the Shortstop (1992) Read online

  " So is my brother, and he's a cripple too."

  "Every boy likes baseball, and if he doesn't, he's not a boy."

  Chase left Castorious then and went downstairs, for he expected to meet several of the young men who boarded with him, and who had invited him to spend the evening with them. They came presently and carried him off to an entertainment in one of the halls. Here his new friends, Harris, Drake, and Mandle, led him from one group of boys and girls to another, and introduced him with evident pride in their opportunity. It was a church fair and well attended. Chase had never seen so many pretty girls.

  Being rather backward, he did not very soon notice what was patent to all - that he was the young man of the hour - and when he did see he felt as if he wanted to run away. Facing Mac and the players was easier than trying to talk to these gracious ladies and whispering, arch-eyed girls. Ice-cream was the order of the evening, and as long as Chase could eat he managed to conceal his poverty of speech; but when he absolutely could not swallow another spoonful he made certain he must get away.

  When four girls in white vivaciously appropriated him and whirled him off somewhere, his confusion knew no bounds. His young men friends basely deserted him and went to different parts of the hall. He was lost, and he gave up. From booth to booth they paraded with him, all chattering at once. He became vaguely aware that he was spending money, and attaching to himself various articles; he caught himself saying he would like very much to have this and that, which he did not want at all.

  The evening passed very quickly and like a dream. Chase found himself out of the bright lights in the cool darkness of the night. He walked two blocks past his corner. He reached his room at length, struck a light, and saw that he had an armful of small bundles and papers. He made the startling discovery that he had purchased four lace-fringed pin-cushions, a number of hand-painted doilies, one sewing-basket, one apron, two match-scratchers, one gorgeous necktie, and one other article that he could not name.

  Discomfited as he was, Chase had to laugh. It was too utterly ridiculous. Then more soberly he began to count the money he had, in order to find out what he had spent. The sum total of his rash expenditures amounted to a little over five dollars.

  "Five dollars!" ejaculated Chase.

  "For this truck and about a gallon of ice-cream. That's how I save my money. Confound those girls!"

  But Chase did not mean that about the girls. He knew the evening had been the pleasantest one he could remember. He tried to recollect the names of the girls and how they looked. This was impossible. Nothing of that wonderful night stood out clearly: as a whole, it left a confused impression of music and laughter, bright eyes and golden hair, smiles and white dresses.

  Next morning he wrote to his mother and told her all about it, adding that she must not take the expenditure of his money so much as an instance of reckless extravagance as it was a case of highway robbery.

  In the afternoon on the way to the ball-park he met Mittie-Maru, and relating last night's adventure, asked him if he could use a pin-cushion or two.

  " Not on yer life ! " cried Mittie-Maru. "Sorry I didn't put you wise to them church sociables. They jobbed you, Chase. Sold you a lot of bricks. You want to fight shy of thet bunch, all right, all right." " Don't you ever go to church? "

  " I went to Sunday school last Fall. Miss Marjory, she was in the school, got me to come. She 's a peach. Sweeter 'n a basket of red monkeys. She was all right, all right, but I couldn't stand fer the preacher, an' some others, so I quit. An' every time I see Miss Marjory I dodge or hit it up out of sight."

  " What was wrong with the preacher?" "He's young, an' I think preachers oughter be old. He fusses the wimmen folks too hard. He speaks soft an' prays to beat the band, an' everybody thinks he 's an angel. But - oh, I ain't a knocker."

  " Wait for me after the game."

  " Shure. An' say, Chase, are you goinAE to stand fer the things Meade calls you? "

  " I'm afraid I can't stand it much longer."

  If anything, Chase's reception in the dressing-room was more violent than it had been the day before. Nevertheless he dressed without exchanging a word with any one. This time, however, he was keenly alert to all that was said and to who said it. All sense of personal affront or injustice, such as had pained him yesterday, was now absent. He felt himself immeasurably older; he coolly weighed this harangue at him with the stern necessity of his success, and found it nothing.

  And when he went out upon the field he was conscious of a difference in his feelings. The mist that had bothered him did not now come to his eyes; nor did the contraction bind his throat; nor did the nameless uncertainty and dread oppress his breast. He felt a rigidity of muscle, a deadliness of determination, a sharp, cold confidence.

