Carsonville was emptying itself.
Every person in town, young and old, was a baseball enthusiast. The grand stand and bleachers of the club grounds were invariably crowded every Saturday. But on this one Saturday it seemed as though the town had gone crazy over the game.
So, after a fashion, it had. Despite its support of the Clippers, Carsonville turned out to see baseball, rather than to see the Clippers play. It loved the game for itself. Down underneath the surface, however, it cherished a warm dislike for the Clippers and their captain.
This dislike had been, perforce, hidden, for fear of antagonizing the autocrat of Carsonville. When the home team had been playing, all personalities had been forgotten in the game itself. On such occasions, even Bully Carson had become popular for the moment, if he won a game.
It was quite different on this Saturday, however. The Carsons had been defied, and when the crowd had streamed into the park, it forgot all about its fear of Colonel Carson’s power.
“I hope them Clippers get trounced! I hope Bully Carson gets knocked out of the box!” cried[85] old Abner Powell, on whose forty acres the colonel held a heavy mortgage.
“So do I! Hurray for the Clippings!” yelled the teller of the Carsonville bank.
“Here’s where the colonel gets took down!” shouted the Carsons’ hired man.
Every one had forgotten their fears…
…under the magic influence of the ball park. And every one had raised the price of a seat. By general consent, it was the largest crowd that the Carsonville park had ever held.
Every man on the two teams was known personally to the fans, except Merriwell and Clancy. Even they were known by reputation, though few of the townsfolk had dared to show support by watching the Clippings practice.
The line-up of the two teams was announced that morning by bulletin:
CLIPPINGS.
McCarthy, 3d b.
Nippen, c. f.
Clancy, 1st b.
Merriwell, p.
McQuade, c.
Spaulding, 2d b.
Moore, l. f.
Henderson, r. f.
Newton, ss.
CLIPPERS.
Fletcher, c.
Burkett, 1st b.
Bangs, 3d b.
Ironton, ss.
Johnson, r. f.
Murray, 2d b.
Carson, p.
Runge, l. f.
Merrell, c. f.
The diamond was in perfect condition, its caretaker having spent all morning getting it in shape.[86] Every line was freshly marked, every inch carefully raked free of hindrances. The very sight of it was a joy to the fans, empty though it stood.
And it was joy to Merriwell and Clancy, also, when they arrived at the clubhouse beneath the grand stand. Both had been too busy to look at the place, but they were instantly delighted by it. Meantime, the Hornet proceeded around to the field with Mrs. McQuade and Jim Spaulding’s young brother.
“It’s a peach of a place, Chip!” cried the red-haired chap.
“Yes—look at that diamond! I don’t remember when I’ve seen a better cared-for place.”
Merry continued his inspection as the rest of his team poured in to dress. There were bleachers behind first and third, all well filled, and the only symptom of neglect was in the high board fence. Directly behind second, in the center fielder’s territory, there was a strip of fence ten feet wide that had been leveled. This, it appeared, had been cut out to erect a large score board, but there had been delay in the shipment of materials, and the gap was unfilled.
Billy Mac pointed to the river, which ran about a hundred yards behind the fence.
“No home runs in this field,” he said, “unless the ball goes into the river. You see, the diamond inclosure is a little small, Chip. Outside of the fence it’s marshy, and it would have cost a[87] lot to fill in. So they compromised on that ground rule. If the ball goes into the river, it’s a home run. It’s never yet gone in, though.”
“Queer kind of ground rule,” growled Clancy. “But there’s no accounting for tastes, so let’s try to put the ball in the water, fellows!”
“We’l-l-l try,” piped Chub resolutely. “When do we practice?”
“Right now,” exclaimed Frank. “We’re a little early, so we’ll get to work and let the Clippers howl, if they want to.”
When the Clippings walked out…
…they were greeted by a long yell from the fans. Then there rose a buzz of voices as the players trotted out to their places, and Merry began to drive hot ones along the infield.
Every one was wondering how the home talent would show up. No sooner had the ball begun to snap around the bases than shout after shout pealed up. Despite their rare and wonderful uniforms, the Clippings showed form!
Even Frank was surprised. On the level diamond his team proved that they could do something, after all. They went after the ball with ginger, and the way they snapped it up was astonishing.
The Clippers now produced themselves, and promptly spread out behind the foul lines to inspect their opponents. They delivered themselves[88] of comments, which were audible over most of the field.
“Look at the uniforms!” yelled Squint Fletcher. “They used them kind fifty years ago! Pipe the Irish third baseman! Wow!”
