WON IN THE NINTH

BY

CHRISTOPHER MATHEWSON THE FAMOUS PITCHER OF THE NEW YORK GIANTS

THE FIRST OF A SERIES OF STORIES FOR BOYS ON SPORTS TO BE KNOWN AS THE MATTY BOOKS

EDITED BY W. W. AULICK THE WELL-KNOWN WRITER ON SPORTS

ILLUSTRATIONS BY FELIX MAHONY

NEW YORK R. J. BODMER COMPANY 1910

Copyright, 1910, by R. J. BODMER COMPANY

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY, SALES AGENTS NEW YORK, N. Y.

DEDICATION

To the memory of Henry Chadwick, “The Father of Baseball,” whose life was centered in the sport, and who, by his rugged honesty and his relentless opposition to everything that savored of dishonesty and commercialism in connection with the game, is entitled to the credit, more than any other, of the high standing and unsullied reputation which the sport enjoys to-day, and to the boys who love the great American game I dedicate this book.

C. M.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

WON IN THE NINTH

CHAPTER I THE WINTER TERM

“Eyah! Eyah! Hughie, RAH-RAH.” A wiry red-haired boy about twenty-three years old swung lightly from the train with a big valise in his hand into a crowd of college boys in caps and heavy ulsters. They gathered round him at once, and while one crowd took charge of his valise, he was lifted on to the shoulders of a half dozen fellows and carried through the streets to his rooms in Elihu Dormitory. In a twinkling his rooms and the halls outside were blocked with the lads of Lowell who had come to welcome the most popular boy in school, Hughie Jenkins.

It was the day of the opening of the winter term of the University. Hughie Jenkins had been the successful manager for three years of the College Baseball team and on the Thanksgiving Day previous, Hughie as Captain of the Football Eleven, with the help of the other members of the team, had won the College Championship for the first time in five years.

The boys of Lowell University had never been[2] very successful in football against their old rivals at Jefferson, and the fellows were so chock-full of enthusiasm over it that they had not yet had enough opportunity to satisfy it. As each of the members of the team had arrived he had been welcomed in much the same way, but the great welcome was, of course, given to “good old Hughie” as they called him, and now that he was with them again it was possible, taking the boys’ view of it, for the work of the University to go on.

As Captain Larke had said, “Hughie is entitled to all the credit we can give him. He has been a wonder at baseball because he has always kept the boys fighting[3] hard to win, no matter what the score was, and we have won many a game just because we wanted to do our best for him, and the way he made us get out and win in the last few minutes of the big football game kind of shows that he knows how to put them over.”

“That’s right,” said Kirkpatrick, who was right end on the team, “if good old Hughie hadn’t put some of the fight back in us when that old score was 0 to 0 in the last five minutes of play, and then himself kicked that field goal from Jefferson’s twenty-five-yard line, we wouldn’t have won.”

“Well,” said Hughie, “this is fine all right, boys. We did win, didn’t we! and it’s very kind of you to try to give me all the credit, but if it hadn’t been for the other ten fellows on the team, I guess I couldn’t have done very much, and anyway it took eleven pretty good men to beat that team from Jefferson.”

Then, turning to Johnny Everson he said, “Gee, I wish the snow would melt. I’d like to find out what kind of new fellows we have who can play baseball.”

And that was just like Hughie. Here it was winter, with snow on the ground, and a month or two of cold weather still in sight. He had hardly got rested from the football campaign, and now he was wishing it was time to get out the bats, balls, and masks!

“It gets me,” said Delvin to Gibbie over in one corner, “how that old boy hustles and is thinking about all kinds of things all the time, but I guess that’s the way to win out.”

[4]

“In time of peace prepare for war,” said Hughie. “Now I am wondering right now whom we are going to get to take the place of old boy Penny on first (Fred Penny had been the sensation of the college world at the first bag), and who will take Johnny King’s place as catcher and will he be able to work that delayed throw trick with Johnny Everson and the shortstop? And by the way, who is going to take Joe Brinker’s place at short, besides the couple of other places that are vacant?

