The Rube's Waterloo
It was about the sixth inning that I suspectedthe Rube of weakening. For that matter he hadnot pitched anything resembling his usual brandof baseball. But the Rube had developed intosuch a wonder in the box that it took time forhis let-down to dawn upon me. Also it took a tipfrom Raddy, who sat with me on the bench.``Con, the Rube isn't himself today,'' saidRadbourne. ``His mind's not on the game. He seemshurried and flustered, too. If he doesn't explodepresently, I'm a dub at callin' the turn.''Raddy was the best judge of a pitcher's condition,physical or mental, in the Eastern League.It was a Saturday and we were on the road andfinishing up a series with the Rochesters. Eachteam had won and lost a game, and, as I wasclimbing close to the leaders in the pennant race,I wanted the third and deciding game of thatRochester series. The usual big Saturday crowdwas in attendance, noisy, demonstrative andexacting.In this sixth inning the first man up forRochester had flied to McCall. Then had comethe two plays significant of Rube's weakening.He had hit one batter and walked another. Thiswas sufficient, considering the score was threeto one in our favor, to bring the audience to itsfeet with a howling, stamping demand for runs.``Spears is wise all right,'' said Raddy.I watched the foxy old captain walk over to theRube and talk to him while he rested, a reassuringhand on the pitcher's shoulder. The crowd yelledits disapproval and Umpire Bates called outsharply:``Spears, get back to the bag!''``Now, Mister Umpire, ain't I hurrin' all Ican?'' queried Spears as he leisurely ambled backto first.The Rube tossed a long, damp welt of hair backfrom his big brow and nervously toed the rubber.I noted that he seemed to forget the runners onbases and delivered the ball without glancing ateither bag. Of course this resulted in a doublesteal. The ball went wild--almost a wild pitch.``Steady up, old man,'' called Gregg betweenthe yells of the bleachers. He held his mitt squareover the plate for the Rube to pitch to. Againthe long twirler took his swing, and again theball went wild. Clancy had the Rube in the holenow and the situation began to grow serious.The Rube did not take half his usual deliberation,and of the next two pitches one of them was aball and the other a strike by grace of theumpire's generosity. Clancy rapped the next one,an absurdly slow pitch for the Rube to use, andboth runners scored to the shrill tune of the happybleachers.I saw Spears shake his head and look towardthe bench. It was plain what that meant.``Raddy, I ought to take the Rube out,'' I said,``but whom can I put in? You worked yesterday--Cairns' arm is sore. It's got to be nursed.And Henderson, that ladies' man I just signed, isnot in uniform.''``I'll go in,'' replied Raddy, instantly.``Not on your life.'' I had as hard a timekeeping Radbourne from overworking as I had ingetting enough work out of some other players.``I guess I'll let the Rube take his medicine. Ihate to lose this game, but if we have to, we canstand it. I'm curious, anyway, to see what's thematter with the Rube. Maybe he'll settle downpresently.''I made no sign that I had noticed Spears'appeal to the bench. And my aggressive players,no doubt seeing the situation as I saw it, sang outtheir various calls of cheer to the Rube and ofdefiance to their antagonists. Clancy stole offfirst base so far that the Rube, catchingsomebody's warning too late, made a balk and theumpire sent the runner on to second. The Rubenow plainly showed painful evidences of beingrattled.He could not locate the plate without slowingup and when he did that a Rochester player wallopedthe ball. Pretty soon he pitched as if hedid not care, and but for the fast fielding of theteam behind him the Rochesters would havescored more than the eight runs it got. When theRube came in to the bench I asked him if he wassick and at first he said he was and then thathe was not. So I let him pitch the remaininginnings, as the game was lost anyhow, and wewalked off the field a badly beaten team.That night we had to hurry from the hotel tocatch a train for Worcester and we had dinnerin the dining-car. Several of my players' wiveshad come over from Worcester to meet us, andwere in the dining-car when I entered. I observeda pretty girl sitting at one of the tables withmy new pitcher, Henderson.``Say, Mac,'' I said to McCall, who was withme, ``is Henderson married?''``Naw, but he looks like he wanted to be. Hewas in the grand stand today with that girl.''``Who is she? Oh! a little peach!''A second glance at Henderson's companionbrought this compliment from me involuntarily.``Con, you'll get it as bad as the rest of thismushy bunch of ball players. We're all stuck onthat kid. But since Henderson came she's beena frost to all of us. An' it's put the Rube in thedumps.''``Who's the girl?''``That's Nan Brown. She lives in Worcesteran' is the craziest girl fan I ever seen. Flirt!Well, she's got them all beat. Somebody introducedthe Rube to her. He has been mooney eversince.''That was enough to whet my curiosity, and Ifavored Miss Brown with more than one glanceduring dinner. When we returned to the parlorcar I took advantage of the opportunity andremarked to Henderson that he might introducehis manager. He complied, but not with amiablegrace.So I chatted with Nan Brown, and studied her.She was a pretty, laughing, coquettish little minxand quite baseball mad. I had met many girlfans, but none so enthusiastic as Nan. But shewas wholesome and sincere, and I liked her.Before turning in I sat down beside the Rube.He was very quiet and his face did not encouragecompany. But that did not stop me.``Hello, Whit; have a smoke before you go tobed?'' I asked cheerfully.He scarcely heard me and made no move totake the proffered cigar. All at once it struckme that the rustic simplicity which had characterizedhim had vanished.