Frank Merriwell's Support
A Triple Play
9781465647672
108 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
It was the seventh inning, Frank Merriwell’s team had not scored, while the Omaha Stars, who had been putting up a hard game against the boys from the East, had made two runs, one in the first inning and one in the fifth. Frank had been pitching a fine game, although his wrist, sprained some time before, had not permitted him to use the double-shoot. In the seventh inning, with the very first ball he pitched, he gave his wrist a twist that sent a shooting pain all the way to his shoulder. The ball went wide of the plate, and the batter did not strike at it. When Bart Hodge returned the ball, he knew something had happened, by the expression on Frank’s face. Merry caught the ball with his left hand and stood still, holding it. “Play ball!” roared the excited crowd. “Make him pitch!” Still Frank seemed in no hurry. He took the ball in his hand, while Bart gave the signal for a drop. Merry shook his head, and Bart signed for an out. Again Frank shook his head, assuming a position that told the entire team he intended to use a high, straight ball. But he did not pitch. Dorrity, the captain and first-baseman of the Stars, demanded of the umpire that Merriwell be compelled to deliver the ball. “Pitch the ball!” roared the crowd. Even that did not seem to incite Frank to put it over. “Two balls!” called the umpire, although Frank had not again delivered the sphere to the bat. “Ha!” shouted the crowd. “That’s the stuff!” The second ball had been called on Merry as a penalty for delaying the game for no good reason. A grim look came into the face of the greatest pitcher ever graduated from Yale. He did not kick at the decision of the umpire, nor did he show great haste in pitching after this. “Call another!” cried several of the spectators. “He’s in a hole, and he knows it!” Frank settled himself firmly on the ground, just as Bart was ready to start down to ask what was the matter. Then he sent over a high, straight one that would have been a ball had the batter let it alone. But the batter hit it. The man with the stick happened to be Hanson, the heavy hitter of the Stars, and he tapped the ball a terrible crack. Away sailed the sphere, going out on a line over the infield, and Hanson’s legs took him flying down to first. Both Swiftwing and Gamp went after the ball, but Frank saw at once that neither of them could catch it. Swiftwing was a great runner, and he sped to cut the ball off after it struck the ground. Hanson crossed first and tore along to second, urged by the roaring crowd. Bart Hodge groaned as he saw the ball strike the ground and go bounding away into left field, with Swiftwing tearing after it. “Home run! home run!” yelled the spectators, while one of the home team raced down to third, to be on hand there and send Hanson home as he came along. Away out in the far extreme of left field Swiftwing finally ran down the ball. But Hanson was almost to third, and the spectators in the grand stand and on the bleachers were certain he could reach home before the ball could be sent in. “Come home! come home!” they screamed. Hanson crossed third, and the coacher sent him right along. In the meantime Swiftwing had picked up the ball and given it a quick snap to Gamp, the long New Hampshire youth, who was within two rods of him. Joe turned with the ball in his hand, and saw Hanson crossing third. Then Joe set his teeth and swung back the hand that held the ball. The crowd expected he would throw to Rattleton, on second. At first it seemed that he had thrown to second, but had failed to get the range correctly. Then it was seen that Gamp had tried the seemingly impossible task of throwing to the plate to cut the runner off. “Run, Hanson—run!” shouted the spectators.