  The joy of playing the game, as he had played it ever since he was big enough to throw a ball, had gone. It was not fun, not play before him, but work, - work that called for strength, courage, endurance.

  Chase gritted his teeth when the umpire called: " Play ball ! " and he gritted them throughout the game. He staked himself and all he hoped to do for those he loved, against his own team, the opposing team, and the baseball world. He saw his one chance, a fighting chance, and he meant to fight.

  When the ball got into action he ran all over the field like a flash. He was everywhere. He anticipated every hit near him, and scooped up the ball and shot it from him, with the speed of a bullet. He threw with a straight, powerful overhand motion and the ball sailed low, with terrific swiftness, and held its speed. He grabbed up a hit that caromed off Winter's leg, and though far back of third base, threw the runner out with time to spare. He caught a foul fly against the left-field bleachers. He threw two runners out at the plate, and that from deep short field.

  He beat out an in-field hit; he got a clean single into right field; and for the third time in three days he sent out a liner that by fast running he stretched into a three-bagger. Findlay had clinched the game before this hit, which sent in two runners, but for all that, the stands and bleachers rose in a body and cheered. The day before Chase had doffed his cap in appreciation of their applause. Today he did not look at them. He put the audience out of his mind .

  But with all his effort, speed, and good luck he made an unfortunate play. It came at the close of the eighth inning. Wheeling got runners on second and third, with only one out. The next man hit a sharp bouncer to Chase. He fielded the ball, and expecting the runner on third to dash for home he made ready to throw him out. But this runner held his base. Chase turned to try to get the batter going down to first, when the runner on second ran right before him toward third. Chase closed in behind him, and as the fellow slowed up tried to catch him. Then the runner on third bolted for home. Chase saw him and threw to head him off, but was too late.

  In the dressing-room after the game the players howled about this one run that Chase's stupidity had given Wheeling. They called him " wooden head," " sap- head," " sponge - head."

  "dead-head." Then Mac came in and delivered himself.

  "Put the ball in your pocket! Put the ball in your pocket, didn't you? Countin' your money, wasn't you? Thinkin' about the girls you was with last night, hey? Thet play costs you five. See! Got thet ? You're fined. After this when you get the ball an' some runner is hittin' up the dust, throw it. Got thet ? Throw the ball! Don't keep it! Throw it!"

  When the players' shout of delight died away, Chase turned on the little manager.

  " What d' you want for fifteen cents -canary birds? " he yelled, in a voice that rattled the windows. He flung his bat down with a crash, and as it skipped along the bench more than one player fell over himself to get out of its way.

  " Didn't I say I had to learn the game? Didn't you say you'd show me? I never had that play before. I didn't know what to do with the ball. What d' you want, I say? Didn't I accept nine chances today?"

  Mac looked dumfounded. This young lamb of his had suddenly roused into a lion.

  " Shure you nee
dn't holler about it. I was only tellin' you." Then he strode out amid a silence that showed the surprise of his players. Winters recovered first, and turned his round red face and began to bob and shake with laughter.

  " What - did he - want for fifteen cents - canary birds? Haw! Haw; Haw!" In another moment the other players were roaring with him.

  Chapter VIII.

  ALONG THE RIVER.

  CASTORIOUS blanked the Wheeling club next day, and the following day Speer won his game. Findlay players had returned to their old form and were getting into a fast stride, so the Chronicle said. Three straight from Columbus, was the slogan! Mac had signed a new pitcher, a left-hander named Poke, from a nearby country village, and was going to develop him. He was also trying out a popular player from the high-school team.

  Mac had ordered morning practice for the Columbus series of games. The players hated morning practice, "drill" they called it, and presented themselves with visible displeasure. And when they were all on the grounds Mac appeared with a bat over his shoulder, and with his two new players in tow.

  Poke was long and lanky, a sunburned rustic who did not know what to do with his hands and feet.

  " Battin' practice," called out Mac, sharply, ordering Poke to the pitcher's box.

  Poke peeled off his sweater, showing bare arms that must have had a long and intimate acquaintance with axe and rail-pile.