“Boys,” continued Hughie, “this is going to be my last year at school here. You fellows have helped me win the championship before. It’s all right about the football business, but this last year with you, we’ve simply got to have another winning nine. Let’s give a good old cheer for the football boys, and then let’s give another for the grand old game of ball, and then you go and tell all the fellows who can play ball that I want to see them in the cage next week, and tell all of them that think they can play ball to come, too. Sometimes some of these chaps who think they can’t do it turn out the best of all.”

And that evening when the boys got talking by themselves they forgot all about football, and the fellows who had been to school last year had to tell all over again about the wonderful stunts that Lowell boys had pulled off in the past, just as if most of them hadn’t heard them all before.

“Say, Johnny,” said Fred Larke, a Junior from Kansas and Captain of the Baseball Nine, to Johnny[5] Everson, “I was trying to tell Robb here (Robb was from Georgia) how Johnny King and you and Joe Brinker figured out that delayed-throw-to-second trick that won that game from Princeville last year.”

“Well,” said Johnny, “it didn’t really win the game, you know, because we were ahead then, but it kept the other fellows from winning. You see, some one said to us in the visitors’ dressing room of Bailey Oval that Walker of the Princeville team was a slow thinker. ‘I have a new trick for fellows that can’t think quick,’ said King, the catcher, and he explained it to us so we would be on the job if the chance came. Sure enough it did.

“In the last half of the ninth inning of the game with Princeville College, the Lowell boys were one run to the good. Princeville College was at bat, of course.

“Walker, the first man up, had gotten to first on a hit and reached second on a sacrifice and he was the lad they said didn’t think quick. This was just the thing we figured might happen. King had said, ‘If that fellow gets on second, I can pull off this new trick, which I call the delayed throw. Let Joe cover the bag and Johnny stall.’ On the first ball pitched, this Walker took a big lead off second, and Brinker covered the bag, King motioned quick as if to throw, and I stood still. Walker first started back toward second, but when he saw that King didn’t throw he slowed down. Brinker, walking back to his place at short, said to Walker, ‘We’d have got you that time, old boy, if King had thrown[6] the ball.’ For just one fatal moment Walker turned around to answer Brinker’s remark and in that instant King threw the ball to me as I hustled for the bag. Of course, I caught it and jabbed it against the runner and before he knew how it was done, he was out.

“Of course you couldn’t work that on a real live player, but we won the game on that play because the next batter drove out a long single on which Walker could have scored. Looking at it one way, it was won in the dressing room because that’s where we fixed up the scheme.”

“It pays to keep thinking about the game all the time, doesn’t it?” commented Larke.

That brought up the other story of another game with Biltmore University a couple of years before which Lowell lost, and Everson had to tell that, too.

“I wasn’t there,” said Everson, “because it was two years ago, which was before my time, and there was a whole lot of luck about it, too, but it was this way. There were three on bases and Merry, our mighty slugger, at bat with two out. Score was 3 to 0 against us and it was our last half of the ninth, too; Merry hit the first ball pitched for a homer over the right field fence, and four runs would have scored, only for little Willie Keefer, right fielder for Biltmore, who was playing well out toward the fence.

“The grounds were down by the railroad and right field was down hill and rough. Inside, the fence sloped at an angle of 65 degrees, being straight on[7] the outside and covered with signs. Willie started with the crack of the bat, leaped upon the slope of the fence and started to run along it, going higher and higher and just as the ball was going over his head, straight as a bullet, he put up his right hand, and caught the ball fairly; then Willie went over the fence with the ball in his mitt, rolling over in the dirt.

“Willie climbed back over the fence, and the runs didn’t count because while the umpire couldn’t see it plainly, our fellows in the right bleachers could see Willie all the time and they were, of course, square enough to say that the ball was fairly caught, even if it did lose the game for us.”

