Frank Merriwell's Son Part 8

"I'll play no further with that fellow umpiring!" declared Featherstone.

"I am going to stop right here, and I think some of the rest feel the same. Come on, boys, let's quit."

"The quitters will quit," came from Sparkfair; "but I don't believe there are many quitters here, Feather."

Guy walked out and called for his men to follow him off the field.

"I'm with you," said one of them. "I think you're right, Feather, and I'm done."

"Yes, take b.o.o.by along with you, Feather," said Dale. "I thought likely he might hoist the white flag."

"We'll stop the game!" sneered Featherstone. "The team can't play without us. Kilgore can forfeit to you, and you may feel as proud as you like over your victory."

"Perhaps we'll be able to pick up a pitcher and a second baseman to fill the vacancies," said Sparkfair, looking around. "Who'll volunteer? Any one will do. We want to finish out this practice game."

"Come, Carson," urged Hodge, "let's you and I go into that game. I'll pitch, and you play second."

"I'm all out of practice," said Berlin.

"And I'm not a pitcher, you know," reminded Hodge. "We can limber up and have some amus.e.m.e.nt, anyhow."

He offered their services, and his offer was promptly accepted by the second team, not a little to the dissatisfaction and dismay of Featherstone.

"I'm the captain of that team," cried Guy, "and I order it off the field!"

Bart walked up to the angry boy, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked straight into his eyes.

"I'm afraid you're just what Sparkfair has called you, my son--a quitter," said Hodge, in a low tone. "The rest of the boys are going to play. You and your friend had better run over to the Hall. Trot along, now."

Muttering and growling, Featherstone turned away.

Hodge and Carson removed their coats, vests, collars, and neckties, and prepared for business.

"How does the game stand?" asked Bart, as he walked out to the pitcher's position.

"Score is five to three against you, and this is the sixth inning,"

answered Sparkfair. "You have your last turn at bat."

"How many men out?"

"Two."

"Come here, catcher," invited Bart. "I'll have to know your signals."

Walter Shackleton hurried to meet Hodge and explained his system of signals. Bart listened and nodded.

"Give me a few minutes to get the kinks out of my arm, Sparkfair?" he asked, as he again resumed the position at the pitching plate.

"Sure, sure," smiled Dale. "Go ahead and unbend your wing."

Hodge threw a dozen b.a.l.l.s to Brooks at first. Then, with Lander, the next batter, standing back, he sent two or three over the plate to Shackleton.

"All right," he finally nodded.

"Play!" called Kilgore.

Jake Lander stepped into the batter's box and smashed the first ball pitched by Bart. He drove it whizzing past Hodge, who did not have time to touch it.

Carson trapped it cleanly, scooped it up, and threw it to Higgins at first.

"Out!" shouted Kilgore.

"Great support, Berlin, old boy!" laughed Bart, as the second team trotted in, and Sparkfair's nine took the field.

"Now we want to take a little fire out of this bright Spark, boys," said Bart. "We need a couple of runs right off the reel. Who's the first hitter?"

"I am," answered Sam Higgins.

"What's your position on the list?"

"Third."

"All right. Play your own game."

Higgins stepped out and swiped rather wildly at the first two b.a.l.l.s, missing them both.

"Make him get it over, my boy!" urged Bart.

With Sam anxious to hit, Sparkfair did his best to "pull" him on wide ones, but Higgins let them pa.s.s, and three b.a.l.l.s were called.

"Now you have him where you want him," came from Hodge. "If he doesn't cut the pan, you will saunter."

Sparkfair attempted to cut the pan with a swift one, but Higgins. .h.i.t it.

It was a hot grounder to Netterby, who fumbled it long enough for Hungry Sam to arrive at first in safety.

Tommy Chuckleson and Sam Scrogg were on the coaching lines.

"We're off again!" shouted Scrogg.

"Off again, on again, gone again!" piped Chuckleson. "It's up to you, Balloon! Don't take an ascension!"

Abe Bunderson, nicknamed "Balloon," was the next man to strike. Ere he left the bench, Hodge whispered in his ear:

"Bunt, my boy. You know what Joe Crowfoot can do throwing. Higgins can't steal. Sacrifice him to second."

Balloon nodded.

He obeyed instructions, bunting rather awkwardly, yet skillfully, and sacrificing himself at first, while Higgins took second.

"Hodge next!" called the scorer.