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Tom was pitcher, while Larry played first base, Dick second, and Sam was down in center, to use those nimble legs of his should occasion require. Fred was shortstop, and the balance of the club was made up of the best players the school afforded. The Saturday chosen for the game was an ideal one, clear and not too warm.
I don't mean to flatter you, but we've got nothing in this league that can touch you. Come, now! As a personal favor to me!" "All right. I'll do my best." "Good for you! Now we've got to pick up a third-baseman!" Jim hesitated. "Our Academy shortstop is here," he said, slowly. "He can play a mighty good third at a pinch." "If he's willing, we'll take him on your say-so, and snap at the chance."
Tyrrell landed a blow against the leather, at the last chance that he had at it. It was a bunt, but Navy's shortstop simply couldn't reach it in time to pick it up without the slightest fumble. That delay brought Lanton home and over the plate. How the plain resounded with cheers! For now the Army led by a single run, and Tyrrell was safe at first. Jackson up, with Beckwith on deck.
He must be sure of ground balls as well as flies and also, in common with all the fielders, be a good judge of the batsmen and try to be where the batted ball is going. The centre-fielder must be especially quick on his feet, as he is expected to back up both shortstop and second base as well as to run in for line hits that just go over the in-fielders' heads.
But Spears' warning held or frightened Rube on the bag. Vane wasted a ball, then another. Ashwell could not be coaxed. Wearily Vane swung; the shortstop raced out to get in line for a possible hit through the wide space to his right, and the second baseman got on his toes as both base runners started. Crack! The old story of the hit and run game!
And Grace had holes in his hands and legs and body. The ball went right through him. He might as well have been so much water. Instead of being a shortstop he was simply a hole. After every hit Daddy saw that ball more and more as something alive. It sported with his infielders. It bounded like a huge jack-rabbit, and went swifter and higher at every bound. It was here, there, everywhere.
The pitcher had put himself in a hole; there were three balls against him and only one strike. So now he sent a swift straight one for a corner of the plate and Satterlee, 2d, watched it come and then swung to meet it. And in another moment he was streaking for his base, while out back of shortstop the left fielder was running in as fast as he might.
The bovine grasped the situation, lowered his head, kicked up his heels, emitted a triumphant bellow, shot forward like a baseball reaching for the stomach of an amateur shortstop, and struck the rear elevation of the head of our distinguished house with the solid impact of an hydraulic ram toying with a stone fence.
One-handed stops are well enough when you cannot get both hands on the ball, but an error made in this way is not only the most humiliating kind but also the most inexcusable. It must not be inferred that grand-stand playing is confined to the shortstop. Any member of the team can be guilty of it.
There wasn't a murmur until eleven this morning, and I felt sure that was going to work off. But it won't, and, oh, my!" West Point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking comically miserable. But to Captain Maitland there was no humor in the situation. "You're a fine one!" growled Maitland. "Oh, Holmesy! Come over here, please. You haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?"
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