THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND

FRANK GAVE NO SIGN OF THE EXCITEMENT THAT THRILLED HIS EVERY NERVE.—Frontispiece. Columbia High on the Diamond Page 32.

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND

OR

Winning Out by Pluck

BY GRAHAM B. FORBES AUTHOR OF “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH,” “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

The Boys of Columbia High Series

BY GRAHAM B. FORBES

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 50 cents, postpaid.

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH Or The All Around Rivals of the School

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND Or Winning Out by Pluck

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER Or The Boat Race Plot That Failed

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE Or Out for the Hockey Championship

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1911, by GROSSET & DUNLAP

The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond

[iii]

CHAPTER I ON THE WAY TO THE GAME

“Give it again, fellows! For the honor of old Columbia—now, once more, with a will!” shouted the cheer captain, Herman Hooker.

“Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! veni, vidi, vici! Columbia!”

“Cast off there, somebody.”

“Start your engine, Frank, old boy!”

“Hurrah! we’re afloat on the raging Harrapin at last!”

“Got any life preservers aboard, fellows?”

Amid all this uproar and confusion Frank Allen, cool and collected, gave a whirl to the crank to turn his engine over; and immediately a succession of rattling reports testified to the fact that as master of ceremonies he had given the expedition a good send-off.

[2]Then he handed over the engine to the charge of Abner Gould, the man employed regularly by Commodore Adams, to whom the launch belonged.

The Geraldine had been loaned to the members of the Columbia High School baseball team for this special occasion, by the owner, just then away on business.

Accompanied by several members of the Columbia band, they were now on their way down the Harrapin river, to play their first game with the Bellport High School nine, and enthusiasm waxed furious over the prospect ahead.

A peculiar condition of the weather had sadly disarranged the schedule of the Harrapin River League. Three clubs composed the organization, representing Bellport, Clifford and Columbia; and it had been agreed that each was to play a trio of games with both opposing teams. The one who came out ahead would, of course, be given the pennant, and hailed as the champion for the year, an honor greatly coveted, since the three towns were keen rivals in all athletic matters.

While Columbia and Bellport had each played three games thus far, they had all been with the third member of the league, Clifford.

What seemed still more singular was the fact that in each of these series Clifford had won one game and lost two. Consequently, Columbia and Bellport[3] were now tied for first place, with three games to be played, while Clifford was out of the race completely.

To-day was to see the first game between these two giants. And the choice of ground had fallen upon Bellport.

As this enterprising town lay quite a number of miles down the river, it had been suggested that the Columbia nine journey that way by means of Commodore Adams’ launch, which, with the services of his man, had been gladly offered for the day.

Of course the two towns were connected by a trolley, owned principally by the father of Lef Seller, a junior in the school, and just now in bad odor on account of some pranks he had played a short time before. Special cars had been brought into use on this gala day to accommodate the crowds desiring to witness the struggle that must accompany the first meeting of the rival nines.

With the flags of the Harrapin River Boat Club floating from stem and stern, and the band tooting away gaily, the little launch left the float, and started merrily down-stream.

A roar from the crowd on the bank testified to the fact that, while all Columbia could not journey over to Bellport to witness this impending game, the sympathies of those compelled to remain at home[4] were with the boys who represented the honor of the High School on this occasion.

“Say, this is what I call going to battle in style,” said Lanky Wallace, the tall first baseman, as he shoved alongside Frank on the crowded seat, and threw an arm around the other with the air of a chum.

“I was just speculating on how we will return—with shouts and cheers, or dolefully telling each other just how it happened,” remarked Frank; but his smiling face was evidence of the fact that he had little fears on that score as he looked around at the enthusiastic countenances of his comrades.

“If your arm’s in prime condition, as you say, I’m not worrying any on that score, Frank. Coddling may be a wonder, just as they claim, but once we get on to his curves there’s going to be some smashing work done. I feel that I’m in for business at the old stand myself, to-day,” returned Lanky, with a positive shake of his head.

“Glad to hear you say it. A pitcher needs confidence in the ability of his men to get runs, as well as field like a machine. We’ve just got to do that crowd up to-day, and that’s all there is to it.”

