<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</SPAN></h2>
<h3>A SNEERING LAUGH</h3>
<p>“Come on now, Art! Line one out!”</p>
<p>“A home run, old man! You can do it!”</p>
<p>“Slam one over the fence!”</p>
<p>“Poke it to the icehouse and come walking!”</p>
<p>“We’ve got the pitcher’s goat already! Don’t
mind him, even if he is going to college!”</p>
<p>These were only a few of the good-natured
cries that greeted Art Church as he stood at the
home plate, waiting for Joe Matson to deliver the
ball. And, in like manner, Joe was gently gibed
by his opponents, some of whom had not faced
him in some time. To others he was an unknown
quantity.</p>
<p>But even those newest members of the Resolutes
had heard of Joe’s reputation, and there was
not a little of the feeling in the visiting nine that
they were doomed to defeat through the opposing
pitcher.</p>
<p>“Come on now, Art, it’s up to you.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Give him a fair chance, Joe, and he’ll knock
the cover off!”</p>
<p>“Play ball!” snapped the umpire, and Joe,
who had been exchanging the regulation practice
balls with the catcher signalled that he was ready
to deliver the first one of the game. The catcher
called for a slow out, but Joe shook his head.
He knew Art Church of old, and remembered
that this player fairly “ate ’em up.” Joe gave the
signal to Tom that he would send a swift in-shoot,
and his chum nodded comprehendingly.</p>
<p>“Ball one!” yelled the umpire, and Joe could
not restrain a start of surprise. True, Art had
not swung at the horsehide, but it had easily
clipped the plate, and, Joe thought, should have
been called a strike. But he said nothing, and,
delivering the same sort of a ball the next time,
he had the satisfaction of deceiving the batter,
who swung viciously at it.</p>
<p>“He’s only trying you out!” was shouted at
Joe. “He’ll wallop the next one!”</p>
<p>But Art Church did not, and waiting in vain
for what he considered a good ball, he struck at
the next and missed, while the third strike was
called on him without his getting a chance to move
his bat.</p>
<p>“Oh, I guess the umpire isn’t against us after
all,” thought Joe, as he threw the ball over to
first while the next batter was coming up.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“How’s that?” yelled Tom in delight. “Guess
there aren’t going to be any home runs for you
Resolutes.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s early yet,” answered the visiting captain.</p>
<p>But the Resolutes were destined to get no runs
in that half-inning. One man popped up a little
fly, which was easily taken care of, and the next
man Joe struck out cleanly.</p>
<p>He was beginning to feel that he was getting
in form again. All that Spring he had pitched
fine games at Excelsior Hall, but, during the Summer
vacation, at the close of the boarding school,
he had gone a bit stale. He could feel it himself.
His muscles were stiff from lack of use, and he
had not the control of the ball, which was one of
his strong points. Neither could he get up the
speed which had always been part of his assets,
and which, in after years, made him such a power
in the big league.</p>
<p>Still Joe felt that he was doing fairly well, and
he knew that, as the game went on, and he warmed
up, he would do better.</p>
<p>“We ought to win,” he told Tom Davis, as
they walked to the bench. “That is if we get
any kind of support, and if our fellows can hit
their pitcher. What sort of a chap is he?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know much about him. He’s been at it
all Summer though, and ought to be in pretty good<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span>
practice. We’ll soon tell. Len Oswald is first
up.”</p>
<p>But that was all Len did—get up. He soon
sat down again, not having hit the ball.</p>
<p>“Oh, I guess we’ve got some pitcher!” yelled
the Resolutes.</p>
<p>“Even if he isn’t going to college!” added
someone, and Joe felt his face burn. He was
not at all puffed up over the fact that he was
going to Yale, and he disliked exceedingly to get
that reputation—so unjustly. But he did not
protest.</p>
<p>When the second man went out without getting
to first base, it looked as if the contest was going
to be a close one, and there began to be whispers
of a “pitchers’ battle.”</p>
<p>“‘Pitchers’ battle’ nothing!” exclaimed Joe in
a whisper to Tom. “That fellow can’t curve a
ball. I’ve been watching him. He’s got a very
fast straight delivery, and that’s how he’s fooling
’em. I’m going to hit him, and so can the rest of
us if we don’t let him bluff. Just stand close up
to the plate and plug it. Who comes next?”</p>
<p>“Percy Parnell.”</p>
<p>“Oh, wow! Well, unless he’s improved a
whole lot he won’t do much.”</p>
<p>But Percy had, for the next moment he got the
ball just where he wanted it, and slammed it out
for a three bagger amid enthusiastic howls. Then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span>
the other Silver Star players became aware of the
opposing pitcher’s weakness and began hitting
him, until three runs had come in. Then, in response
to the frantic appeals of the “rooters”
and their own captain, the Resolutes took a brace
and halted the winning streak. But it had begun,
and nothing could stop it.</p>
<p>Joe, much elated that his diagnosis of his opponent
had been borne out, again took his place
in the box. He determined to show what he could
do in the way of pitching, having done some warming-up
work with Tom during the previous inning.</p>
<p>He struck out the first man cleanly, and the
second likewise. The third hit him for two fouls,
and then, seeming to have become familiar with
Joe’s style, whacked out one that was good for
two bases.</p>
<p>“We’re finding him! We’re finding him!”
yelled the excited Resolutes. “Only two down,
and we’ve got a good hitter coming.”</p>
<p>Joe saw that his fellow players were getting a
little “rattled,” fearing perhaps that he was going
to pieces, so, to delay the game a moment, and
pull himself together, he walked toward home,
and pretended to have a little conference with the
catcher.</p>
<p>In reality they only mumbled meaningless
words, for Tom knew Joe’s trick of old. But the
little break seemed to have a good effect, for the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span>
young pitcher struck out the next man and no runs
came in.</p>
<p>“Oh, I guess yes!” cried the Silver Star crowd.</p>
<p>The home team got two runs the next inning,
and with goose eggs in their opponents’ frame it
began to look more like a one-sided contest.</p>
<p>“Boys, we’ve got to wallop ’em!” exclaimed
the visiting captain earnestly, as they once more
came to bat.</p>
<p>Joe’s arm was beginning to feel the unaccustomed
strain a trifle, and to limber up the muscles
he “wound-up” with more motions and elaborateness
than usual as he again took the mound.
As he did so he heard from the grandstand a loud
laugh—a laugh that fairly bubbled over with
sneering, caustic mirth, and a voice remarked,
loud enough for our hero to hear:</p>
<p>“I wonder where he learned that wild and
weird style of pitching? He’ll fall all apart if he
doesn’t look out!”</p>
<p>He cast a quick glance in the direction of the
voice and saw Ford Weston, who sat beside
Mabel Davis, fairly doubled up with mirth.
Mabel seemed to be remonstrating with him.</p>
<p>“Don’t break your arm!” called Ford, laughing
harder than before.</p>
<p>“Hush!” exclaimed Mabel.</p>
<p>Joe felt the dull red of shame and anger mounting
to his cheeks.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“So that’s a Yale man,” he thought. “And
I’m going to Yale. I wonder if they’re all like
that there? I—I hope not.”</p>
<p>And, for the life of him, Joe could not help
feeling a sense of anger at the youth who had so
sneeringly laughed at him.</p>
<p>“And he’s a Yale man—and on the nine,”
mused Joe.</p>
<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</SPAN></span></p>
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