Dick Merriwell's Backers
Well Worth Fighting For
9781465648501
208 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
At the beginning of the sixth inning, Sam Kates went into the box against the Tufts freshmen. The score then stood seven to one, in favor of Yale Umpty-ten. Tufts had shown no ability to connect with Dick Merriwell’s shoots and benders. This was the opportunity to give Sam a good try-out, and so, at Dick’s suggestion, he changed places with Kates, who had been playing first. At the opening of the game, Tufts had professed a hilarious confidence in its ability to hit Merriwell, but within a short time this confidence oozed away, and the game was proving tiresomely one-sided and monotonous when Yale changed pitchers. Immediately Tufts braced up and took heart. Kates was nervous, and the visitors seemed to know it. They whooped and barked joyously as the first man to face Sam lined out a sizzling two-bagger. “Never mind that, Kates,” came reassuringly from Dick. “Those things will happen occasionally. They can’t all do it.” Nevertheless Kates realized that he was trying to fill the position just vacated by one vastly his superior, and he also knew the Yale men who had been cheering lustily in the stand were aware of the same fact. This placed him at a disadvantage, for he was extremely anxious, and a pitcher who gets anxious in the box is almost sure to be an easy mark for the opposing batters. Kates, under the manly influence of Dick Merriwell, had broken away from former undesirable associations and was now putting forth his best efforts to redeem his past mistakes. The following Tufts man pounded a long fly into the outfield. The ball was caught, but the runner on second advanced to third after the catch. “It’s all right,” again assured Dick. “They haven’t scored, Sam.” But, unfortunately, the team had even less confidence in Kates than he had in himself. Therefore, they were likewise anxious, and this anxiety caused Claxton, at second, to let a warm grounder get through him. The little band of Tufts rooters yelled wildly as another tally was chalked down for their side. “Keep after him! keep after him!” whooped a coacher, as the next batter pranced out to the pan. “Got him going!” “We’ll put the blanket on him in a minute,” came from the other coacher. “Knock his eye out, Tompkins!” Tompkins responded by slamming a hot one into right field, where Bouncer Bigelow fell all over himself, and lost the ball until another run had been credited to the visitors and Tompkins had third safely within his clutch. “Not your fault, Kates,” said Dick, as the wretched pitcher cast him an appealing glance. “Nobody can blame you.” Blessed Jones, captain of the team, rushed part way in from left field and called to his players to steady down. On the bench Robinson, the manager, was fidgeting ponderously, and muttering to himself that Merriwell would have to go back on the slab. Dick walked out into the diamond, and many thought that he was going to change places with Kates once more. Instead of doing so, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and spoke to him in low tones. “Don’t get worried now because of those errors behind you. They’ve made one clean hit off you, and that’s all. This sort of a thing is likely to happen to any one. It might have happened to me.”
