THE SHORT-STOP

Dedication

~O MY BROTHER, “REDDY” GREY, TO ARTHUR IRWIN, MY COACH AND TEACH}, TO ROY THOMAS AND RAY KELLOGG, FELLOW-PLAYERS AND FRIENDS, AND TO ALL THE GIRLS AND ALL THE BOYS WH GRAND OLD AMERICAN GAME

O LOVE THE tet om

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE I. PrErRsuaDING MOTHER . : MGs

VII. Mirtizr-Maru : 4 «2: 298 VIII. ALONG THE RIVER. A : « (122

IX. ON THE ROAD 5 - = . 138

CHAPTER I PERSUADING MOTHER HASE ALLOWAY hurried out of

the factory door and bent his steps homeward. He wore a thoughtful, anxious look, as of one who expected trouble. Yet there was a briskness in his stride that showed the excitement under which he labored was not altogether unpleasant.

In truth, he had done a strange and momentous thing; he had asked the foreman for higher wages, ana being veremptorily refused, had thrown up his place. and was now on his way home to tell his mother.

He crossed the railroad tracks to make a short cut, and threaded his way through a maze of smoke-blackened buildings, to come into a narrow street lined with frame houses. He entered a yard that could not boast of a fence,

Il and approached a house as unprepossessing as its neighbors.

Chase hesitated on the steps, then opened the door. There was no one in the small, bare, clean kitchen. With a swing which had something of an air of finality about it, he threw his dinner-pail into a corner.

“There!” he said grimly as if he had done with it. ‘‘Mother, where are you?”

Mrs. Alloway came in, a slight little woman, pale, with marks of care on her patient face. She greeted him with a smile, which faded quickly in surprise and dismay.

“Vou ’re home early, Chase,”’ she said anxiously.

“Mother, I told you I was going to ask for more money. Well, I did. The foreman laughed at me and refused. So I threw up my job.”

“My boy! My boy!” faltered Mrs. Alloway.

Chase was the only bread-winner in their household of three. His brother, a bright, studious boy of fifteen, was a

PERSUADING MOTHER 13 cripple. Mrs. Alloway helped all she could with her needle, but earned little enough. The winter had been a hard one, and had left them with debts that must be paid. It was no wonder she gazed up at him in distressed silence.

“T’ve been sick of this job for a long time,’’ went on Chase. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. There’s no chance for me in the factory. I’m not quick enough to catch the hang of mechanics. Here I am over seventeen and big and strong, and i’m making six dollars a week. Think of it! Why, if I had a chance— See here, mother, have n’t I studied nights ever since I left school to go to work? Im no dummy. I can make something of myself. I want to get into business — business for myself, where I can buy and sell.”’

“My son, it takes money to go into business. Where on earth can you get any?”’

“T ll make it,”’ replied Chase, eagerly. A flush reddened his cheek. He would have been handsome then, but for his one defect, a crooked eye. “I’ll make it. I need money quick —and I ’ve hit on the way to make it. I—”

The short query drew him up sharply, chilling his enthusiasm. He paced the kitchen, and then, with a visible effort, turned to his mother.

“T am going to be a base-ball player.”

The murder was out now and he felt relief. His mother sat down with a little gasp. He waited quietly for her refusal, her reproach, her arguments, ready to answer them one by one.

“T won’t let you be a ball player.”

“Mother, since father left us to shift for ourselves I’ve been the head of the house. I never disobeyed you before, but now —I’ve thought it out. I’ve made ‘ny plan.”

“Ball players are good-for-nothing loafers, rowdies. I won't have my son associate with them.”’

“They ve a bad name, I'll admit; but, mother, I don’t think it’s deserved. I’m not sure, but I believe they ’re not so black as they are painted. Anyway, even if they are, it won’t hurt me. I’ve

PERSUADING MOTHER 1s an idea that a young man can be square and successful in base-ball as in anything else. I’d rather take any other chance, but there isn’t any.”

