Frank Merriwell's Son Part 9

"You're up against it now, Sparkfair," came from Lawrence Graves, as Bart stood forth to the plate.

"I'm scared to death!" laughed Dale. "See me tremble! See me vibrate!"

The infielders crept in for a bunt, while Sparkfair pitched a swift, high ball.

Hodge attempted to drop the ball just inside the first-base line, but made a foul tip, and the sphere plunked into young Joe Crowfoot's mitt.

"Don't pick 'em right off the bat, Joseph," remonstrated Bart. "If you get so close, you'll catch the ball before I have time to hit it."

The Indian boy smiled grimly.

"Mebbe that keep you from tying score," he said.

Sparkfair worked cautiously with Hodge, and, as a result, two b.a.l.l.s were called after this first strike.

"Walking is easier than running, Spark," reminded Bart.

"Then I think I'll let you chase," said Dale. "I hope you chase the ball instead of chasing round the bases."

Hodge was watching Dale's every movement. He saw Sparkfair hold the ball, covered by his hands, close to his mouth. Evidently the pitcher intended to use the spit ball. Nevertheless, something warned Bart that Dale had turned the ball over and grasped the dry side. His pretense of trying a spit ball was all a bluff.

Whiz! The ball came whistling from Spark's fingers.

Crack! Hodge met it fairly on the trade-mark.

Away, away, away sailed the sphere, pa.s.sing far over the head of Thad Barking, the center fielder, who had turned and was running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Guy Featherstone and b.o.o.by Walker had paused at a distance to watch the game a few moments.

Featherstone uttered a furious exclamation of anger.

"I'm glad he hit that ball, and yet it makes me mad!" he grated. "I might have done the same myself. Just look at that--just look at it!

It's a home run! It ties the score!"

He was right.

CHAPTER IX.

SPARKFAIR's. .h.i.t.

Sparkfair sat down on the pitcher's plate and watched Hodge circling the bases.

"Hereafter," he observed, with a doleful grin, "I'll put my fielders over in the next county when you come to bat."

Bart's. .h.i.t reminded Dale of d.i.c.k Merriwell's first appearance at Fardale. He recalled the fact that d.i.c.k had come to bat in the ninth inning, with two men out, the bases full, and three runs needed to tie the score. Merriwell managed to connect with the ball after two strikes had been called. He drove it far over Barking's head, clearing the sacks and coming home himself, thus winning the game by a single run.

That recollection was decidedly unpleasant to Spark.

"If I get to ruminating on such things, I'll spring a leak and weep real tears," he muttered, as he rose to his feet.

From the distance, Guy Featherstone shouted:

"Yah! yah! You're not so much, Sparkfair! You're pie for a real batter!"

With this parting taunt, Feather took b.o.o.by Walker's arm and led him away, both disappearing into the bathhouse.

Tommy Chuckleson was the next hitter to face Dale. "Why can't I do something like that?" exclaimed Chuck. "If I could ever hit the ball hard enough, you'd see me making a record round the bases!"

"Just set a few mice after you and you'd make a record, all right,"

laughed Dale, in return.

Then he proceeded to strike Tommy out in short order.

Lawrence Graves, his face as expressionless as a doormat, came up and batted a weak one into the diamond, being thrown out with ease.

The sixth inning ended, with the score tied.

Hedge returned to the pitcher's slab.

"We're going to trim you to-day, Spark," a.s.serted Walter Shackleton, as he crouched froglike behind the bat. "There are no quitters on the team now."

"Don't alarm me--please don't!" implored Dale. "It's most unkind, Shack."

Fred Hollis was the first one up. He batted a grounder through Bubbs and reached second. Then came Brooks, who romped to first on an error by Netterby, although Hollis was held at second.

"Joseph," said Hodge, as young Joe Crowfoot stepped out, "I know your n.o.ble grandsire, and for his sake I'm not going to work you very hard to-day. I'll let you go right back to the bench in a moment."

"Mebbe so," muttered young Joe. "We see."

Then he picked out a good one and lifted a long fly into the field.

"Hold your bases! hold your bases!" shouted the coachers at Hollis and Brooks.

Bunderson, really looking something like a balloon with his round body, made a hot run for the ball and pulled it down close to the foul flag.

A moment before the ball struck in the fielder's hands both coachers shrieked:

"Run!"

Even as the ball landed in Bunderson's grasp Hollis and Brooks were off.

Abe lost a little time in turning to throw toward second. This lost time enabled Brooks to reach the sack safely, while Hollis landed on third.

Crowfoot skipped down to first, hoping his fly might not be caught, but he turned back in disappointment.