The Texan went behind the bat, determined to arouse himself and do his level best. But Dick had lost confidence in Brad, and others on the team were worried, realizing that something was wrong.
It is strange how the playing of one man on a team often affects the whole team, either for good or for bad. In this case Buckhart’s blunder seemed to unman his companions.
Dick dared not let out his speed and use his best curves in the first inning, and as a result Spangler hit safely. Jenners drove one to Bradley, which Billy fumbled, and then Swarton lifted a long fly to left field.
“Just like batting it into a basket!” shrilly shouted Obediah Tubbs. “Gardner couldn’t muff it if he tried.”
To the astonishment of every one, Earl made a rank muff, and the bases were filled.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Swarton, dancing up and down on first. “Got um going! They are up in the air!”
“They never could play ball!” shouted a Rockford man.
“You’re another!” promptly retorted Brick McLane.
“Only for Fairhaven, you fellers would have the pennant nailed now! They’ve kept yer down!”
“You dreamed it!” was the retort. “Smoke up! Your pipe’s going out!”
“Here’s Torrey!” was the cry from the excited Rockford spectators. “Torrey will line it out! Just watch Torrey!”
While playing on the Maplewood team Torrey had demonstrated the fact that he was a remarkable batter. His hitting had been commented on a great deal by patrons of the games in the Trolley League.
Dick Merriwell had studied this chap’s style of batting and discovered his weak spot. Regardless of Buckhart, Merriwell now began to whistle the ball over, using curves that he knew would bother the batter. This led Torrey to strike twice and miss.
“He’ll hit it next time,” asserted many. “He never strikes out.”
After wasting two balls the captain of the Fairhaven team again sought Torrey’s weak spot, and found it.
Brad’s eyes had blurred, and he seemed uncertain as he put up his hands.
Torrey swung sharply, hit the ball on the under side of the bat, and seemed to drive it straight down to the ground. It struck like a piece of lead a foot in front of the plate and lay there.
“Fair hit!” cried the umpire.
Torrey dusted toward first, while Spangler, Jenners, and Swarton all moved up, Spangler making a dash for the plate.
In order to make a double play all Brad needed to do was to pick up the ball, touch the home plate, and throw to first.
Instead of doing this, Buckhart caught up the ball and threw toward first.
Spangler came romping home in safety, laughing in derisive satisfaction.
What added to the dismay of Dick and his companions was the fact that Buckhart threw over first, and before Smart could recover the ball and return it to the diamond, Torrey had reached the initial bag, while Jenners had followed Spangler to the plate and Swarton was well down the base line from second to third.
Fearing the boys would continue the bungling work by bad throwing, Dick shouted for Tubbs to hold the ball.
“Well, dern our picters!” shrilly cried the fat boy, as he stood with the ball in his hands, a look of disgust on his face. “We’re a lot of lobsters!”
Merriwell quickly ran up to Brad.
“What’s the matter with you, Buckhart? You’re entirely out of gear, old man. You had a double play right in your hands. Every runner was forced. Had you stepped on the plate after picking up the ball you could have retired Spangler.”
“That’s right,” nodded the Texan. “I know it now. Never did a thing like that before.”
“Play ball! play ball!” cried the Rockford crowd, as Dick continued talking to Buckhart in a low tone, “Keep them at it, Swarton.”
“They are delaying the game, Mr. Umpire!” cried Swarton. “Make them play!”
Dick returned to his position, while Buckhart again crouched behind the bat.
On the first ball pitched, Torrey darted toward second. Buckhart threw to Bold, who covered second base.
Swarton lost not a second in attempting to score.
Bold saw the Rockford captain tearing down the third-base line toward the plate, and therefore, without attempting to tag Torrey, he lined the ball back to Buckhart.
Brad had covered the home plate and would have stopped the score had he caught the ball. He muffed it and Swarton slid home safely.
The Rockford crowd roared its delight.
“The game is ours in the first inning,” muttered Tom Fernald.
The excursionists from the island were silent now. Their faces expressed their consternation and dismay.
Morrisey danced out to the plate, eager to keep the good work up for Rockford.
