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"Do you care to go into right, Roy?" he asked, turning to Hooker as the last one. "Not I," was the instant answer. "That's not my position. I'm no outfielder. Right field, indeed!" "Oh, very well," said Roger. "Tuttle, go ahead out." "Sure," said Chub agreeably, waddling promptly away to fill the position assigned him. "Springer will bat to the outfield and Grant to the in," directed the captain.
Jack by now had recognized the boy as Big Bob Jeffries, the heavy- hitting outfielder of the Chester baseball team, and who was admitted as standing a first-rate chance to be made the sturdy fullback of the new eleven in football. He was filled with curiosity to know what ailed Big Bob.
Then Dreer was at bat again. He fouled the first two balls over the grand-stand. Some one threw out a brand-new ball. Farther and farther Ken edged into deep right. He knew what was coming. "Let him hit it!" he panted. "I'll try to get it! This day settles me. I'm no outfielder. But I'll try!" The tired pitcher threw the ball and Dreer seemed to swing and bound at once with the ringing crack.
What these men did there, and how Balboa rose to further prominence, his great exploits, and finally how unkind Fate also overtook him, will form the subject of the next paper. At least, the assertion is gravely made by the ancient chroniclers. I wonder what kind of an outfielder he would have made today. From the Spanish word "bachiller," referring to an inferior degree in the legal profession.
As it happened, the fielder underestimated the length of the flight. It struck the ground to his rear and rolled. Before the outfielder could pick it up Dan had kicked the first bag. "Prescott! Prescott!" Dick was in, scoring the first run, while Greg was at second, and Dan hugging first as though he dared not be found two yards away from that bag.
He could have received it in his hands, but that would never have served Reddy Clammer. He timed the hit to a nicety, went down with his old grand-stand play and blocked the ball with his anatomy. Delaney swore. And the bleachers, now warm toward the gallant outfielder, lustily cheered him. Babcock hit down the right-field foul line, giving Clammer a long run.
But he was no outfielder as Ikey was; he picked them off the bat. At the same time he was Ikey's friend and customer, and often dropped in at the Blue Light Drug Store to have a bruise painted with iodine or get a cut rubber-plastered after a pleasant evening spent along the Bowery.
O'Brien was a strapping fellow and he lifted another ball into Clammer's wide territory. The hit was of the high and far-away variety. Clammer started to run with it, not like a grim outfielder, but like one thinking of himself, his style, his opportunity, his inevitable success. Certain it was that in thinking of himself the outfielder forgot his surroundings.
Half the crowd cheered in fair appreciation of the way fate was starring the ambitious young outfielder; the other half, dyed-in-the-wool home-team fans, bent forward in a waiting silent gloom of fear. Burt knocked the dirt out of his spikes and faced Duveen. The second ball pitched he met fairly and it rang like a bell. No one in the stands saw where it went.
Ken took the ball Worry tossed him, and, picking up a bat, began to knock flies out to Ray. The first few he made easy for the outfielder, and then he hit balls harder and off to the right or left. Without appearing to exert himself Ray got under them. Ken watched him, and also kept the tail of his eye on Worry.
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