the gun, so that as the bullet comes out it is bound to break it. Then, the object at which the gun is aimed is also connected up by electricity. Observe, gentlemen, what happens when the gun is discharged. The bullet, as it saunters from the gun, cuts the electric wire, and by so doing registers the exact fraction of a second that this happens. When it hits the target, a similar process takes place, and then of course it is a simple matter to subtract the time the bullet left the gun from the time it hit the target, and thus, gentlemen, we arrive at the result, namely, the time it took the bullet to go across the intervening distance. I trust, gentlemen (and others), that I have made myself perfectly clear."

"Aw," spoke up one of the fellows, popularly known as "Curley," "who couldn't think of a simple thing like that. The only reason that I didn't think of it right off was that it was too easy for me even to consider."

"Oh, sure, we all understand that perfectly," replied Bennett, "but, seriously, fellows, if you would care to try the experiment, I am sure that my father would help us all he could. It wouldn't be any trick at all for him to rig up something on the same principle that would give us an accurate idea of how fast Bert, for instance, could propel a baseball through the surrounding atmosphere. Say the word, and I'll write to him about it to-night. We ought to hear from him by the day after to-morrow, at the latest."

Bert saw that Bennett was in earnest, and so said:

"It certainly would be very interesting, old man. I've often wondered just what speed I was capable of, and I don't see why your plan shouldn't be feasible. What do you think, d.i.c.k?"

"I think it would be well worth the try, at all events," replied d.i.c.k, "and say, fellows, while we were about it, Bennett's father might be willing to show us over the factory and give us an idea of how the guns are made. Do you think he would, old top?" addressing Bennett.

"Surest thing you know," responded the latter, heartily. "I know he would be glad to have you come, even if you are a bunch of b.u.ms,"

smilingly.

"All right, we'll consider that settled, then," said Bert. "You write to him right away, and we'll try our little experiment as soon as possible.

Believe me, I'm anxious to try it. I sure would like to know."

Thus the matter was settled, and after a little more talk and speculation on the same subject, the boys dispersed to their rooms to prepare recitations for the morrow.

A day or so later, when some of them had forgotten about the proposed test, Bennett came up to the group a.s.sembled in Bert's and d.i.c.k's room, and said:

"See here, fellows! What did I tell you? I just received this letter from dad, and he says to go as far as we like. He says that he spoke of the matter to the foreman of the testing department, and he thinks our plan is feasible."

"Gee, that's fine," exclaimed Tom, who was of the group. "How long did he think it would be before he would be ready?"

"Oh, pretty near any time that we could get to the factory. Of course, it will take him a few days to rig up the apparatus, but he says he will have it ready by next Sat.u.r.day, and as that is a holiday for most of us, I think it would be a good time to go. How would that suit you, Bert?"

"First rate," replied Bert, "I'll take it as easy as I can this week in the line of pitching, so that I will have full strength for the test.

I'll have to establish a record," laughingly.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Walter Harper, one of the "subs" on the team, "let's get up a race between Bert's baseball and a bullet. I think that Bert ought to beat a bullet easily."

"Well," laughed Bert, "maybe I can't exactly beat a bullet, but I'll bet my ball will have more curve on it than any bullet ever invented."

"That reminds me of a story I heard the other day," spoke up one. "The father of a friend of mine went out to hunt deer last fall. He had fair luck, but everybody was talking about a deer that had been fooling all the hunters for several seasons. It seems that this deer was such an expert dodger, that when anyone started to shoot at him he would run around in circles and thus avoid the bullet. Well, my friend's father thought over the matter for a long time, and finally hit on a plan to outwit the deer. Can you guess how he did it?"

Many were the schemes offered by the ingenious listeners, but none of them seemed satisfactory. Finally all gave up the problem, and begged the story teller to give them the explanation.

"Well," he said, "it's very simple, and I'm surprised and grieved that none of you fatheads have thought of it. Why, he simply bent the barrel of the gun around, so that when the bullet came out it chased the deer around in circles, and killed him without any trouble. Now----" but here he was interrupted by a storm of indignant hoots and hisses, and rushed from the room amid a perfect shower of books of all descriptions.

"Gee," said Tom, "I've heard some queer hunting stories, but that one was the limit. Many a man has died for less."

"Oh, well, he's more to be pitied than scorned," laughed d.i.c.k, and they proceeded to discuss the details of Sat.u.r.day's trip.

"It will be no end of fun, I can promise you," said Bennett. "It's really an education in itself to go through that factory and see the way things are done. You can bet there's no time or effort wasted there.

Everything is figured down to the very last word for efficiency, and if all the world were run on the same basis it would be a pretty fine place to live in."

"List to the philosopher, fellows," said Bert. "I'm afraid Bennett's studies are going to his head, and he's actually beginning to believe what the profs tell him."

"That is indeed a sign of failing mental powers," laughed Tom. "I'm afraid that if we don't do something for our poor friend, he will degenerate until finally he becomes nothing but a 'greasy grind.' After that, of course, he can sink no lower."

"Aw, you fellows think you're funny, don't you," grunted Bennett, disgustedly, "you're such boneheads that when somebody with real brains, like myself, for instance, gets off a little gem of thought you are absolutely incapable of appreciating it."

"Fellows," said Bert, gravely, "we have made an important discovery.