“Who’s that scrubby runt playin’ short?” cried Ironton, waving his fists. “Wait till I land on him!”
“I’l-l-l show you!” chirped Newton angrily. “Wait til-l-l——”
“Listen to him!” cried Ironton. “Wow! He talks like a washing machine!”
Even the crowd laughed at that, for every one knew Chub. The little fellow lost his temper, and sent the ball far over third.
“They’re easy,” commented Bully, in contempt. “We got their goat already. You watch when that Merriwell gets up to the plate. I’ll lam him in the head.”
“You’d better try it!” retorted Clancy heatedly. Merry signed to him to walk up toward the box, with Chub.
“You fellows keep quiet,” he said. “Pass the word around not to give any back talk unnecessarily. First thing we know, this will be a free-for-all, and we have to avoid that if possible.”
The Clippings tried to restrain themselves, but it was hard work for them to keep from answering the taunts that poured in from Bully Carson’s men. At length, Frank signed to his team,[89] and they trotted in. The Clippers spread out on the field, and began to amuse themselves with threats of what they would do to their opponents, while they tossed the ball around.
In Colonel Carson’s private box, square in the center of the grand stand, sat the colonel and his new acquaintance, John Smith. The latter had accepted the proffered seat gratefully, though he refused the proffered stogies, pleading that his health did not permit smoking.
As the Clippings came in to their bench, they looked up and saw the stranger.
“There’s your scout, Dan,” chuckled Billy. “Only it looks like he was friends with the wrong side.”
The stranger waved a hand at them.
“Go in and win!” he cried. “You’ve got ’em licked, Merriwell!”
“You bet!” returned Clancy quickly. “Just watch our smoke, Whiskers!”
The stranger’s white teeth flashed through his beard, and he turned his attention to the Clippers as they fell to work.
“They seem to do better than they did yesterday,” he remarked suddenly.
Colonel Carson leaned back and grinned complacently.
“I reckon they slept well last night, Smith,” he drawled. “Any team is liable to an off day, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” returned Smith sharply. “It looks to me as if you had let me in for a bit of sharp practice, Carson.”
“Sport is sport,” observed the colonel, with a grin. “You risks your money, and you takes your chance.”
“I’ve a good mind to call the bet off!”
“No, ye don’t! The constable’s down keepin’ order in the bleachers, and you can’t locate him ’fore the game starts if ye want to. ’Sides, I reckon you ain’t a welsher.”
The stranger allowed himself to be soothed down, and settled himself to watch the progress of things.
Frank and Bully Carson met with the two umpires, and went over the ground rule regarding a home run.
“No chance o’ your scrubs gettin’ the ball in the river,” jeered Carson. “Don’t need to worry over it. Ain’t never been done, anyhow!”
“That’s no sign it can’t be done,” said Frank, with a smile.
A gong rang out. Merry and Carson quickly discussed the question of outs and ins, while the umpires were announcing the batteries.
“I’d like to git in the box first crack, an’ knock your block off,” growled Bully. “But I dunno’s I wouldn’t jest as soon knock you out o’ the box. Take your choice.”
“Thanks,” said Merry easily. “Since you’re[91] so kind, I think we’ll give you a chance to get a home run, Bully. According to the batting order, I’m afraid you won’t get a crack till the third inning, though.”
Carson, whose name stood seventh on the list, glowered derisively.
“Huh! We’ll prob’bly bat around twice in the first inning, you joke! You’d better get another pitcher warmin’ up.”
“Come on, Bully,” cried Squint Fletcher. “Leave that poor simp alone!”
No one had any need to hear the umpires’ announcement, and it was drowned in a roar of cheers as the Clippings went out to their positions. Colonel Carson glowered and tugged at his goatee, then smiled as Squint Fletcher advanced to the plate amid a mingling of hisses and cheers. Squint had his backers, who liked him for his rough-and-ready tactics.
Indeed, it soon developed that the Clippers were not without friends. The general sentiment was against them, but there were plenty of hoodlums and toadies who were willing to cheer them. Also, many farmers had come in, who were used to yelling for the Clippers.
The umpires took their positions, and Merry whipped over three balls to Billy. Squint stepped up to the plate, with a sneer, and balanced himself aggressively. Billy Mac signed for the double shoot.
Frank nodded, took his time, and, amid a wild shriek of delight from the crowd, delivered the first pitched ball. Squint Fletcher pulled down his bat—and there was a crack like a pistol shot.
Squint had landed square on Frank Merriwell, junior’s, famous double shoot!