And so they talked and talked until long after time to be in bed, and told all the stories about the great Lowell clubs of the past, the great pitchers, the catchers and the fielders; and the fellows called it the first meeting of the Hot Stove League of Lowell University 19—. This talking League lasted through part of February, by which time the freshies who had done wonders on the high-school teams at home, and who had come to Lowell with high hopes of making the team, had a pretty good idea of the kind of enthusiasm and loyalty and, most important, the hard work they would have to show to get on the team at Lowell.

The night of Hughie Jenkins’ return a boyish-looking chap, who had come all the way from California to Lowell University, only five months before, wrote a long letter to his folks back home, and[8] among other things he said the boys had begun to talk baseball, and he was going to try to be on the team and also that he was going to try for the position of pitcher. Further, that he was going to try for one of the Jerry Harriman Prizes. His name was Case.

[9]

CHAPTER II THE LOWELL SPIRIT

Lowell University wasn’t one of those little colleges about which books for boys are often written, nor was it just a big college. It was the greatest University in the East. It had thousands of students and hundreds of teachers. It was a rich college with dozens of buildings. A great many hundreds of the boys who had been graduated from it, poor boys and rich boys and medium-fortuned boys, now held high positions in the big world outside.

Two of the boys who had attended school there years before and who had played on its athletic teams had become Presidents of the United States, and every year while these men were in the White House they came to attend the big football and baseball games, and acted just like boys again, while the games were going on at least. Other boys had been made members of the Cabinet and a great many had become Senators and Representatives in Congress while still others had become famous ministers, doctors and merchants.

The students were made up of sons of rich families and poor alike. Boys from the farms and from the city. Of those who were lucky in having rich[10] fathers, there were quite a number at school every year. Some of them had finely furnished rooms, servants, automobiles and other things which a rich man’s son generally has, and it must be said that a great many, in fact, most of these boys developed into men of fine character and ability, and made their marks in the world.

A few thought they were better than those who didn’t have so much spending money, but they didn’t get very far or do so much in the world, either in school or after they got out.

The spirit of Lowell was democratic, and with the exception of these foolish fellows, the sons of the rich associated with the poor fellows, particularly where the honor and fame of the school were at stake.

The poor fellows associated with the rich boys whenever they got a chance. They lived in cheaper rooms and worked a little harder, because the bright boys soon figured out that they would have to hustle to keep up with the rich fellows.

Some of them worked during the vacations and earned enough money to keep them at school during the winter just as they do at other colleges, and some of them looked after furnaces around town, or waited on tables at the boarding houses and did other things to assure their schooling. Fully as many of the poor fellows who had been graduated had become rich and famous in life, and one of the two who had become President of the United States was a poor farmer’s boy.

The Faculty of the University wanted the students[11] to mix with each other and didn’t want any difference to be shown between rich boys and poor, so they encouraged all athletic games, and this brought about exactly what they wanted. There is nothing like athletics to put boys on a common ground, and a fellow was always welcome to show what he could do.

They had a fine athletic association. The equipment was the best that money could buy. The best coaches in the world were secured to train the boys in the different sports, and everything was done in a business-like way. This made it possible to select the teams on merit alone.

Any fellow who thought he could do something in the line of college sports had only to report for a trial at the proper time, and at the place called for in the notice, and he was given a chance to show what he could do. The merit system picked him out and in that way the best possible team was secured. If he had done one thing better than some other fellow, he got the job, and he could keep it until some other fellow who could do it better turned up and pushed him out of the position.

If a fellow thought he could pitch he was given a chance to show what he could do before the coach who was engaged especially to try out the pitchers. If the coaches thought he “had it in him,” they would bring it out. Very often, some young fellow showed up who proved to be a wonder, and he got on the Varsity the first year.

This spirit attracted from all over the country boys who wanted to enter college. It made college[12] life very attractive and more students came every year, and somehow Lowell University got more and more in the habit of having winning teams in most college sports. Likewise, it was usually Lowell boys who carried off the lion’s share of the Jerry Harriman Scholarships in baseball.