  "Better warm up first," said Mac. It developed that Poke did not need any warming. When he got ready he wound himself up, and going through some remarkable twist that made him resemble a cartwheel, delivered the ball towards the plate. Thatcher just dodged in time to save his head.

  " Speed! Whew ! Wow ! " exclaimed the players.

  " Speed! " echoed Thatcher. " Wait till you, get up there! "

  Poke drove Thatcher away from the plate and struck Meade out.

  "Put 'em over " said Benny, as he came up.

  The first ball delivered hit Benny on the foot, and roaring, he threw down his bat. " You Rube ! You wild Indian ! I 'll git you fer thet !'

  Enoch Winters was the next batter. " Say, you lean, hungry-lookin' rubberneck, if you hit me ! " warned Enoch, in his soft voice.

  Poke struck Enoch out and retired Chase on a little pop-up fly. Then Cas sauntered up with his wagon-tongue bat and a black scowl on his face.

  "Steady up, steady up," said he. " Put 'em over. Don't use all your steam."

  " Mister, I ain't commenced yit to throw hard," replied Poke.

  " Wha-at ? " Yelled Cas. " Are you kidding me? Slam the ball! Break your arm, then!"

  The rustic whirled a little farther round, unwound himself a little quicker, and swung his arm. Cas made an ineffectual attempt to hit what looked like a white cord stretched between him and the pitcher. The next ball started the same way, but took an upward jump and shot under Cas's chin.

  Cas, who had a mortal dread of being hit, fell back from the plate and glared at Poke.

  "You've got his alley, Poke!" Cried the amiable players. " Keep 'em under his chin!" Cas retired in disgust as Mac came trotting up from the field, where he had been coaching the high-school player.

  "What's he got?" asked Mac, eagerly. "What 's he got!" yelled nine voices in unison. " Oh! nothing! "

  " Step up an' take a turn," said Mac to his new player. " No, don't stand so far back. Here, let me show you. Gimme the bat."

  Mac took a position well up to the plate. and began illustrating his idea of the act of hitting.

  " You see, I get well back on my right foot, ready to step forward with my left. I'll step just before he delivers the ball. I 'll keep my bat over my shoulder an' hit a little late, so as to hit to right field. Thet 's best for the hit-an'-run gam. Now, watch. See. Step an' set; step an' set. The advantage of gettin' set this way is the pitcher can't fool you, can't hit you. You needn't never be afraid of bein' hit after you learn how to get set. No pitcher could hit me. Then raising his voice, Mac shouted to Poke, "Hey, poke up a couple. Speed em over, now!"

  Poke evidently recognized the cardinal necessity of making an impression, for he went through more wonderful gyrations than ever. Then he lunged forward with the swing he used in getting the ball away. Nobody saw the ball.

  BUMB! A sound not unlike a suddenly struck base-drum electrified the watching players. Then the ball appeared rolling down from Mac's shrinking person. The little manager seemed to be slowly settling to the ground. He turned an agonized face and uttered a long moan.

  " My ribs I my ribs ! - he hit me," gasped Mac.

  Chase, Poke, and the new man were the only persons who did not roll over and over on the ground. That incident put an end to the morning "drill." After dressing, Chase decided to try to find Mittie-Maru. The mascot had not been at the last two games, and this fact determined him to seek the lad. So he passed down the street where he had often left Mittie, and asked questions on the way. Everybody knew the hunchback, but nobody knew where he lived.

  Chase went on until he passed the line of houses and got into the outskirts of the town, where carpenter-shops, oil refineries, and brick-yards abounded. Several workmen he questioned said they saw the boy almost every day, and that he kept on down the street toward the open country. Chase had about decided to give up his quest, when he came to the meadows and saw across them the green of a line of willows. This he knew marked a brook or river, along which a stroll would be pleasant.

  When he reached the river he saw Mittie-maru sitting on a log patiently holding a long crooked fish-pole. "Any luck?" he shouted.

  Mittie-maru turned with a start, and seeing Chase cried out, " You ole son-of-a-gun ! Trailed me, didn't you? What yer doin' out here? "

  " I'm looking for you, Mittie."