“And we will, never fear, Frank,” observed Roderic Seymour, who, leading senior though he was, considered it an honor to serve as captain, and play[5] second with the snappy nine Columbia had put into the field this year.

“Are we on time?” demanded Buster Billings, always afraid of getting left, although worrying did not seem to reduce his abundant flesh so that it could be noticed.

“Yes, with a margin to spare, if the boat shoves along as she is doing right now,” replied Lanky Wallace.

Lanky, of course, covered first, and few balls ever passed through his territory when he was feeling fit.

Lef Seller was aboard the boat, since he was a member of the team, though under a cloud temporarily, and forbidden by the faculty from taking part in any baseball game during the season. This severe punishment sprung from his action in playing an unusually mean prank upon Frank, whom he chose to regard as his mortal enemy; and which circumstance, together with many other interesting events, has been set forth in full in the preceding volume of this series, called: “The Boys of Columbia High; or, The All Around Rivals of the School.”

Lef tried to join with his mates and appear jolly, but it was a great effort, when his heart was sore on account of being listed as the black sheep of the flock, to be shunned by self-respecting fellows.

He had his own followers, who toadied to him on account of the money he spent so freely; but[6] none of them happened to be aboard the boat, so Lef felt that he was in one sense out of his element.

The beautiful home town faded out of sight up the river, and all eyes began to be turned toward the bow, as they anticipated catching a distant glimpse of Bellport at any moment.

“Better save your wind until later, Herman!” called out Tom Budd, the lithe shortstop, and a fellow who was a natural acrobat, doing stunts in and out of season; so that no one was ever surprised to see him spring into the air, catch a liner, turn completely over, and come up smiling, with the ball held up for the umpire to take notice.

“Plenty more left,” laughed the “best yeller Columbia ever had,” as he waved his megaphone in the air, and led the boys in another song.

It was a glorious day in June, and not one aboard that boat but felt the inspiration of the magical sunshine and soft air.

Half of the distance separating the rival towns had been covered by this time, and the gallant little launch was making fine speed down the current.

“Looks like Clifford meant to be represented at the game, too,” remarked one of the boys, pointing to the shore.

Clifford was above Columbia, and on the other bank of the river. A road led down to the vicinity[7] of Bellport, where a ferry took farm wagons across. And on this road a cloud of dust told that all sorts of vehicles had been impressed into service to carry the baseball-mad people to the scene.

Fine cars shot along, blowing their horns, and steady-going farm horses trotted evenly by the side of the road, all heading in the one direction. It was enough to thrill the boys belonging to the team to realize that all this excitement in the county was caused by their crossing bats with the Bellport High nine.

“Poor old Clifford never got a peep in this year,” mocked Jack Comfort, said to be the best chaser after flies the school had ever known, and who guarded center field.

“Well, they had hard luck. The game they won from us showed that there was cracking good stuff on the team. I never saw a better game in my life, with the score tied in the ninth. Wow! that was some exciting!” exclaimed Lanky, his eyes sparkling at the recollection.

“It would have been our game if Ben Allison could have held that fly out in left. He made a big effort, but dropped the ball,” remarked Captain Seymour, sadly.

“Well, I reckon that failure just knocked poor Ben out. He’s been no good to the team ever since, and here we have to put our extra pitcher in right[8] garden just to fill in, because he’s a crackerjack pinch hitter!” grumbled Buster.

“That’s all right, boys, and I’m only too glad of the chance to play at all. A freshman doesn’t often get on the team, and it’s mighty fine for you to boost me up this way,” Ralph West hastened to remark.

Ralph did not live in Columbia, being one of the pay students. He was anxious for an education, and a fortunate chance had allowed him to come to the thriving river town at the beginning of the school year. He and Frank had become good friends, and the latter was deeply interested in certain strange features connected with Ralph’s fortunes.

“I think it’s a poor rule that keeps freshmen off the team so much. They are better fitted to take part in sports then than later on, when filled with ambition to excel in their studies,” said Jack Eastwick, one of the juniors, and a substitute on the team.