His lack of confidence in Buckhart led Dick to pitch cautiously, and Morrisey hit the second ball delivered, driving it along the ground inside the first-base line.
Big Bob Singleton booted the ball into the diamond, then sprang back to first, as he saw Dick going after the sphere.
By sharp running Morrisey crossed first before Merriwell could throw him out.
“Is this a ball game?” laughed one of the Rockfordites. “It looks like a farce to me.”
As Stowe seldom hit to left field, Smart moved over toward centre, playing in toward the diamond.
After missing one, Stowe hit the ball on a dead line to Smart. The little fellow added to the comedy of errors by muffing the liner and throwing poorly to Singleton, who was compelled to get off his sack in order to catch the ball.
Stowe crossed first before big Bob could get back to the bag.
Again the bases were filled.
Crouching under the bat, Buckhart peered through the wires of his cage, and to him those wires seemed as large as crowbars. Just as Dick delivered the first ball to Randolph the Fairhaven catcher snatched off his mask and flung it aside.
Randolph barely touched the ball with his bat. A second later Buckhart lay flat on his back, having been struck squarely between the eyes by a foul tip.
Immediately the umpire called time and several players gathered around Brad, while a boy brought a bucket of water.
The Texan started up a little the moment the water was dashed into his face. When he was lifted to his feet, however, he seemed blinded and dizzy.
“He’s out of this game, Dick,” said big Bob Singleton soberly. “He’s off his feet now, and in less than three minutes he’ll have a beautiful pair of eyes. What are we going to do for a catcher?”
Dick shook his head and looked around hopelessly.
“Can you catch, Bold?” he asked.
“Sorry,” answered Owen Bold, “but I can’t do a thing behind the bat.”
By this time the spectators were aware that Buckhart had been knocked out of the game, and suddenly a man rose from the bleachers and attracted attention by calling in a loud voice to Dick:
“Howdy, Captain Merriwell! I am on hand to keep my promise! Told you you could depend on me if you needed me! I’ll go under the bat and surprise the gaping multitude.”
It was Hep Hoboson, the tramp. He descended from the bleachers and walked toward Dick, lazily dragging his feet.
The crowd shouted at him derisively and advised an officer to put him off the ground.
“Go back and sit down!” commanded the policeman. “If you don’t I’ll have to put you out.”
“I want to speak with me friend, Richard Merriwell,” said Hoboson, touching the brim of his dirty slouch hat. “Jest a word, please?”
Dick saw the tramp and was seized by a queer inclination to find out what Hoboson could do behind the bat. Immediately he approached the officer and said:
“It’s all right, sir; I’m going to use him in the game.”
“That’s where your head’s level,” chuckled Hoboson, pulling his hat still farther over his left eye. “We’ll paralyze this crowd with our remarkable battery work.”
Having cast off his tattered coat, the hobo adjusted the body protector and mitt, pulled a mask on, and took his place under the bat. Already he had told Dick what signals he would use.
“This will be a great game!” sneered one of the Rockfordites. “They must be crazy to use that dirty bummer. Can’t they get any one else?”
Evidently Hoboson heard these words, for he turned and wagged his mitt in the direction of the speaker.
“Wait a minute, me friend,” he advised. “Don’t judge by appearances. Appearances are often mighty deceiving.”
He then signaled to Dick for a rise, and Randolph swung at the ball. Once more the batter touched it, but this time he put up a high foul.
Without removing the mask, Hoboson got under the ball and easily smothered it as it came down.
“Dern his picter, he done something, anyhow!” cried Obediah Tubbs, in relief.
“This is just the beginning,” said Hoboson, as he tossed the ball back to Dick. “Don’t be afraid of your wing, me boy. Let it out. Speed ’em over, and see me take care of this end of the diamond.”
Still Dick was cautious, and he tried a slow bender on Brodie. The Rockford catcher hit the ball into the diamond and it took a high bound. Merriwell leaped into the air and caught it with his left hand, having plenty of time to throw to the plate, which put Torrey out, as he was forced. Like a flash, and with perfect accuracy, Hoboson lined the sphere into Singleton’s hands for a double play, and Brodie was out at first, having failed to reach the sack in time.
