Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 30

He wondered what explanation he could make if he should warn Eliot; surely he would have to tell how he came to believe that Wyndham was wise to the signals of her opponents. There seemed only one reasonable story for him to put forward: he would be compelled to claim that he had overheard some persons in the crowd telling each other that such was the case.

And that would be a lie!

"I lied once on account of that fellow Grant, and got caught at it,"

thought Phil. "If I should tell Eliot now, Rackliff might---- But he doesn't know that I know he gave our signals to Wyndham. Still, if I come out publicly and warn Roger, Rackliff may get sore and blow around that part of the money he bet on Wyndham belonged to me."

Thus, wavering, tortured and miserable, he followed the progress of the game, realizing more and more as it went on that Oakdale had absolutely no chance at all while the players of the other side could see and understand every batting and base-running signal that was given.

Fighting against such odds without knowledge of the fact seemed to Phil to be a most outrageous thing, and he pledged himself that, from this day forward, he would have no more dealings with Rackliff.

As it was not necessary for the first batter in an inning to signal, Wyndham could not "lay for him" by the aid of knowledge gained in advance, and to open the fourth Sile Cane strode forth and fell on one of Newbert's slants, straightening it out handsomely for two sacks.

Grant, following, took his cue from Eliot and signalled Crane that he would bunt, on which sacrifice the lanky fellow was to take third.

Springer's teeth grated together as he beheld the entire Wyndham infield prepare to handle Rod's bunt, while Newbert drove Josh back and held him as close as possible to the second sack. Suddenly the ball was whipped over the pan, high and close, in spite of which the batter succeeded in sending it rolling heavily into the diamond. But Newbert, racing forward as soon as the sphere left his fingers, scooped it cleanly with one hand and snapped it across to third without straightening up. The baseman was covering the sack in a position to get the long-geared runner, and, catching the ball, he put it on to Crane with considerable viciousness as Josh slid.

"Out at third!" shouted the umpire, with up-flung hand.

The attempted sacrifice had been turned into a miserable failure solely because the locals had known precisely what their opponents would try to do.

"I can't stand much more of this!" groaned Springer aloud. "It's worse than robbery! I'll have to get out."

Hearing the words, a rejoicing Wyndham sympathizer slapped him heavily on the shoulder. "Don't take it so hard," laughingly advised the familiar fellow. "It's just what everybody expected."

"Oh, is that so?" snapped Phil resentfully, turning his head to look up at the chap. "Well, if this was a square game they might get their expectations stepped on."

"A square game!" retorted the other. "What do you mean by that?

What's the matter with it? So far, it's the cleanest game I've seen this year.

"It's the dirtiest game I ever saw! It's cuc-crooked from the start.

Oakdale hasn't a sus-show."

"Of course she hasn't; she's outcla.s.sed. You Oakdalers are poor losers; you always squeal."

"Outcla.s.sed--nothing!" fumed Phil. "Oakdale is playing just as good baseball as Wyndham--and playing it on the level."

"And by that I suppose you mean that Wyndham isn't playing on the level?"

"You don't have to gug-guess twice; that's what I mean."

"Oh, go crawl into your hole! There hasn't been a kick. Anybody can see that we're playing all round you simply because we've got the best team. Dade Newbert is a dandy."

"Yes, he's a dandy at this sort of baseball. I happen to know just what he is, and a fellow who'll do what he's dud-done to win this game hasn't any right to pitch on a respectable nine."

"You're dotty. Look here, you better be careful about shooting off that sort of talk, or you may have a chance to prove it."

"I can bub-back up anything I've said," declared Phil, now thoroughly aroused. "I'm dead onto the whole dirty deal. If I should tell Roger Eliot what I know you'd sus-see a change in the complexion of this game in short order."

"Oh, really!" scoffed the incredulous Wyndhamite. "If you know so much, why don't you tell it? If you know anything that amounts to anything, you'll tell it--unless you're crooked yourself."

That cut deeply, and Springer choked back further heated words which were boiling to his lips. What right had he to rail against Newbert?

Under the circ.u.mstances, his failure to warn his former teammates made him fully as dishonest and deserving of contempt as the Wyndham pitcher--far more so. The white anger of his face turned to a crimson flush of shame.

Silenced, he saw Wyndham, ready to block the hit and run, take Cooper's zipping grounder and turn into a double play what possibly might otherwise have been a safety. In that moment Springer's mind was made up, and he immediately left his seat on the bleachers.

"I'll tell Eliot the truth at any cost," he muttered.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

WHEN THE SIGNALS WERE CHANGED.

While Phil Springer was making his way round to the Oakdale side of the field an accident took place. The first Wyndham batter to face Grant in that inning hit the ball squarely and hard, driving it on a dead line toward the pitcher, but a trifle to his right. Grant might have dodged, but, instead of that, he tried to catch that red-hot liner with his bare right hand, and the ball split two of his fingers.

Nevertheless, he stopped it, caught it up with his left hand when it fell to the ground, and tossed it to Sile Crane at first in time for a put-out.

Rod showed his blood-streaming hand to the umpire, who promptly called "time." Then the Texan walked toward the bench, Eliot running to join him.

"How bad are you hurt, old man?" asked the captain anxiously.

"I don't know," was the answer. "Didn't know I was hurt at all until I saw the claret spouting; reckoned my paw was benumbed a bit, and that was all."

But when water was poured over those bleeding fingers and Roger saw just what had happened to them, he turned quickly to Hooker, saying in a low tone:

"Get a ball, Hook, and warm up. You'll have to pitch the game out."

A doctor pressed through the crowd that had surrounded the injured player.

"Fix these busted fingers up quick, doc," urged Grant, "so I can get back into the game without delaying things too long."

"You'll play no more baseball to-day, my boy," said the physician; "nor for some days to come. You're out of it, and you may as well accept the alternative with good grace."

And so Springer saw Hooker go in to pitch, aware that only for his jealousy and blind folly he would have been the one called upon to replace the injured chap.

"Serves me right," he muttered. Which was proof sufficient that he was getting his eyes open.

Naturally, Hooker was very nervous, although secretly elated by the opportunity to pitch in this most important game. Eliot talked with him a moment or two about signals, finishing by placing a hand on his shoulder and saying:

"Now, keep cool, Hook, and take your time. Mind my signals, and do your best for control. It's your chance to show the stuff that's in you. Don't be afraid of Wyndham, and don't listen to the crowd. Close your ears and eyes to everything outside of the game. You may surprise yourself and everybody else, if you keep your head."

There was something in Roger's words and manner that proved very steadying to Roy, and he toed the slab with an outward show of confidence, whether or not he was inwardly perturbed. The majority of the Oakdale players were much cast down, however, and it was a rather feeble and heartless cheer that the rooters with the crimson banners gave the subst.i.tute pitcher.

Hooker pitched two b.a.l.l.s wide, and then put one over; which the batsman hit, rolling a grounder into the diamond for Chipper Cooper to handle.

Chipper managed to get it and wing it across to Crane for a clean put-out.

"Two gone, fellows," called Eliot. "We'll keep right on playing baseball. Get this next man, now."

The next man hoisted a long fly to center, where Ben Stone, sure as fate, took charge of it; and Hooker, now really quite calm and confident, jogged to the bench.