“Oh! the disgrace of it! Your father would —’’

“Now, see here, mother, you ’re wrong. {t’s no disgrace. Why, it’s a thousand times better than being a bar-tender, and I’d be that to help along. As for father,’ his voice grew bitter, ‘if he’d been the right sort we would n’t be here in this hovel. You’d have what you were once used to, and I ’d be in school.”

“You ’re not strong enough; you would get hurt,’ protested the mother.

“Why, I’m as strong asahorse. I’m not afraid of being hurt. Ever since last summer when I made such a good record with the factory nine this idea has been growing. They say I’m one of the fastest boys in Akron, and this summer the big nine at the round-house wants me. It’s opened my eyes. With a little more experience I could get ona salaried team some where.’’

“You would n’t go away?”

Ai

“Tl have to. And, mother, I want to go at once.”’

Mrs. Alloway felt the ground slipping from under her. She opened her lips to make further remonstrance, but Chase kissed them shut, and keeping his arm around her, led her into the sitting-room. A pale youth, slight, like his mother, sat reading by a window.

“Will,” said Chase, “I’ve some news for you. Can you get through school, say in a year or less, and prepare for college?”’

The younger boy looked up with a slight smile, such as he was wont to use in warding off Chase’s persistent optimism. The smile said sadly that he knew he would never go to college. But something in Chase’s straight eye startled him, then his mother’s white, agitated face told him this was different. He rose and limped a couple of steps toward them, a warm color suddenly tingeing his cheeks.

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

Then Chase told him. In conclusion he said: “‘ Will, there’s big’money in it.

PERSUADING MOTHER 17

Three thousand a season is common, five for a great player. Who knows? Anyway, there’s from fifty to a hundred a month even in these Ohio and Michigan teams, and that ’ll do to start with. You just take this from me: there ’ll be a comfortable home for mother, you'll go to college, and later I'll get into business. It’s all settled. What do you think of leer. 7

“It’s great!’’ exclaimed Will, slamming down his book. ‘There was a flame in his eyes.

Mrs. Alloway dropped her hands. She was persuaded. That from Will was the last straw. Tears began to fall.

“Mother, don’t be unhappy,’ said Chase. ‘I am suited for something better than factory work. There’s a big chance for me here. Mind you, I’m only seventeen. Suppose I play ball for a few years: I’ll save my money, and when I’m twenty-two or twenty-five I can start a business of my own. It looks good to me!”’

“But, my boy —if it — ruins you!”

“T don’t like to see Chase leave us,” said Will, “but I ’‘m not afraid of that.”

Mrs. Alloway dried her eyes, called up her smile, and told them she was not afraid of it either. Thereafter her composure did not leave her, though her Sensitive lips quivered when she saw Chase packing a small grip.

“I don’t want to take much,” he mused, ‘‘and most of all I’ll want my glove and ball-shoes, Will, is n’t it lucky about the shoes that college man gave me? They’re full of spikes. I’ve never played in them, but I tried them on, and I’ll bet I can run like a streak in them.”’

It was not long after that when he kissed his mother as she followed him to the doorway. Will limped after him a little way down the path and shook hands for: the tenth time. His eyes were wet as his mother’s, but Chase’s were bright and had a bold look.

“Chase, I never ‘saw any one who could run and throw like you, and J believe you’ll make the greatest player in the whole country. Don’t forget.

PERSUADING MOTHER | 19

It ’ll be hard at first. But you hang on! Hang on! There! Good luck! Good-bye!”

Chase turned at the corner of the street and waved to them. There was a lump in his throat which was difficult to swallow. But it was too late to go back, so he struck out bravely.

Chapter II

RIDING AWAY gi fact that Chase had no objective point in mind did not detract from the new and absorbing charm of his situation. No more would he breathe the dust-laden air nor hear the din of the factory. He was free; free to go where he listed, to see new people and places, to find his fortune. He crushed back the pain in his throat; he reconciled himself to the parting from his mother and brother by the assurance that so he could serve them best.

It was twilight when he reached the railroad tracks, where he stopped momentarily. Would he go to the left or to the right? A moment only did he tarry undecided; after all, there was only one course for him to start on and keep to, whether of direction or purpose, and that was to the right.