At this there was a universal howl, for Jack was notoriously averse to studying under any and all circumstances, and depended upon a system of “cramming” just before examinations to carry him through.

“Now, there’s a wide difference of opinion on that question. For my part, I fully agree with Coach Willoughby, who says——” but Buster was[9] seldom allowed to tell what this wonderful instructor, whom the boys really believed existed only in the imagination of the fat right fielder, had to say.

As usual, a shout cut him short, and with an injured stare at the laughing group, he relapsed into disdainful silence.

“Where are their grounds located?” asked Ralph, who had never as yet had an opportunity for visiting the Bellport field.

“Half a mile below the town. Bellport is something of a manufacturing place, and there’s going to be more or less of a rough element at the game, for the factories have shut down for a half holiday, beginning this Saturday, and the hands are sure to be out in force.”

Frank looked a trifle anxious as he spoke, for truth to tell he had more than once wondered whether a sense of fairness would animate that rough element, or the desire to see Bellport win at any cost.

“Listen! I thought I heard a roar just then. The wind is coming up the river, and it must have been shouts from the ball field,” and Seymour held up his hand to ask for silence.

It was while they were thus straining their ears to catch the sounds from below that all at once the familiar “pop-pop” of the exhaust connected with[10] the motor boat ceased, and soon their rapid progress fell off.

Immediately everybody started to shout at once, wanting to know what had gone wrong. Frank sprang over to where Abner Gould bent over the little motor. The man lifted a troubled face toward him.

Every eye was glued on Frank as he started to examine the engine, for they knew he had more of a practical knowledge of such things than any one aboard, unless it might be the man hired by Commodore Adams to run his launch.

“What ails the thing, Frank?” demanded Buster, as the other raised up.

“Yes, this isn’t the time for playing pranks. We’re nearly due now on the field, and don’t want to be called shirks!” exclaimed Lanky, warmly.

“Boys, I’ve got some bad news for you,” announced Frank.

“What is it? Don’t keep us in suspense, old warhorse!” cried “Bones” Shadduck, who played third on the team.

“The motor has broken down, and we’re in a bad box!” declared Frank, seriously.

CHAPTER II A WARM BEGINNING FOR CODDLING

A groan went up from full twenty throats, at this dismal announcement.

“What shall we do? We can’t just float down like this. It would look as if we were whipped before we began to play!” sang out Jack Comfort, almost in a whine.

“We’ve just got to swim for it, that’s all! Me for the cool drink!” said Lanky, pretending to poise on the bow of the boat as if for a plunge.

Frank looked serious indeed, but it was something more than the fact of the breakdown that worried him. He had reason for suspecting that Abner Gould must have done something to bring about this condition of affairs!

Still, he said nothing about it, not being sure. But he could not help remembering that this man had a brother who was known as something of a sport, and made himself conspicuous at many of the baseball games by his disposition to bet upon the result,[12] something that the faculty of the several schools very much objected to, though unable to stop fully.

Dimly Frank could see how there might be some connection between this circumstance and their sudden delay. If Watkins Gould had been wagering heavily against the Columbia team winning, everything that helped disconcert them, and make them unduly anxious, was to his credit. And Abner did not have a face that Frank thought could be trusted.

“Don’t worry, boys,” he said, as the others crowded around, “there are more ways than one for getting to Bellport. If necessary we could go ashore and take the trolley.”

“You might if they let us climb on the roof, for every car is loaded down with people,” observed Paul Bird, Frank’s chum and catcher.

“All right. Here comes Mr. Garabrant in his launch. Possibly he may be glad to give us a tow.”

Frank, as he spoke, kept his eyes on the face of the man who had charge of the motor. He felt positive he saw a sudden look of keen disappointment come upon it, though Abner, upon noticing that he was being observed, tried to look pleased.

“He did it, I’m dead certain!” was what Frank was saying to himself, as a thrill of indignation passed over his frame.

He could stand honest defeat, but when trickery was brought into play it made him angry. At the[13] same time he did not dream for a moment that any one on the opposing team could have had a hand in this mess.

Herman Hooker immediately got his megaphone into service.

