Read Online At the Old Ballgame by Jeff Silverman - Free Book Online Page B

been strained severely and it came into shape very slowly. As soon as possible he tried to do a little throwing every day, but it was some time before he could get a ball more than ten or fifteen feet.
    It became generally known that Merriwell would have to pitch at Springfield, beyond a doubt, and the greatest anxiety was felt at Yale. Every man had confidence in Heffiner, but it was believed by the majority that the freshman was still raw, and therefore was liable to make a wretched fizzle of it.
    Heffiner did not think so. He coached Merriwell almost every day, and his confidence in Frank increased.
    â€œThe boy is all right,” was all he would say about it, but that did not satisfy the anxious ones.
    During the week before the deciding game was to come off Heffiner’s arm improved more rapidly than it had at any time before, and scores of men urged Pierson to put Old Reliable, as Hugh was sometimes called, into the box.
    A big crowd went up to Springfield on the day of the great game, but the “sons of Old Eli” were far from confident, although they were determined to root for their team to the last gasp.
    The most disquieting rumors had been afloat concerning Harvard. It was said her team was in a third better condition than at the opening of the season, when she took the first game from Yale; and it could not be claimed with honesty that the Yale team was apparently in any better shape. Although she had won the second game of the series with Harvard, her progress had not been satisfactory.
    A monster crowd had gathered to witness the deciding game. Blue and crimson were the prevailing colors. On the bleachers at one side of the grandstand sat hundreds upon hundreds of Harvard men, cheering all together and being answered by the hundreds of Yale men on the other side of the grand stand. There were plenty of ladies and citizens present and the scene was inspiring. A band of music served to quicken the blood in the veins which were already throbbing.
    There was short preliminary practice, and then at exactly three o’clock the umpire walked down behind the home plate and called: “Play ball!”
    Yale took the field, and as the boys in blue trotted out, the familiar Yale yell broke from hundreds of throats. Blue pennants were wildly fluttering, the band was playing a lively air and for the moment it seemed as if the sympathy of the majority of the spectators was with Yale.
    But when Hinkley, Harvard’s great single hitter, who always headed the batting list, walked out with his pet “wagon tongue,” a different sound swept over the multitude, and the air seemed filled with crimson pennants.
    Merriwell went into the box, and the umpire broke open a pasteboard box, brought out a ball that was wrapped in tin foil, removed the covering, and tossed the snowy sphere to the freshman pitcher Yale had so audaciously stacked up against Harvard.
    Frank looked the box over, examined the rubber plate, and seemed to make himself familiar with every inch of the ground in his vicinity. Then he faced Hinkley, and a moment later delivered the first ball.
    Hinkley smashed it on the nose, and it was past Merriwell in a second, skipping along the ground and passing over second base just beyond the baseman’s reach, although he made a good run for it.
    The center fielder secured the ball and returned it to second, but Hinkley had made a safe single off the very first ball delivered.
    Harvard roared, while the Yale crowd was silent.
    A great mob of freshmen was up from New Haven to see the game and watch Merriwell’s work, and some of them immediately expressed disappointment and dismay.
    â€œHere is where Merriwell meets his Waterloo,” said Sport Harris. “He’ll be batted out before the game is fairly begun.”
    That was quite enough to arouse Rattleton, who heard the remark.
    â€œI’ll bet you ten dollars he isn’t batted out at all,” spluttered Harry, fiercely.