10 Short Novels Magazine — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

-jittle closer to second. He stood near Varney. “Look out into center field when you’re out there, Duster!” he said in a low, clear voice. “It might remind you of some- thing.” The man whirled and cursed at Dib. The Cincy coach yelled crazily. Instinc- tively, Varney hit the dirt. Too late. The second sacker had him out on a peg from Whitey. Varney got up, banged the dirt from his uniform and made a lunge for Dib Trueman. Wild hysteria rippled through the stands when the players flocked to the base line and tore the men apart. “His conscience still bothers him,” was Dib’s parting shot when he returned to his position. Mystic fans still shook with merriment when the last Cincy player grounded out to third. T was a seesaw battle. In the sixth, with the score at two all, the Cincy pilot yanked his second string twirler and shoved in the famous Cy Porter. The crowd had paid good money and had turned out in swarms. The big-time man- ager would give them a real big league show. Dib Trueman whacked the veteran’s ‘first offering for a triple that bounded off Varney’s shins in left field. Even the former Mystic player’s enemies were agreeing that he was Major League ivory. The rest of the batting order went down in succession and Dib died on the third sack. On his way in to the visitors’. bench Duster Varney looked at his old enemy briefly. Duster seemed shaken. Certainly his play had been off. Perhaps it was the granite stone that stood out there by the center field fence. At the Cincy bench he said to his mana- ger, “I’ve got a bad foot. Twisted it out there. I don’t know if it'll hold out—” “You’re stayin’ in,” the pilot cracked. “That’s what these people came here for. To see you. Varney. Why do you think we got a game with these hicks? You drew the gate—you hobble through!” He spoke to the trainer. “Take a look at his foot. He won’t get up this inning.” Varney took off his shoe and while the trainer kneaded his ankle, he looked out toward the center fieid fence as though his eyes were drawn that way. Finaily he swung his head around when the trainer spoke. | “Can’t be very bad—you didn’t let out a single squawk.” It happened in the eighth inning. With two down, Dib Trueman came up and the Mystic fans were still in full voice. He had eclipsed Varney both at the plate and in the field. Dib shook a little when he faced Cy Porter and he reached down for a handful of dirt after the first pitch. Up in the stands Sue sat between her father and her mother. A handkerchief held in her hands was being torn to shreds as her fingers constantly pulled at the linen in the only outward show of her inner turmoil. Mrs. Linton said sincerely, “Dib is a fine boy—but T’ll never forget the way he treated George Varney. Today [I thought he might have been man enough to go out there and shake hands with ~ Varney. He should understand by now. But the way he turned his back—” band. “You wait, you just wait,’ Sue said. She did not know why she said it but she seemed to be waiting for something. Several seconds after the words had left Sue’s mouth, the crack of Dib True- man’s bat lifted the thousands of specta- tors to their feet. The ball sailed on a line toward left center. Duster Varney started running. The center fielder had been playing in too far. He had no chance to reach the drive al- though he was working his legs like pistons toward the flagpole. Suddenly Varney leaped high into the air and snagged the horsehide. He lost his foot- ing when the ball smacked into his glove and he went crashing to the ground. Over the stands which extended close to the outer pasture hung a sudden stunned silence. It swept over the entire park. USTER VARNEY was. lying out in center field. The Cincy fielders were bending over him. One got up slowly and waved to the Cincy bench frantically. Fans poured out onto the playing field. Dib Trueman stood at the plate as if frozen there for several seconds, then he dropped his bat and raced toward the fence. Even before he dug his spikes into’ the dirt he felt that he knew what had happened. Players were holding the crowd back. The police milled actively, | their clubs bared. Up in the stands Sue Linton sat, gripped with horror, not daring to be- lieve the wild ideas that raced through her brain. She could not move. Her wide, staring eyes were fixed on that group of men who blotted out the monument that had been raised in memory of Tom. “He fell against it — Varney fell against it,” her lips mouthed. “Against Gomes , Andrew Linton, face ashen, queried, “What’re you saying, Sue?” Dib Trueman looked at Duster Var- ney’s white face when the doctor turned him over. There was a jagged cut along. “Poor sportsmanship,” agreed her hus- + va comicbooks: