strenuous effort to catch his man.
“We got the Rube waggin’!” yelled a Buffalo player.
Manning tripled down the left foul line—a hit the bleachers called a screamer. When Ellis came up, it looked like a tie score, and when the Rube pitched it was plain that he was tired. The Bisons yelled their assurance of this and the audience settled into quiet. Ellis batted a scorcher that looked good for a hit. But the fast Ashwell was moving with the ball, and he plunged lengthwise to get it square in his glove. The hit had been so sharp that he had time to get up and make the throw to beat the runner. The bleachers thundered at the play.
“You’re up, Rube,” called Spears. “Lam one out of the lot!”
The Rube was an uncertain batter. There was never any telling what he might do, for he had spells of good and bad hitting. But when he did get his bat on the ball it meant a chase for some fielder. He went up swinging his huge club, and he hit a fly that would have been an easy home run for a fast man. But the best Rube could do was to reach third base. This was certainly good enough, as the bleachers loudly proclaimed, and another tally for us seemed sure.
McCall bunted toward third, another of his teasers. The Rube would surely have scored had he started with the ball, but he did not try and missed a chance. Wiler, of course, held the ball, and Mac got to first without special effort. He went down on the first pitch. Then Ash lined to Carl. The Rube waited till the ball was caught and started for home. The crowd screamed, the Rube ran for all he was worth and Carl’s throw to the plate shot in low and true. Ellis blocked the Rube and tagged him out.
It looked to the bleachers as if Ellis had been unnecessarily rough, and they hissed and stormed disapproval. As for me, I knew the Bisons were losing no chance to wear out my pitcher. Stringer fouled out with Mac on third, and it made him so angry that he threw his bat toward the bench, making some of the boys skip lively.
The next three innings, as far as scoring was concerned, were all for Buffalo. But the Worcester infield played magnificent ball, holding their opponents to one run each inning.
That made the score 4 to 2 in favor of Buffalo.
In the last half of the sixth, with Ash on first base and two men out, old Spears hit another of his lofty flies, and this one went over the fence and tied the score. How the bleachers roared! It was full two minutes before they quieted down. To make it all the more exciting, Bogart hit safely, ran like a deer to third on Mullaney’s grounder, which Wiler knocked down, and scored on a passed ball. Gregg ended the inning by striking out.
“Get at the Rube!” boomed Ellis, the Bison captain. “We’ll have him up in the air soon. Get in the game now, you stickers!”
Before I knew what had happened, the Bisons had again tied the score. They were indomitable. They grew stronger all the time. A stroke of good luck now would clinch the game for them. The Rube was beginning to labor in the box; Ashwell was limping; Spears looked as if he would drop any moment; McCall could scarcely walk. But if the ball came his way he could still run. Nevertheless, I never saw any finer fielding than these cripped players executed that inning.
“Ash—Mac—can you hold out?” I asked, when they limped in. I received glances of scorn for my question. Spears, however, was not sanguine.
“I’ll stick pretty much if somethin’ doesn’t happen,” he said; “but I’m all in. I’ll need a runner if I get to first this time.”
Spears lumbered down to first base on an infield hit and the heavy Manning gave him the hip. Old Spears went down, and I for one knew he was out in more ways than that signified by Carter’s sharp: “Out!”
The old war-horse gathered himself up slowly and painfully, and with his arms folded and his jaw protruding, he limped toward the umpire.
“Did you call me out?” he asked, in a voice plainly audible to any one on the field.
“Yes,” snapped Carter.
“What for? I beat the ball, and Mannin’ played dirty with me—gave me the hip.”
“I called you out.”
“But I wasn’t out!”
“Shut up now! Get off the diamond!” ordered Carter, peremptorily.
“What? Me? Say, I’m captain of this team. Can’t I question a decision?”
“Not mine. Spears, you’re delaying the game.”
“I tell you it was a rotten decision,” yelled Spears. The bleachers agreed with him.
Carter grew red in the face. He and Spears had before then met in field squabbles, and he showed it.
“Fifty dollars!”
“More! You cheap-skate you piker! More!”
“It’s a hundred!”
“Put me out of the game!” roared Spears.
“You bet! Hurry now—skedaddle!”
“Rob-b-ber!” bawled Spears.
Then he labored slowly toward the bench, all red, and yet with perspiration, his demeanor one of outraged dignity. The great crowd, as one man, stood up and yelled hoarsely at Carter, and hissed and railed at him. When Spears got to the bench he sat down beside me as if in pain, but he was smiling.
“Con, I was all in, and knowin’ I couldn’t play any longer, thought I’d try to scare Carter. Say, he was white in the face. If we play into a close decision now, he’ll give it to us.”
Bogart and Mullaney batted out in short order, and once more the aggressive Bisons hurried in for their turn. Spears sent Cairns to first base and Jones to right. The Rube lobbed up his slow ball. In that tight pinch he showed his splendid nerve. Two Buffalo players, over-anxious, popped up flies. The Rube kept on pitching the slow curve until it was hit safely. Then heaving his shoulders with all his might he got all the motion possible into his swing and let drive. He had almost all of his old speed, but it hurt me to see him work with such desperate effort. He struck Wiler out.
He came stooping into the bench, apparently deaf to the stunning round of applause. Every player on the team had a word for the Rube. There was no quitting in that bunch, and if I ever saw victory on the stern faces of ball players it was in that moment.
“We haven’t opened up yet. Mebbee this is the innin’. If it ain’t, the next is,” said Spears.
With the weak end of the batting list up, there seemed little hope of getting a run on Vane that inning. He had so much confidence that he put the ball over for Gregg, who hit out of the reach of the infield. Again Vane sent up his straight ball, no doubt expecting Cairns to hit into a double play. But Cairns surprised Vane and everybody else by poking a safety past first base. The fans began to howl and pound and whistle.
The Rube strode to bat. The infield closed in for a bunt, but the Rube had no orders for that style of play. Spears had said nothing to him. Vane lost his nonchalance and settled down. He cut loose with all his speed. Rube stepped out, suddenly whirled, then tried to dodge, but the ball hit him fair in the back. Rube sagged in his tracks, then straightened up, and walked slowly to first base. Score 5 to 5, bases full, no outs, McCall at bat. I sat dumb on the bench, thrilling and shivering. McCall!