Darkness had settled down by the time he came to the outskirts of the

RIDING AWAY 21 town, and now secure in the belief that he would not be seen, he stopped to wait for a train. It was out of the question for him to think of riding in a passenger train. That cost money; and he must save what little he had. On Saturdays, before he left school, he had ridden on | freight trains; and what he had done for fun he would now do in earnest. Some of the railroads running into town forbade riding, others did not care; and Chase took his stand by the track of one of the generous roads.

The electric lights shot up brightly, like popping stars out of the darkness, and a white glow arched itself over the town. Soon the shrill screech of a locomotive split the silence, then a rumbling and puffing told of an outward bound freight. The gleam of a headlight streaked along the rails. Chase saw with satisfaction that the train was on his track, but he had an uneasy feeling that it was running too fast to be boarded. The huge black engine, like a one-eyed demon, roared by, shaking the earth. Chase watched the cars rattle by and tried to gauge their speed. It was so dark he could scarcely see, but he knew the train was running too fast to catch with safety. Still he did not hesitate. He waited a moment for an oil-car, and as one came abreast he dashed with it down the track. Reaching up with his left hand, he grasped a handle-bar. Instantly he was swung upward and slapped against thecar. But Chase knew that swing, and it did not break his hold. As he dropped back to an upright position he felt for the foot-step, found it, and was safe.

He climbed aboard and sat against the oil-tank, placing his grip beside him. He laughed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. That was a time when the fun of boarding a freight did not appear. The blackness was all about him now; fields and woods and hills blurring by. The wind sang in his ears and cooled his face. The stars blinked above. The rasp and creak of the cars, the rhythmic click of the rails, the roar and rumble, were music to him, for they sang of the passing miles between him and wherever he was going.

RIDING AWAY 23

Lights of villages twinkled by like Jack-o’-lanterns. These were succeeded after a while by the blank dim level of open country, that to Chase swept by monotonously for hours. Then a whistle enlivened him. He felt the engineer put on the air-brake, then the bumping and jarring of cars, and the grinding of wheels.

As the train slowed up Chase made ready to jump off. He did so presently, expecting to see the lights of a town, but there were none. He saw the shadow of a block-signal house against the dark sky, and concluded the engineer had stopped for orders at a junction-crossing. Chase hurried along the tracks, found an open box-car, and climbed in.

It was an empty car with a layer of hay on the floor. He groped his way in the gloom, found a corner, and lay down with his head on his grip. It was warm and comfortable there; he felt tired, a drowsiness overcame the novelty of his situation, and he was falling asleep when he heard voices. Then followed the shuffling and scrambling noise made by several men climbing into the car. They went into another corner.

For a while he could not make out the meaning of their low, hoarse whispering; but as it grew louder he caught the drift. The men were thieves; they had robbed some one and were quarrelling over the spoils. One was a negro, judging by his sullen, thick voice, and it was evident the other two were leagued against him.

The train started up with a rattle and clatter, gathered headway, and rolled on with steady roar. From time to time Chase heard angry voices even above the din of the wheels. He was thankful for the dark and the noise. What they might do if they discovered him, caused him to grow cold with fear. He shrank into the corner and listened. Whether it was after a few minutes or a long hour he had no idea, but when the whistle shrieked out again and the train slackened for another stop, he realized the thieves were fighting. Hoarse cries and sodden blows, curses, and a deep groan told of a deed of violence.

RIDING AWAY 25

“Let’s beat it,’ whispered one, in the sudden silence. ‘‘Here comes a brakie.”

The train had stopped. Footsteps grated outside, and streaks of light flickered into the car. Chase saw two men jump from the door and heard a brakeman accost them. He lay there trembling. What if the brakeman flashed his light into the car? What would be seen in the other corner? But the footsteps died away. Before he noticed it the train got in motion again; and he lay there wavering till the speed became so great that he dared not jump off.