“Ahoy there, Mr. Garrabrant! Will you kindly head this way?” he shouted.

The other launch immediately changed its course and approached. There was quite a little company aboard, and evidently the party was headed for the athletic field of Bellport, to witness the great game.

“What’s wrong here?” asked the gentlemanly owner, as he stood up, the better to see.

“A breakdown, and we have really no time to monkey with repairs. Could you give us a tow, sir?” asked Frank.

“Only too glad, boys. It’s very evident that unless I do there would be small chance for a game to-day. Hand us a painter, and we’ll make fast to a cleat at our stern,” replied the Columbia business man, readily.

This being quickly adjusted, progress was once more resumed. Perhaps they did not move quite so fast as before, but that was a matter of small moment. Once more the cheer captain led in vigorous shouts that rang over the water, and brought answering cries from either shore.

“There’s Bellport!” said Frank, directing the attention[14] of Ralph to the numerous tall chimneys that marked the manufacturing town; but they were belching out no smoke this afternoon, for the plants lay idle, with the vast majority of the busy workers in holiday attire heading toward the athletic field.

A landing was made, and jumping ashore, the boys gathered their material of war, after which the march was taken up for the scene of battle.

And when they turned a bend in the road, with the fine field spread before them, every fellow was thrilled to note the tremendous throng that had gathered to see the game, and shout for their respective team.

“Whew! where did they all come from?” gasped Lanky, as he gaped at the host of waving handkerchiefs and hats that greeted their arrival.

“The whole country is baseball mad, that’s what,” remarked Paul, as he strode along at the side of the pitcher.

“It’s a grand sight, and ought to spur every fellow to doing his level best,” remarked the other, drawing in a big breath, for he had never before known such a gathering to greet the Columbia High team, at home or abroad.

As usual, some of the boys began to pass balls as they moved across the diamond. This was done to wear away any nervousness that the sight of the immense crowd might have aroused.

[15]The Bellport team had been practicing for some time now, and were ready to give up the diamond to the visitors. As the time for the commencement of the game was not far away, Captain Seymour sent his men out, and started Frank to warming up.

The grandstand fairly swarmed with people, and the bleachers were packed. Indeed, ropes had to be used to keep the crowd off the diamond, and hundreds sat beyond the right field, where there happened to be some shade.

It sounded like Bedlam broke loose, what with the various school yells, the cat-calls and shouts, and now and then a song breaking above the clamor. Herman Hooker had hurried over to where his shouting clan awaited him. They had kept a seat for him in the front row, where he could jump up at the proper time, and lead the cheering with that astounding foghorn voice of his.

Frank noticed as he passed the ball in to Paul that Watkins Gould was present, and apparently boldly seeking bets on the game. The bleachers were occupied for the most part with the factory workers, a rough crowd, and many of them ready to take a chance on their favorite team.

When finally the Columbia boys came in after a strenuous practice covering about a quarter of an hour, the many-colored flags fluttered from the hands of those in the grandstand until the structure looked[16] like a great bunch of flowers; while from hundreds of lusty throats rose the various class and school cries, blending in a surge of sound.

Then Bellport took the field, their going out being the signal for a tremendous ovation, for they had the full support of their town.

Roderic Seymour had changed the batting list somewhat since the last game played with Clifford. To Ralph was given the honor of leading off, since he was playing in place of Ben Allison. The order ran in this fashion:

Ralph West—Left field. “Bones” Shaddock—Third base. Jack Comfort—Center field. Lanky Wallace—First base. Buster Billings—Right field. Tom Budd—Shortstop. Roderic Seymour—Second base. Paul Bird—Catcher. Frank Allen—Pitcher.

Ralph was a fair batter, but a better waiter. For this latter reason he had been given orders to take his time, and as he faced the opposing pitcher, Coddling, who was said to be the best twirler Bellport had ever turned out, he assumed a position of eagerness and expectancy, as though burning with anxiety to strike.

[17]Coddling had never played against any of these fellows before. He was therefore forced to depend entirely on what his catcher signaled. And Clay, while on the team the preceding year, knew nothing about the weaknesses of this new batter.