The Boy Scouts at the Panama Canal. Goldfrap John Henry
grew blacker and blacker. He bit his lip impatiently.
Suddenly Rob played dangerously off second base. The Hampton second baseman was close to him. It was a daring move. Jared saw it in a flash. The catcher’s signal came. He threw the ball to the Hampton short stop on second base.
But Jared’s chagrin at the way his pitching was being “knocked about” unsteadied his aim. He threw wild. The ball passed above the short stop’s outstretched finger tips. Rob darted off for third base like a jack rabbit.
The right fielder got the ball and shot it to third base, but, although the ball and Rob seemed to arrive simultaneously, Rob was hugging the bag contentedly in the nick of time. This was a quick, stirring bit of play and brought yells from the crowd, among whom criticisms of Jared were freely expressed. He grew pale with rage and chagrin.
Paul Perkins now came to bat. The dreamy lad struck out. His apparent unconcern made the crowd laugh. They laughed even more when Tubby, having struck out also, calmly picked up a bit of pie he had been munching when he came to bat and marched to his seat contentedly chewing it.
At this stage of the game two were out, Merritt was on second and Rob on third.
Now came the turn of Ernest Thompson, a big-eyed, serious-looking lad, one of the first recruits to the Eagle standard and a first-class scout. Jared was now on the broad grin. Thompson looked easy.
“Look out, baby-face,” chuckled Jared, poising himself.
An in-curve shot from his hand. Ernest gazed at it in an uninterested manner and allowed it to go by.
“Strike one!” came the sonorous voice of the umpire, who was Sim Giles, the postmaster.
“Oh-h-h-h-h!” yelled the crowd.
The next ball was of the same character. This time Ernest struck at the ball. He missed and the crowd yelled again. Jared began to regain self-confidence.
“Strike two,” was the cry.
The third ball was high.
“Ball one,” declared Sim.
Then came an out-curve. But it was too far out. Jared was a rather ragged pitcher.
“Ball two,” called Sim.
Suddenly Jared threw to third base. But, quick as he was, he didn’t catch Rob off.
“How’s that?” yelled Higgins, the Hampton third baseman, as he touched Rob.
The umpire merely waved his hand in what he deemed a professional manner.
“A thousand years late,” chuckled Rob to Higgins.
Jared heard him and flashed him an ugly look. Hatred gleamed in his eyes. Rob watched him narrowly and again stole off third.
Bang! – came a swift straight ball at the dreamy Ernest. But he was not in “a trance,” as Jared had scornfully thought. Crack! – went a hot grounder to short stop. Merritt stood fast at second, but Rob, like an arrow from a bow, shot off for home. The short stop fired in the sphere to the catcher as quickly as he could. But before the ball got there, Rob, his legs working like pistons, had passed the home plate.
What a roar went up then! Flags waved and cheers resounded among the Eagle sympathizers.
As the cheering died away the catcher, Hollis Powers, walked into the diamond to confer with Jared, who showed by his passionate gestures that he was mad clear through.
“Look out or they’ll knock you out of the box,” yelled some one.
This did not tend to improve Jared’s temper. But, nevertheless, he struck out the next batter, Simon Jeffords, which helped in part to restore his balance. The Eagles then retired to the field.
“How do you feel, Merritt?” was eagerly asked by his comrades before he took the pitcher’s box.
“All right, so far. You’ll know soon enough when my wing gets sore,” was the reply.
Apparently Rob was not destined to pitch that day. Merritt struck out the first two batters, fielded a hot liner and threw out Jared before he got to first base. Jared was certainly piling up his list of grievances against the Boy Scouts. To add to his ill-feeling he had recognized Fred Mainwaring, nodded to the latter and received the cut direct. The fact that Lucy Mainwaring was a witness to this snub did not improve matters.
“Good boy, Merritt!” yelled the Eagle supporters in a frenzy of delight.
The third inning commenced with the Eagles at the bat. But now Jared appeared to have on his throwing clothes. The Scout batters couldn’t hammer his pitching at all.
In fact, all that occurred while they succeeded each other at the bat was a monotonous succession of calls from the umpire:
“Strike one. Strike two. You’re out.”
The Hampton villagers began to pluck up heart. They gave Jared warm support and cheers for his really excellent work and that of his team-mates. To the somewhat blank astonishment of the Eagles, they had not been able to find Jared’s pitching at all in this inning. It began to look as if they were by no means to have things their own way.
CHAPTER VII
A TEST FOR THE EAGLES
But Jared was to score still further. He came to bat confidently at the end of the third inning. With two of his side out and none on bases, he knocked a beautiful homer into left field. It was a really fine drive. The Hampton contingent went wild. The faces of the Eagle supporters, too, were cheerful, but anxious. As for Jared, he beamed, and then as his eyes met Rob’s, he gave the latter a malevolent glance.
At the end of the third inning each side had scored one run. The Eagles made no runs in the following three innings, while Hampton scored two, so that, when the seventh inning began, things looked rather gloomy for the Scouts. The score then stood three to one in favor of Hampton and the town players fairly swelled with confidence.
It was already painfully evident that, exercise his will power as he would, Merritt’s arm was getting sore. He had put redoubled efforts into his work but the score showed with how little success. At the beginning of the seventh, he told Captain Hiram that he thought the Hamptons had “found” his pitching, but he consented to stay in the box for one more inning.
The inning commenced with Merritt at the bat. He was given first base on balls. Paul Perkins made a base hit to left field. He got safely to first with Merritt hugging second. Tubby Hopkins once more struck out with the same cheerful grin on his round countenance. Hiram sent a slow grounder to Jared and was promptly thrown out at first, but Merritt reached third, and Paul second, very nicely.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. Jared determined to strike him out if it were humanly possible. After a lot of posing which he thought gave him quite a professional air, Jared delivered the best ball in his répertoire, a swift and vicious in-curve. It fairly hissed through the air.
Crack!
Rob’s willow collided with the sphere and away it sped far into right field. Merritt and Paul scored amidst tremendous enthusiasm; hats were thrown in the air. Things once more looked rosy for the Eagles. Rob was easily the favorite of the moment.
As for Jared, his feelings were not enviable. He felt that he would gladly have allowed the others to score if he had only been able to shut Rob out. He struck out the next batter, and then Hampton went to bat.
Merritt’s arm felt better and he went to the box without the misgivings that had assailed him earlier. But with the first ball he pitched he knew that he had deluded himself. The batter hit a fly to right field and was caught out. Merritt, summoning every ounce of resolution he could muster, struggled on right manfully. But it was a hopeless cause. Base hits were made with absurd ease. Jared was caught out on a fly. Finally there were two out and two on bases.
Higgins came to bat and made a second home run amidst yells of delight from the Scouts’ opponents.
It began to look like grim defeat for the Scouts. The Hampton contingent was jubilant. Jared danced mockingly about whenever he could catch the eye of a Boy Scout.
The