For a moment the spectators seemed dazed, and then Brick McLane let out a wild roar of delight. Up he jumped and jerked his arms wildly as he led the cheering of the watching islanders.
“Jest as e—easy!” laughed Hoboson, bowing toward the applauding crowd. “Couldn’t help it if I tried!”
As the Fairhaven team gathered at the bench, it was apparent that none of the boys cared about sitting down too close to Hoboson. Still they praised him for his work until he rather impolitely invited them to “shut up.”
Although Merriwell led off with a clean two-bagger, Kennedy’s skill proved too much for the three batters following, and Dick was left on second.
“Seems to me,” said Hoboson, as he rose from the bench and stopped Dick, who had trotted in to secure his glove before going into the box—“seems ter me I’ve heard that you deliver a queer curve you call the combination ball. When I want you to t’row that one I’ll give you this signal.”
Saying which, he showed Dick the signal he would make.
“Better not try it,” said Merriwell promptly. “You can’t hold it. It would fool you just as it fools batters. When he’s in condition Buckhart can handle it, but I don’t dare use it with any one who is not accustomed to it.”
“That’s all right,” said Hoboson. “Don’t you worry. Jest hand it right up and see me do my duty.”
For a pitcher Kennedy was a good hitter, and he opened Rockford’s half of the seventh with a pretty single.
With Spangler at bat, two strikes and three balls were called.
Then Hoboson signaled for the combination ball.
Dick shook his head.
Hoboson repeated the signal, and again Dick shook his head. In apparent disgust, the tramp called for a straight ball. Spangler smashed it into right field, and Kennedy took third on the hit.
“You see what happens,” said the tramp. “I tell yer not to be afraid, me boy. Jest deliver the goods and see me hold up my end.”
On the first ball pitched to Jenners, Spangler started for second base, thinking that with Kennedy on third he had a fine opportunity to steal.
Apparently Hoboson was slow about throwing. To every one it seemed that Spangler had a start that would lead him safely down to second, when, after driving Kennedy back to third with a fake movement, the tramp lined the ball to Tubbs.
That ball fairly whizzed through the air, and it came straight into the hands of Obediah, who was a little to one side of second and in perfect position to tag the runner. Spangler slid and Obed put the ball on him.
“Out!” shouted the umpire.
Having seen this throw to second, Kennedy started off third once more and raced toward the home plate.
Tubbs sent the ball back to Hoboson, who covered the plate. It came straight into the hands of the tramp, and Kennedy stopped on the line, seeing he could not reach the home plate without being tagged. He turned and ran back toward third, expecting Hoboson would throw the ball. Instead of throwing to Bradley, the tramp ran after Kennedy with the ball in his hand.
Seeing Hoboson contemplated trying to run him down, Kennedy let himself out and did his best to get back to third. At every jump the tramp gained on the base runner, and just as Kennedy made his last leap to reach the bag the hobo struck him between the shoulder blades with the ball, using such force that the Rockford pitcher was hurled past third and sent sprawling on the ground four feet beyond the bag.
“Out!” shouted the umpire once more, but his decision was drowned by the wild roar from the delighted islanders. Brick McLane furiously waved his hat in the air and whooped at the top of his stentorian voice.
Laughing with satisfaction, Dick ran up to Hoboson and patted him on the shoulder.
“Well, you’re certainly a sprinter, old boy,” said Merriwell.
“T’anks,” returned the tramp. “You’re jest beginning to git onto me style. I tol’ yer I was an all-round wizard, but you didn’t believe me. Now, mebbe you’ll try that combination when I call for it.”
“The very next time,” promised Dick.
The opportunity came very soon, for with two strikes and two balls called on Jenners, Hoboson signaled for Dick to use his most effective curve.
Merriwell sent in his combination, but did not get it over the plate.
Plunk!—the ball landed in the tramp’s mitt and stuck there.
“Jest as e—easy!” he chuckled.
Again he called for this ball and again Dick used it. This time Jenners struck and missed, and once more the ball plunked into the catcher’s mit and remained there.
Three Rockfordites were out.
“Well, I guess he can catch!” whooped McLane. “He’s not a beaut, but he fills the bill!”