To ride with a dead thief was not so frightful as to ride with a live one, thought Chase, but it was bad enough. His mind began to focus on one point, that he must get out of the car, and the more he thought the more fearful grew his state. While he lay there the train rolled on and the time flew by. All at once it appeared the blackness had given way to gray shadow. It grew lighter and lighter. He rose and went to the door. Day was dawning.

The train was approaching a hamlet, and ran parallel with a dusty road. Without a second’s hesitation Chase leaped from the car. Through a rush of wind he alighted on his feet, bounced high, to fall heavily and roll over and over in the dust.

Chapter III Fame

HASE would have sustained worse

bruises than he got to rid himself of the atmosphere of that car. When he was once free of it, however, he fell to wondering if the negro were really killed. Perhaps he had only been wounded and was in need of assistance that Chase could have rendered. This thought cut him, but he dismissed it from mind, and addressed himself once more to his problem.

The village consisted of a few cottages, there was no railroad station, and on a siding stood a car marked T. & O. C. Chase sat in the grass beside the track, and did not know whether to walk on or wait for another train. Meanwhile the sun rose warm and bright, shining on the bursting green leaves; meadowlarks sang in a field near by, and flocks of blackbirds winged irregular flight overhead. That May morning was full of life and hope for Chase, but even so, when two hours passed by with no train or even person putting in appearance, he began to grow restless and presently made a remarkable discovery. He was hungry. He had not given a thought to such a thing as eating. It was rather discomfiting to awaken to the fact that even in quest of fortune meals were necessary.

A column of blue smoke was curling lazily from one of the cottages, and thither Chase made his way. He knocked on the kitchen door, which was opened by a woman.

“Good-morning,”’ said Chase. “May I have a bite to eat?”’

“You ain’t a tramp?” queried she, eying him shrewdly.

“No, indeed. I can pay.”

“I thought not. Tramps don’t say ‘Good-mornin’.’ I reckon you kin hev somethin’. Sit on the bench there.”

She brought him milk, and bread and butter, and a generous slice of ham. While he was eating, a boy came out to gaze at him with round eyes, and later a

FAME 29 lanky man with pointed beard walked up the path, his boots wet with dew.

“‘Mornin’,”’ he said cheerily, “be yew travellin’ fur?”’

“Quite far, I guess,”’ replied Chase. “How far is Columbus, or the first big place?”’

“Wal, now, Columbus is a mighty long way, much as fifty miles, I calkilate. An’ the nearest town to hum here its Jacktown, cross fields some five miles. It’s a right pert place. It'll be lively to-day, by gum!”

‘Why?’ said Chase, with his mouth full of ham.

“Wal, Jacktown an’ Brownsville hev it out to-day, an’ I’ll bet itll be the dog-gondest ball game as ever was.”

“Ball game!”’

“Vou bet. Jacktown ain’t ever been beat, an’ nuther has Brownsville. They ’ve been some time gittin’ together, but to-day’s the day. An’ I'll be there.”’

“I’m going, too,” said Chase, quietly. “T’m a ball player.”

After Chase had crossed this Rubicon he felt more confident. He knew he would have to say it often, and he wanted practice. And the importance of his declaration was at once manifest in the demeanor of the man and the boy.

“Wal, I swan! You be, be you? I might hev knowed it, a strappin’ young feller like you.”

The boy’s round eyes grew rounder and took on the solemn rapture of hero worship.

“How might I find my way to Jacktown?”’ inquired Chase.

“You might wait an’ ride with me. Thet road leads over, round about. You can’t miss it.”’ :

“Thank you, I shan’t wait. I’ll walk over. Good-day.’’ Chase headed into the grassy lane without knowing exactly why. The word “game” had attracted him, as well as the respective merits of the two teams; but it was moscly that he wanted to play. After consideration, it struck him that he would do well to get into a few games before he made application to a salaried team.

He spent the morning lounging along

FAME 31 the green lane, sitting under a tree, and on a mossy bank of a brook, and killing time in pretty places, so that when he reached Jacktown it was noon.