  " What fer ? "

  Chase leaped down the bank and seated himself on the log beside the boy. "Well, you haven't been out to the grounds lately. Why?"

  " Aw ! nuthin'," replied Mittie, savagely.

  "See here, you can't string me," said Chase, earnestly. "Things aren't right with you, Mittie, and you can't bluff it out on me. So I've been hunting you. We're going to be pards, you know."

  "Are we? "

  Chase then saw Mittie's eyes for the first time, and learned they were bright, soft, and beautiful, giving his face an entirely different look.

  "Sure. And that's why I wanted to find you - where you lived - and if you were sick again."

  " It's my back, Chase," replied Mittie, reluctantly. "Sometimes it -hurts worse."

  " Then it pains you all the time? " asked Chase, voicing a suspicion that had come to him from watching the boy.

  " Yes. But it ain't bad today. Sometimes - hol' on! I got a bite. See! It's a whopper - Thunder! I missed him!"

  Mittie-Maru rebaited his hook and cast it into the stream. " Fishin' fer mine, when I can't git to the ball-grounds. Do you like fishin', Chase? "

  " Love it. You must let me come out and fish with you."

  " Sure. There 's good fishin' fer catfish an' suckers, an' once in a while a bass. I never fished any before I came here, an' I missed a lot. You see, movin' round ain't easy fer me. Gee! I can walk, but I mean playin' ball or any games the kids play ain't fer me. So I take mine out in fishin'. I 've got so I like sittin' in the sun with it all lonely aroun', 'cept the birds an' ripples. I used to be sore - about - about my back an' things, but fishin' has showed me I could be worse off. I can see an' hear as well as anybody. There ! I got bite again ! "

  Mittie-maru pulled out a sunfish that wriggled and shone like gold in the sunlight. " Thet's enough fer today. I ain't no fish-hog. Chase, if I show you where I live you won't squeal? Of course you won't."

  Chase assured him he would observe absolute secrecy; and together they mounted the bank and walked up stream. The meadows were bright with early June daisies and buttercups; the dew had not yet dried from the clover; blackbirds alighted in the willows and larks fluttered up from the grass. They came presently to an abandoned brickyard, where piles of broken brick lay scattered
round, and two mound-like kilns stood amid the ruins of some frame structures.

  " Here we are," said Mittie-Maru, marching up to one of the kilns and throwing open a rudely contrived door. A. dark aperture revealed the entrance to this singular abode.

  " You don't mean you live in this oven?" ejaculated Chase.

  " Sure. An' I've lived in worse places. Come in, an' make yourself to home."

  Mittie-maru crawled into the hole, and Chase followed him. It was roomy inside. Light came in from the chimney hole in the roof, and also on one side where there was a crack in the bricks. The floor was clean and of smooth sand. A pile of straw and some blankets made MittieMaru's bed. A fireplace of bricks, a few cooking utensils, and a box cupboard told that he was his own housekeeper.

  " This 's not bad. How long have you lived in here?"

  " Aw, I fooled round town fer a while last Summer, spendin' my money fer swell lodgin's, an' then I found this place. Makes a hit with me."

  "But when you're sick, Mittie, what do you - how do you manage? " " Out of sight, an' I ain't no bother to no one."

  And that was all Mittie-Maru would vouchsafe concerning himself. They came out after a while and Chase wanted to walk farther on up the river. Rolling meadows stretched away to the hills; there was a grove of maples not far off.

  "It's so pretty up that way. Can't we go farther on and strike another road into town? "

  " Sure. But them meadows an' groves is private property," said Mittie, dubiously. " I used to fish up thet way, till I threw Miss Marjory down, then I quit. She lives in one of them grove houses. We ain't likely to meet no one, though, so come on."

  They crossed several fields to enter the grove. The river was narrow there and shaded by big trees. Violets peeped out of the grass. A white house gleamed in the distance.

  Suddenly they came round a huge spreading tree to a green embankment. A boat rode in the water, one end lightly touching the sand. And in the boat was a girl. Her eyes were closed; her head rested on her arm, which hung over the side. A mass of violets lay in her lap. All about the boat was deep shade, but a gleam of sunshine, filtering through the leaves, turned the girl's hair to gold.