“Who in tut-tut-thunder is this fellow?” chattered Jolliby, as he reached the bench. “He’s all right, Dick. I don’t believe Rockford could have scored if we’d had him in the fuf-fuf-fuf-first place.”
No one was more delighted than Dick at the work of the tramp catcher. He now sought to talk with Hoboson, but to his surprise the tramp seemed strangely shy and silent. Whenever Dick approached him the mysterious catcher edged off and evinced a disinclination to talk.
From that time to the finish of the game every witness was kept keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. Hoboson demonstrated that he was a batter and base runner as well as a wonderful catcher. Still Kennedy managed to keep the islanders down until the sixth inning. In the sixth Hoboson singled to right field.
A few moments later, on Dick’s hit, Hoboson went racing over third with the speed of an express train and kept on to the plate.
Randolph threw to Brodie, but the tramp slid under and was declared safe, thus getting the first score for Fairhaven.
Dick took second on Randolph’s throw, but again Kennedy mowed down Jolliby, Tubbs, and Smart in succession.
By this time the Rockfordites were aware that it was necessary to fight the thing through to the finish in order to secure the game. Try as they might, however, they could not bunch hits. With Hoboson handling the ball perfectly, Dick Merriwell pitched in a wonderful manner and prevented the enemy from making a further gain.
Ere the ninth inning began Merriwell found himself puzzling over something familiar in Hoboson’s style of catching. The Fairhaven captain began to fancy he had seen the tramp before, although he could not remember the occasion.
With one man out in the ninth, Singleton drove a hot one through Stowe and reached second by a daring run. Kennedy was afraid of Hoboson and tried to deceive him with curves. The tramp finally dropped the ball over the right-field fence for two bags, according to the ground rules, and Singleton scored.
With Hoboson on second, another run was needed to tie the score.
The island crowd was cheering wildly now, while the Rockfordites did their best to encourage Kennedy.
Merriwell picked out a good one and slammed it into the far extremity of centre field, sending Hoboson home and reaching third ere the ball was returned to the diamond. Some of the island spectators groaned as they saw Jolliby walk out to the plate. Not a hit had Chip made, and they feared what would happen now.
Chip hit the ball, but popped up a little fly to Torrey and was out. Tubbs lifted a foul a moment later, and Brodie caught it.
“That’s the way ter do it!” cried Swarton. “Here’s your next victim, Kennedy!”
It was Smart.
Fearing Smart would strike out, Dick edged off third and made a desperate dash for the plate as Brodie returned the ball to Kennedy after the first pitch.
Kennedy snapped the ball back to Brodie, who threw a little high, and Merriwell slid under safely, thus securing the run that put Fairhaven ahead. No wonder Brick McLane quite lost his voice from shouting. No wonder the islanders shrieked, and yelled, and waved the red and black.
“Got um now, pal!” said Hoboson, in satisfaction. “Let this feller strike out if he wants to. We’ll hold ’em down.”
Smart did strike out, but Fairhaven was one run ahead when Rockford went to bat for the last time.
Merriwell trusted fully to the tramp’s skill as a back-stop, and his speed and curves actually dazzled the batters. He retired them in one-two-three order, and Brick McLane fell off the bleachers as the third man struck out and he realized Fairhaven had taken the game.
“Pretty well done, wasn’t it, Dick?” said Hoboson, as he cast aside his battered old hat and seemed instantly to fling off a false wig at the same time. “Glad to get rid of those things. They are beastly hot.”
“Wh—what!” gasped Dick, staring hard at the tramp. “Am I dreaming? Is it you?”
A second later Dick shouted to his companions.
“Come here, boys—come here! Take a look at our tramp! It’s Bart Hodge, or I’m daffy!”
“Thought you’d tumble to me long before this,” smiled Hodge, as he shook Dick’s hand. “It was Frank’s suggestion that I play this little trick. You can blame him. He sent me down here to see how you were getting along. Couldn’t come himself.”
“Well, I’m ashamed to be fooled in such a manner,” confessed Dick. “If I’d ever looked you over closely in daylight I would have recognized you for all of your rags and dirt. Hodge, you’re a dandy.”
Then the watching crowd was amazed to see Dick Merriwell hug the ragged catcher.