The minute “sister” was over the boys were hurrying toward the playing-field, followed more leisurely by Sam and Mr. Gifford and Steve Brown, who was to umpire the contest. The way led through the woods for nearly a quarter of a mile, over a well-worn path that now skirted the lake, and now turned inland to cross a brook by a log bridge. Then it climbed up-hill through a plantation of young maples, hugged the face of a limestone boulder and dipped again to the edge of the field. The whole camp turned out, if we omit Mr. Langham, Kitty-Bett, and Jerry; and Mr. Langham arrived later. Sam and Mr. Gifford set their teams to warming up and the fellows who were to play the parts of spectators arranged themselves along the base-lines. It was fairly hot this afternoon and scarcely a ripple stirred the surface of the lake. The Indians won the toss and George Porter disposed of the first three Mascots handily. Tom Crossbush, who led the batting list, was the only one of the trio to connect with the ball and his effort only resulted in an easy out at first. Dick Barry, who pitched for Sam’s nine, was a chunky, stub-nosed youth of fourteen with very little science but a whole big lot of assurance. Ned Welch caught him, and Ned, a year older, was a steady chap behind the plate and handled Dick cleverly. But to-day, as usual, Dick was touched up pretty frequently. Ed Thursby began the fun for Mr. Gifford’s tribe with a fly that Dan Peterson, in left field, misjudged miserably. Ed got to second and the Indians’ third baseman bunted him to third and reached first himself when Dick Barry threw low to Crossbush, who played the initial sack. The next man fanned and Dick’s friends in the audience shouted approval. But Sawyer, the Indian first baseman, found something he liked and slammed a hit between second and short and Thursby came home with the first tally. Another hit a minute later scored a second run and then a pop fly descended into Dick’s glove The game ran along at two to nothing until the first of the third. Then the Mascots managed to get a run across by a combination of a hit, a sacrifice fly, and an error by the Indians’ third baseman. But the Indians came back in their half with a slugging fest and put two more tallies across. Neither team was able to do anything in the fourth or fifth. George Porter ran his strike-out total up to seven and Dick Barry, while he only fooled one more Indian, somehow managed to escape punishment. Steve Brown made a decision at first that dissatisfied the Mascots, when Dick suddenly shot the ball across to Tom Crossbush and apparently nailed Ned Welch a foot off the bag. But the umpire didn’t see it that way and, anyhow, the decision made no difference in the outcome. In the first of the sixth inning Sam’s team started off with a rush. Young Fairchild dribbled a weak bunt along third-base line and the throw to first went wild. The runner scurried to second and then, coached frantically to go on, made an Pete had a strike and two balls called on him before he found anything he thought he could use to advantage. Then he struck loosely against a high ball and by good luck sent it rolling along the first-base path. Pete raced for first and Pitcher Porter raced for the ball. And, contrary to instructions from the third-base coach, young Fairchild, doubtless desiring to still further glorify himself, sprinted for home. He had about one chance in twenty of reaching it safely, for Porter scooped up the ball on the run, turned swiftly, and threw to the plate. And Jimmy Benson, astride the platter, caught it waist-high, and Jimmy Benson was disgruntled, even angry, and said unkind things to Terry. But Terry, picking himself up with a swagger and patting the dust from his scant costume, only grinned exasperatingly and walked to the bench, there to be hilariously patted and hugged by his team-mates. When, however, he glanced toward Sam, expecting praise, he got a surprise. “Don’t do that again, Fairchild,” said the junior councillor severely. “Mind what the coach tells you. You made it, but you had no business making it, and if Benson hadn’t dropped the ball you’d have looked pretty cheap. You take Terry, chastened in spirit, subsided amidst the smiles of the others as Jones faced the Indian pitcher. Porter was in the air now, and, although Mr. Gifford called encouragement and Benson counselled him to take his time and “put them over,” he slammed the ball in vindictively and Jones drew a pass. Porter steadied down then, but the team, especially the infield, was unsettled, and, after Welch, with two strikes against him, hit squarely to