it was the beginning of the ninth inning of the first game in fairhaven and the home team was one score ahead.
the visitors had made a gallant fight for the game which was not yet ended. indeed, maplewood had not given up, as soon became apparent.
on previous occasions crowds had gathered on that field, but never before in the history of fairhaven had there been such a wonderful turnout to witness a game of baseball. not only was every seat taken, but on each side of the ground ropes had been stretched far down past first and third bases in order to keep those standing from crowding onto the field. even then it was necessary to employ four officers to hold the spectators back and prevent them from pushing into the outfield.
through all the game the stonecutters had whooped and cheered to their satisfaction. although they were boisterous, they were not ungentlemanly in their language. indeed, they were rather generous in their applause whenever maplewood made a brilliant play. for all of that, they were intensely loyal, and, to the last one of them, were eager and anxious for fairhaven to win.
at intervals the voice of brick mclane could be heard above the others, but sometimes it was quite drowned.
high on the top of the bleachers, clinging to a post of the fence, was old gideon sniffmore, who occasionally waved his crooked cane in the air and shrieked until his face grew purple. all through the game he had remained standing there, apparently quite oblivious to his rheumatism, and once or twice, when he relinquished his hold on the post and flourished both arms in the air, he was in absolute danger of falling and breaking his neck.
“we’ve got um now, by codfish!” he shrieked as owen bold struck out a man.
this made the second man out.
there were two runners on the bases, one having reached first through an error and the other securing a pass to the initial bag on four balls.
“it’s all over!” roared brick mclane as the next batter stepped out. “fairhaven wins the first game!”
then bold shot a speedy one, shoulder high, across the inside corner of the plate.
the batter stepped back a bit and met the ball fairly. it was a terrific clout.
chip jolliby went flying over the low rail which served as centre-field fence and splashed into the frog pond in search of the ball. he had seen it strike, and his heart was in his mouth for fear he could not find it amid the tall grass and weeds.
however, chip secured it and turned with it dripping wet, in his hand, seeing the maplewood player who had hit it already dashing over third base.
standing out there at that great distance, jolliby made one of the most amazing throws of his whole baseball career. he was ankle deep in the mire, yet he lined the ball straight to the plate, and buckhart put it onto the man who was endeavoring to slide home.
this astounding throw caused the crowd to roar again, although almost every spectator realized what had been accomplished by the hit.
the batter had driven in two runs, which placed maplewood ahead, the score being eight to seven.
“we’ve got them now!” muttered benton hammerswell, in relief. “bretton will hold them right where they are. at the very best, they can take but one of these two games, and, therefore, i will win all my bets.”
hammerswell was leaning on a bat as he muttered this. he felt a touch on his arm and turned to see tom fernald.
“it was a relief to me when that fellow smashed the ball over the fence,” he said. “i’ve been betting even money that maplewood would carry off one of the games. some lobsters were foolish enough to bet that fairhaven would win both.”
“yes, we’ve got this game now,” nodded hammerswell. “and it’s a good thing for me, too. it puts me on my feet again. i’ve risked all i could rake and scrape on the result of these games. unless the improbable happens, fairhaven will not be at the top to-night, nor will maplewood be at the bottom.”
“have you figured the thing over?” questioned fernald. “have you considered all the possibilities? if seaslope beats rockford and fairhaven and maplewood divide honors here to-day, every team will be tied once more. it will be necessary to play other games in order to settle the matter.”
“i know,” nodded hammerswell, with a grave smile; “but the people who bet their good money with me had not figured out that possibility. unless maplewood is at the bottom to-night, i shall win many of my bets. if fairhaven is not at the top, i shall win the rest of them. in order for fairhaven to be at the top we must lose both these games and seaslope must beat rockford. it’s all right, fernald; that can’t happen.”
a low, snarling laugh caused hammerswell to start and turn his head. chester arlington was there, and he regarded the maplewood manager with a singular look that caused the man to be seized by a strange feeling of uneasiness and apprehension.
“don’t think you have this game yet,” said arlington. “no game is won until it’s ended. the best batters on merriwell’s team are up now. look out for a garrison finish. it takes but one run to tie the score, and two will win the game.”
“get away from me, you crook!” snapped hammerswell. “i don’t want you round me!”
he gripped the bat and half lifted it in a threatening manner.
“you’ll never frighten any one with that stick,” said chester. “put it down, hammerswell. don’t try any funny business with me.”
“if you two are going to quarrel,” said fernald, “i will just step aside.”
“oh, i’ll not quarrel with this treacherous smart aleck,” declared hammerswell as fernald walked away.
“you’d better not,” said chester in a low tone. “you’re wise in not quarreling with me. i know too much about you. wait, benton hammerswell; your time is coming, and you will get what’s due you.”
“i tell you to move on!” grated the enraged man. “i don’t like that kind of talk, and i won’t listen to it.”
“you can’t help listening,” retorted chester. “you know i am telling the truth when i say you are a scoundrel, a fraud, a cheat, a——”
with a muttered oath hammerswell lifted the bat.
chester did not shrink in the least. looking the man straight in the eyes, he hastily said:
“strike if you dare! add another murder to your crimes!”
“another murder?” whispered hammerswell, aghast.
“yes, another murder. you see, i know what you’ve done. you see, i know what happened on high bluff one night near the hour of twelve.”
“good heavens!” choked the astounded rascal as he nervelessly lowered the bat.
“i know you are haunted by the memory of that crime,” persisted chester, in a low tone. “your face tells the story. you fear luke grimes. you fear the ghost of hop sullivan.”
three times hammerswell tried to speak before he could command his voice. then of a sudden, as if struck by a thought, he panted:
“you—you were in my room last night! the window was open! some one entered that room! some one played the ghost! i don’t believe in ghosts. you were there!”
“you’re right,” confessed chester. “i was there, hammerswell, and i gave you a fright you’ll not soon forget. how did i dare come there? why, i had your pistol in my pocket. i wasn’t afraid of you. you missed the weapon, didn’t you? well, i took it. i knew you were not armed. how did i know so much about what happened on high bluff? i heard your talk with luke grimes. oh, i’m not fool enough to tell the story without the backing of grimes, but they’re looking for him, hammerswell. he’s liable to be captured at any moment. when he’s taken, he’ll blow on you. now, sir, i hope you enjoy the game.”
laughing with malignant satisfaction, arlington disdainfully turned his back on the agitated man and walked away.
