Dick Merriwell's Backers; Or, Well Worth Fighting For

At the beginning of the sixth inning, Sam Kates went into the box against the Tufts freshmen. The score then stood seven to one, in favor of Yale Umpty-ten. Tufts had shown no ability to connect with Dick Merriwell’s shoots and benders. This was the opportunity to give Sam a good try-out, and so, at Dick’s suggestion, he changed places with Kates, who had been playing first.

At the opening of the game, Tufts had professed a hilarious confidence in its ability to hit Merriwell, but within a short time this confidence oozed away, and the game was proving tiresomely one-sided and monotonous when Yale changed pitchers.

Immediately Tufts braced up and took heart. Kates was nervous, and the visitors seemed to know it. They whooped and barked joyously as the first man to face Sam lined out a sizzling two-bagger.

“Never mind that, Kates,” came reassuringly from Dick. “Those things will happen occasionally. They can’t all do it.”

Nevertheless Kates realized that he was trying to fill the position just vacated by one vastly his superior, and he also knew the Yale men who had been cheering lustily in the stand were aware of the same fact. This placed him at a disadvantage, for he was extremely anxious, and a pitcher who gets anxious in the box is almost sure to be an easy mark for the opposing batters. Kates, under the manly influence of Dick Merriwell, had broken away from former undesirable associations and was now putting forth his best efforts to redeem his past mistakes.

The following Tufts man pounded a long fly into the outfield. The ball was caught, but the runner on second advanced to third after the catch.

“It’s all right,” again assured Dick. “They haven’t scored, Sam.”

But, unfortunately, the team had even less confidence in Kates than he had in himself. Therefore, they were likewise anxious, and this anxiety caused Claxton, at second, to let a warm grounder get through him.

The little band of Tufts rooters yelled wildly as another tally was chalked down for their side.

“Keep after him! keep after him!” whooped a coacher, as the next batter pranced out to the pan. “Got him going!”

“We’ll put the blanket on him in a minute,” came from the other coacher. “Knock his eye out, Tompkins!”

Tompkins responded by slamming a hot one into right field, where Bouncer Bigelow fell all over himself, and lost the ball until another run had been credited to the visitors and Tompkins had third safely within his clutch.

“Not your fault, Kates,” said Dick, as the wretched pitcher cast him an appealing glance. “Nobody can blame you.”

Blessed Jones, captain of the team, rushed part way in from left field and called to his players to steady down.

On the bench Robinson, the manager, was fidgeting ponderously, and muttering to himself that Merriwell would have to go back on the slab.

Dick walked out into the diamond, and many thought that he was going to change places with Kates once more. Instead of doing so, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and spoke to him in low tones.

“Don’t get worried now because of those errors behind you. They’ve made one clean hit off you, and that’s all. This sort of a thing is likely to happen to any one. It might have happened to me.”

“But I don’t believe it,” muttered Kates. “They won’t back me up, Merriwell, old man.”

“They’ll learn to back you up before the season’s over.”

“Not if I throw away the first game in which I’m given a chance to pitch.”

“But you’re not throwing it away. Don’t look round, Kates. That fellow on third is going to try to steal home. He thinks neither of us sees him. He’s edging off. Now—nail him!”

Kates whirled like a flash, and found the runner well off third, balanced on his toes, and ready to make a sprint for the plate.

With a snap Sam sent the ball to Otis Fitch, who had covered the sack behind the runner’s back.

Nipped just in time, the Tufts man tried to plunge headlong back to third, but Fitch clutched the ball and nailed it onto him.

“You’re out!” shouted the umpire.

This piece of work caused the Yale men to cheer, while the Tufts lad who had been caught in his own attempt to work a bit of craft walked in to the bench shaking his hanging head.

“Rotten! rotten!” snapped one of the coachers. “Why don’t you keep your eyes open? Why don’t you do your sleeping nights? You can’t afford to get dopy on bases.”

“But everybody hits! everybody hits!” came from the coacher at the other side of the field. “We’ll keep right on. We’ll pound him off the rubber just the same.”

But, somehow, Sam’s nervousness had disappeared beneath the effect of Merriwell’s touch and words. Having caught the runner in this manner, Kates grew cool and collected, and the next man up promptly bit at two twisters that he did not touch.

“Now you’re pitching, old fellow,” laughed Dick. “The poor boy can’t see the ball. He’s yours, Sam—he’s yours. Eat him up!”

Kates had a huge drop, and this was the next ball he used. As he delivered it, however, he pretended it had slipped from his fingers, and he yelled for Buckhart to “look out.” The batter thought the ball too high, and made no move to swing. The sphere shot down in an astonishing manner and crossed the batter’s chest.

“Three strikes—out!” announced the umpire.

The deceived hitter stood as if dazed for a moment, and then savagely hurled his bat to the ground. Once more the Yale stand cheered, and Merriwell walked in to the bench with Kates, congratulating him with sincere pleasure.

“You’ve got to do your best work to-day, Sam,” said Dick. “You’ve got to prove yourself. I need you. Toleman won’t come out. He’s still sulking. I can’t do all the pitching. The games are coming too thick.”

“It wasn’t wholly my fault, was it, Merriwell?” asked Kates.

“Certainly not. Still, you’d better not kick about your support, for that gets the fellows sore. They know what they did, and they feel as rotten about it as any one can. You’ll hold Tufts down after this.”

“But if you see they’re going to win the game, Dick, you must go onto the slab again. You’ll do this, won’t you?”

“If you don’t get the idea into your head that it’s necessary, I believe I won’t have to pitch another ball to-day.”

“But if it is necessary——”

“Oh, I won’t see them win the game if I can help it, you may be sure of that.”