Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

The Cast-Off Dugan grinned again. “That’s a safe way t’ put it, but we won’t be too hard on the boy. I want t’ see him work. Is he any good?”’ ‘““He’s reckoned the best pitcher in the Northern League.’”’ “If there’s the makin’s of a real pitcher in him, mebbe I’ll give him a try-out.” “Not with my encouragement!” said Pennington. “TI shall tell him just what kind of a dirty deal he’ll be likely to get.” “Sore head!’’ said Dugan. “If you’d had the goods you’d be on my staff now. You’re a quitter.” WHEN it came time for the In- dians to practise they did so in a careless, perfunctory way; yet they scooped up grounders and drives and flies with a listless ease in strong contrast to the tense eagerness of the less experienced locals. Center field was packed back of the ropes when the umpire announced the batteries and called ‘ Play!” It had been necessary to agree upon a special rule that a hit into the crowd should give the batter only two bases. The In- dians growled over this, but it was their habit to growl at anything. In Pennington’s final words to his players he had mainly sought to impress upon them the conviction that their Big League oppo- Se nents were not so formidable as they seemed and could be beaten by teams that had never been heard of. He did not warn them particularly against getting nervous, for he knew that, with youngsters, the fear of nervousness frequently brings about the result that is dreaded. As far as possible, he instructed Whipple concerning the pecu- liarities and failings of the batters who would face him. “Watch the bench, Whip!” he said. “T’ll tip you off when it’s necesSary.” “Pug” Flaherty, the battle-scarred right- fielder of the Indians, sauntered confidently forth from the bench, grinning at the youth- ful pitcher of the bushers, who, despite his attempt at unconcern, was plainly on edge and anxious. Pug. “had an eye” and was the best waiter on the team, therefore Pen- nington had instructed Whipple to bend them over at once, and the youngster pro- ceeded to do so. The first one clipped a corner, but Flaherty let it pass. “Stri-i-ke!”’ cried the umpire, flinging up his hand. 1059 The bleachers barked and the batter grinned still more tolerantly. He was still grinning when the second one came slant- ing down across his chest on the inside and he fouled it. “Strike tuh!” was the arbitrator’s call, which was drowned by another shout from the crowd. A warning sign from the bench led the too eager twirler to take more time. Like most young slabmen, Whipple was inclined to pitch too fast when nervous. With the standing two strikes and no balls, the wise fans expected the pitcher to “waste one.” If Flaherty also looked for this, he, nevertheless, held himself prepared for anything, gripping his club and crouch- ing a bit like a monkey ready to spring. The fielders, as well as. Whipple, saw the catcher’s signal for an in-shoot and it seemed that every man was swinging toward third when the sphere left the pitcher’s fingers. There was a ringing crack of leather meeting woodgand the ball went humming on a line toward left field. Wad Grozman, the short-stop, failed to heed the back-stop’s signal, and had he not been moving in the proper direction when the ball was hit, he would have failed to reach that whistling drive by six feet at least. As it was, he shot forward, leaping into the air, and pulled the smoker down, bringing a shrill, wild yell of joy from the uprisen spectators. That initial play of the game justified Pennington for the weary days he had spent drilling his sometimes rebellious players in defensive team-work. Not yet, however, were the visitors to realize that the bushers were trained in the science of baseball as played higher up. “Hard luck, Pug,’”’ said Mat Buckley, the following batsman, as Flaherty came growl- ing back from first, to which he had raced. ‘“That lucky stab killed a sure two-bagger.”’ “That duck out there must carry a rab- bit’s-foot,” said Pug. ‘‘He’s easy, Buck; puts ’em allover. Knock the cover off!” Whipple remembered Pennington’s state- ment that Buckley’s weakness could be found with a low ball close to his knees, but he failed to keep the first one close enough, and it was well that the outfielders were playing deep. The batter smashed out what looked like a hit into the crowd beyond the center fielder but that guardian of the middle section made a marvelous running CO MICLOOKS C©