At the little tavern whee he had lunch the air was charged with the electricity of a coming storm. The place was crowded with youths and men of homely aspect; all were wildly excited over the base-ball game. He was regarded with an extraordinary amount of interest; and finally, when a tall individual asked him if he were a ball player, to be answered affirmatively, there was a general outburst.

“He’s a ringer! Brownsville knowed they ’d git beat with their home team, so they ’ve loaded up!”’

That was the burden of their refrain, and all Chase’s stout denials in no wise mitigated their suspicion. He was a “ringer.” To them he was an object of scorn and fear, for he had come from somewhere out of the vast unknown to wrest their laurels from them.

Outside little groups had congregated on corners and in the street, and suddenly, as by one impulse, they gathered in a crowd before the tavern. Ample reason there was for this, because some scout had sighted the approach of the visitinc team. Chase gathered that Brownsville was an adjoining country town, and, since time out of mind, a hated rival. Wagons and buggies, vehicles of all kinds and descriptions, filed by on the way to the ball-grounds; and a hay-wagon with a single layer of hay and a full load of husky young men, stopped before the tavern. The crowd inspected the load of young men with an anxiety most manifest, and soon remarks were heard testifying that the opposing team had grace enough to come with but one ringer.

The excitement, enthusiasm, and hubbub were amusing to Chase. He knew nothing of the importance of a game of ball between two country towns. While he was standing there a slim, clean-faced young man came up to him.

“My name’s Hutchinson,” he said. ““T’m the school-teacher over at Brownsville, and I’m here to catch the game for

FAME 33 our fellows. Now, it appears there ’s some fuss about you being a ringer. We don’t know you, and we don’t care what Jacktown thinks. But the fact is, our pitcher hurt his arm and can’t play. Either we play or forfeit the game. If you can pitch we’ll be glad to have you. How about it?”’

Chase assented readily, and moved to the hay-wagon with Hutchinson, while the crowd hooted and yelled. Small boys kept up a running pace with the wagon, and were not above flinging pebbles along with shouts of defiance. At the end of the village opened up a broad green meadow, upon which was the playground. There was a barn to one side, where the wagon emptied its load; and here the young men went within to put on their uniforms.

The uniform handed to Chase was the one belonging to the disabled pitcher, who must have been a worthy son of Ajax. For Chase was no stripling, yet he was lost in its reach and girth. The color of it stunned him. Brightest of bright red flannel, trimmed with white stripes, with white cotton stockings, this gorgeous suit voiced the rustic lads’ en- _ thusiasm for the great national game.

But when Chase went outside and saw the uniforms decorating the proud persons of the Jacktown nine he could hardly suppress a wild burst of mirth. For they wore blue caps, pink shirts, — green trousers, and red stockings. Most of them were minus shoes, and judging from their activity were as well off without them. What was most striking to Chase, after the uniforms, was the deadly earnestness of the players of both teams. This attitude toward the game extended to the spectators crowding on the field. Chase did not need to be told that the whole of Jacktown was present and much of Brownsville.

Hutchinson came up to Chase then, tossed a ball to him, and said they had better have a little practice. After Chase had warmed up he began throwing the ball with greater speed and giving it a certain twist which made it curve. This was something he had recently learned. At first Hutchinson was plainly mysti-

FAME 35 fied; he could not get his hands on the ball. It would hit him on the fingers or wrists, and finally a swift in-shoot struck him in the stomach. Wherefore he came up to Chase and said:

“JT never saw a ball jump like that. What do you do to it?”’

“T’m throwing curves.”

A light broke over the school-master’s face, and it was one of pleasure.

“T’ve read about it. You are throwing the new way. But these lads never heard of a curve. They ’ll break their backs trying to hit the ball. Now tell me how I shall know when you are going to throw a curve.”

“You sign for what you want. When you kneel back of the batter sign to me, one finger for a straight ball, two fingers for a curve.”

“Good!” cried Hutchinson. After a little more practice he managed with the aid of his lately acquired knowledge to get in front of Chase’s curves and to stop them.

Presently a pompous individual wearing the Jacktown uniform came up to Chase and Hutchinson.