first baseman and made the first out, Simpson and Jones tried a double steal and got away with it, the Indian shortstop dropping the throw from the plate. Cheers and jeers rewarded this event. Benson tried to steady the team as Dick Barry went to bat. “Never mind that, fellows!” called Jimmy. “Here’s an easy one! Strike him out, George! Three will do it! Put ’em right over the middle, he couldn’t hit a basket-ball!” Possibly Dick couldn’t have hit a basket-ball, but he did manage to connect with one of Porter’s curves and send it just over second baseman’s head. When the ball was back in the pitcher’s “Two gone!” announced the coaches. “Run on anything, Dick!” So Dick took a chance and scuttled for second and beat the ball by several feet. Peterson waited while Porter worked a strike and two balls on him. Then he met the next offering fairly and squarely for the longest hit of the game, and sent it far into centre field, at least a yard over Meldrum’s head, and while that youth scampered back for it, raced desperately around the bases in an attempt to stretch a three-bagger into a home run. Fortunately, though, he was held up at third, to score the sixth tally a minute later when Groom’s easy infield hit got by Thursby at second. Peterson reached the plate on his stomach, the merest fraction of an instant ahead of the ball. Then But six to four looked good to the Mascots and they trotted into the field with the determination to hold their advantage. And they did, for the rest of the sixth at least. For Dick Barry, summoning all the craft he knew, and ably seconded by Ned Welch, disposed of the next two Indians without trouble. The third banged out a two-bagger into right, and subsequently stole third when Welch let a delivery get past him, but he got no further that inning, for the next batsman was an easy out, second baseman to first. There was no scoring in either half of the seventh, although the Indians had two men on bases at one time, with only one out. What luck there was broke for the Mascots; and the first double-play of the game, participated in by Groom and Crossbush, put an end to the inning. In the eighth the Mascots came near to scoring when Peterson reached third on a base hit and a wild throw to second and tried to score on White’s grounder to shortstop. At that the decision at the plate was close and might have gone either way. In their half the Indians set to work with vim and lighted on Dick Barry hard. Codman hit safely, Benson got his base on balls, Porter struck out, Thursby sacrificed, and Nettleton, with only one gone, filled the bases by a pop fly to Dick, which that overeager youth dropped. Things looked desperate then for Sam’s charges, but a minute later Sawyer had fouled out to third baseman and the Mascots and their allies breathed freer. They were not to emerge unscathed, however, for Meldrum hit a bounder that just tipped Dick’s upstretched fingers and was finally fielded by Groom too late to throw to the plate or to first, and the Indians scored their fifth run. Then, after missing the plate three times out of four, and putting himself in a hole, Dick made a sudden throw to second and, after a wildly exciting moment, the runner was caught between bases. Simpson opened the ninth for the Mascots with a bunt that trickled down the first-base line and threatened every instant to roll out, but never did, much to the disgust of Porter and Benson, who hovered anxiously over it. Had Porter fielded it at once he could have made the assist, but he left the decision with the ball and the ball fooled The Mascots leaped and shrieked with delight, and while the Indians were still wondering what had happened, and while George Porter was winding up to send his first offering to Billy White, Crossbush, who was dancing back and forth a dozen feet from third, suddenly broke for the plate. Shouts of warning, shrieks of excitement! Porter momentarily faltering as he pitched! Crossbush sliding feet foremost for the platter! Benson leaping far to the right in a despairing effort to get the ball! Peterson rounding second like a runaway colt! And then, while the brown dust billowed, Steve Brown announcing, “Safe!” Eight to five then, and nothing to it but the Mascots! Shouting and dancing and pandemonium along the lines! And, finally, White striking And there practically ended the game, for the Indians failed to put over a single tally in their half of the final inning, and ten minutes later the camp was thronging homeward, the Mascots very cocky and talkative, and the Indians confiding to their friends what they would do the next time! |