In baseball, Lowell had most always been the champion. Her basketball and hockey teams were only beaten when outlucked; her crew was beaten but twice in twenty years. Only in football did she seem to fall behind. Year after year she would get a team together that would win its way through the games with the other schools in the East, hardly ever scored against, only to fall before her old time rival college in the West in the final game of the year. This happened in spite of the fact that all of the cunning and ability of her coaches, captains and managers were used to get a team together that could beat Jefferson College.

But this past fall they had finally turned the trick against Jefferson and won for the first time in five years. Half-back last year and Captain and Half-back this year, good old Hughie Jenkins who had won the baseball Championship three times, had done it, and now he was back after the Christmas vacation, and when he had time to think about something besides his studies he would be thinking about baseball and the gaps in last year’s winner that would have to be filled because the old standbys like Fred Penny, Johnny King, Joe Brinker and others had been graduated.

[13]

“Well,” said Hughie one evening about the middle of January, to his roommate and chum, Johnny Everson, “I have about five weeks before the 15th of February to dream that the new fellows who think they can play ball are going to be as good as the old boys and I am going to have another winner this year, if—well, we just have to win the Championship this year, that’s all.”

Little did he know that among those who had seen him on the day he got back after the holidays, were almost a half dozen boys who had been in school only five months who would make the Varsity this year, and whose names would be written very near the top of the Roll of Honor in Lowell’s Hall of Fame, and that another fellow, one who was destined to be greater than all the rest, had not yet arrived.

[14]

CHAPTER III GETTING ACQUAINTED

Harold Case mounted the stairs of his boarding house to the little hall room that he had called home for the last five months. It had been his first time away from home and he was lonesome and maybe just a little homesick, for he had come all the way from California to attend school at Lowell. Though he was a poor boy, he had never had to look out for himself before.

Perhaps his room—there was only one small one—helped to make him lonesome. It was comfortably furnished and the meals which Mrs. Malcolm served her student boarder were good, but this was Harold’s first white winter. He had lived all of his eighteen years in the balmy climate of the Golden State, and he missed the warm sun and the bright green of the orange leaves and the yellow fruit which he had been used to back home, and he hadn’t become accustomed to wearing overcoat and rubbers yet as they did every day here in the East.

He had just come in from class. His feet were wet and he was cold and the register which was supposed to heat his room was cold; for the weather was beginning to get mild for Eastern folks, and they[15] had let the furnace fire get low. But it was still too cold and chilly for this boy from the far West, and he was wishing he were back among the fruit groves near his home.

He was lonesome, too, because he missed the chums back home. He had not been fortunate in making friends during his few months at college. Boys are apt to make friends through the games they play together and Harold was not familiar with the boys’ sports that are indulged in during the cold New England winters.

He had never had a pair of skates on in his life and didn’t know what it was to skim over the smooth ice with a pair of sharp steel blades fastened to his[16] shoes. He had never enjoyed the sensation of coasting or hitching on to bob-sleds, nor had he ever seen snow before coming to Lowell.

Think of living eighteen years, and going to school two-thirds that long, and never being mixed up in a snowball fight!

So you see the fact that it was winter and only winter sports were indulged in put Harold out of it for the time being, and because he wasn’t used to the climate, and didn’t know what fun winter sports would provide, he rather felt that he didn’t care for them, and the other fellows paid little attention to him, and he had not made any friends.

This was hard luck of course, and if the other boys had thought about it at all, they would no doubt have encouraged him to join them, but they were not particularly interested at the moment in anyone who didn’t like the things they liked.

As a matter of fact, Harold, as they called him back home, was a really good fellow. He was very boyish looking for his eighteen years. He was a well built fellow, but modest and somewhat backward about pushing himself forward. His hair was brown and his features were good although no one would call him handsome. His eyes were light blue and clear, his mouth was firm, and if the other fellows only knew it, he was as quick as a flash in any game he was familiar with, and he was as graceful as a deer in motion. He could run almost as fast as a deer, too.