“Battin’ order,” he said, waving his pencil.

Hutchinson gave the names of his players, and when he mentioned Chase’s the Jacktown man either misunderstood or was inclined to be facetious.

“Chaseaway? Is thet hisname? Darn me, if he won’t chase away to the tall timber.”

He was the captain, and with a great show of authority called both teams round the home-plate for the purpose of being admonished, lectured, and tuld how to play the game by the umpire. Chase had not seen this official, and when he did see him his jaw dropped. The umpire wore skin-tight velveteen kneetrousers, black stockings, and low shoes with buckles. His striped shirt was arranged in a full blouse, and on the side of his head was stuck very wonderfully a small, jaunty cap. He addressed the players as if he were the arbiter of fate, and he lifted his voice so that the audience could receive the benefit of his eloquence and understand perfectly the irrevocable nature of the decisions he

FAME 37 was about to render. In conclusion, he recited a number of base-ball rules in general and ground-rules in particular, most remarkable in themselves and most glaringly designed to favor the home team. Chase extracted from the complexity of one of these rules that on a passed ball behind the catcher, or an overthrow at first, when Jacktown was at bat the player could have all the bases he could make; and when Brownsville was at bat, for some inscrutable reason, this same rule did not hold.

Then this master of ceremonies ordered the Jacktown team into the field, tripped like a ballet-dancer to his position behind the catcher, and sang out in a veritable clarion blast: ‘‘P-la-e-y B-a-w-l!”

Chase could scarcely remove his gaze from the umpire, but as his turn to bat came in the first inning he directed his attention to the Jacktown pitcher. He remembered that some one had said this important member of the Jacktowns was the village blacksmith. After one glance, Chase did not doubt it. The pitcher was a man of enormous build, and his bared right arm looked like a branch of a rugged oak-tree. The first ball he shot toward the home-plate resembled a thin white streak.

“Q-n-e S-t-r-i-e-k-e!”’ shrieked the umpire.

Two more balls similar to the first retired the batter, and three more performed the same office for the second batter. It was Chase’s turn next. He was a natural hitter, and had perfect confidence. But as the first ball zipped past him, looking about the size of a pea, he knew he had never before faced such terrific speed. Nor did he have power to see in that farmer blacksmith one of the greatest pitchers the game was ever to produce. Chase struck at the next two balls and was called out. Then the Jacktown players trooped in, to the wild clamor of their supporters.

When Chase saw some of the big Jacktown fellows swing their bats he knew he would have an easy time with them, for they stood with their feet wide apart, and held their bats with the left hand ever the right, which made a clean, ee

FAME 39 straight swing impossible. He struck out the first three batters on nine pitched balls.

For several innings it went on in that manner, each club blanking the other. When Brownsville came in for their fifth inning at bat, Chase got Hutchinson to call all the players round him in a bunch.

“Boys,” he said, ‘we can hit this Jacktown pitcher. He throws a straight ball, almost always waist-high. Now, you all swing too hard. Let’s choke the bat,— hold it half-way up instead of by the handle,— and poke at the ball. Just meet it.”

The first player up, acting on Chase’s advice, placed a stinging hit into right field. Whereupon the Brownsville contingent on the side-lines rose in a body and roared their appreciation of this feat. The second batter hit a ground ball at the short-stop, who fielded it perfectly, but threw wild to the base-man. And the third hitter sent up a very high fly. The whole Jacktown team made a rush to try to catch the ball when it came down. It went so high that it took some time to drop, all of which time the Brownsville runners were going like mad round the bases. When the ball returned to earth, so many hands were raised to clutch it that it bounced away to the ground. One runner had scored, and two were left, on second and third bases respectively.

Chase walked to the plate with determination. He allowed the first ball to go by, but watched it closely, gauging its speed and height. The next one he met squarely with a solid crack. It shot out over second base, went up and up, far beyond the fielder. Amid the delirious joy of the Brownsville partisans the two runners scored ahead of Chase, and before the ball could be found he too reached home.