``Whit, old fellow, what was wrong today?''I asked, quietly, with my hand on his arm.``Mr. Connelly, I want my release, I want togo back to Rickettsville,'' he replied hurriedly.For the space of a few seconds I did some tallthinking. The situation suddenly became grave.I saw the pennant for the Worcesters fading, dimming.``You want to go home?'' I began slowly.``Why, Whit, I can't keep you. I wouldn't try ifyou didn't want to stay. But I'll tell youconfidentially, if you leave me at this stage I'mruined.''``How's that?'' he inquired, keenly looking atme.``Well, I can't win the pennant without you. IfI do win it there's a big bonus for me. I canbuy the house I want and get married this fallif I capture the flag. You've met Milly. You canimagine what your pitching means to me thisyear. That's all.''He averted his face and looked out of the window.His big jaw quivered.``If it's that--why, I'll stay, I reckon,'' hesaid huskily.That moment bound Whit Hurtle and FrankConnelly into a far closer relation than the onebetween player and manager. I sat silent for awhile, listening to the drowsy talk of the otherplayers and the rush and roar of the train as itsped on into the night.``Thank you, old chap,'' I replied. ``It wouldn'thave been like you to throw me down at thisstage. Whit, you're in trouble?''``Yes.''``Can I help you--in any way?'''``I reckon not.''``Don't be too sure of that. I'm a pretty wiseguy, if I do say it myself. I might be able to doas much for you as you're going to do for me.''The sight of his face convinced me that I hadtaken a wrong tack. It also showed me how deepWhit's trouble really was. I bade him goodnight and went to my berth, where sleep did notsoon visit me. A saucy, sparkling-eyed womanbarred Whit Hurtle's baseball career at itsthreshold.Women are just as fatal to ball players as tomen in any other walk of life. I had seen a strongathlete grow palsied just at a scornful slight. It'sa great world, and the women run it. So I layawake racking my brains to outwit a prettydisorganizer; and I plotted for her sake. Married,she would be out of mischief. For Whit's sake,for Milly's sake, for mine, all of which collectivelymeant for the sake of the pennant, this would bethe solution of the problem.I decided to take Milly into my confidence, andfinally on the strength of that I got to sleep. Inhe morning I went to my hotel, had breakfast,attended to my mail, and then boarded a car to goout to Milly's house. She was waiting for me onthe porch, dressed as I liked to see her, in blueand white, and she wore violets that matched thecolor of her eyes.``Hello, Connie. I haven't seen a morningpaper, but I know from your face that you lostthe Rochester series,'' said Milly, with a gaylaugh.``I guess yes. The Rube blew up, and if wedon't play a pretty smooth game, young lady,he'll never come down.''Then I told her.``Why, Connie, I knew long ago. Haven't youseen the change in him before this?''``What change?'' I asked blankly.``You are a man. Well, he was a gawky,slouchy, shy farmer boy when he came to us. Ofcourse the city life and popularity began toinfluence him. Then he met Nan. She made theRube a worshipper. I first noticed a change inhis clothes. He blossomed out in a new suit,white negligee, neat tie and a stylish straw hat.Then it was evident he was making heroic strugglesto overcome his awkwardness. It was plainhe was studying and copying the other boys.He's wonderfully improved, but still shy. He'llalways be shy. Connie, Whit's a fine fellow, toogood for Nan Brown.''``But, Milly,'' I interrupted, ``the Rube's hardhit. Why is he too good for her?''``Nan is a natural-born flirt,'' Milly replied.``She can't help it. I'm afraid Whit has a slimchance. Nan may not see deep enough to learnhis fine qualities. I fancy Nan tired quickly ofhim, though the one time I saw them togethershe appeared to like him very well. This newpitcher of yours, Henderson, is a handsome fellowand smooth. Whit is losing to him. Nan likesflash, flattery, excitement.''``McCall told me the Rube had been down inthe mouth ever since Henderson joined the team.Milly, I don't like Henderson a whole lot. He'snot in the Rube's class as a pitcher. What am Igoing to do? Lose the pennant and a big sliceof purse money just for a pretty little flirt?''``Oh, Connie, it's not so bad as that. Whit willcome around all right.''``He won't unless we can pull some wires. I'vegot to help him win Nan Brown. What do youthink of that for a manager's job? I guess maybewinning pennants doesn't call for diplomaticgenius and cunning! But I'll hand them a fewtricks before I lose. My first move will be to giveHenderson his release.I left Milly, as always, once more able to makelight of discouragements and difficulties.Monday I gave Henderson his unconditionalrelease. He celebrated the occasion by verifyingcertain rumors I had heard from other managers.He got drunk. But he did not leave town, and Iheard that he was negotiating with Providencefor a place on that team.Radbourne pitched one of his gilt-edged gamesthat afternoon against Hartford and we won.And Milly sat in the grand stand, having contrivedby cleverness to get a seat next to NanBrown. Milly and I were playing a vastly deepergame than baseball--a game with hearts. But wewere playing it with honest motive, for the goodof all concerned, we believed, and on the square.I sneaked a look now and then up into the grandstand. Milly and Nan appeared to be getting onfamously. It was certain that Nan was flushedand excited, no doubt consciously proud of beingseen with my affianced. After the game I chancedto meet them on their way out. Milly winked atme, which was her sign that all was workingbeautifully.I hunted up the Rube and bundled him off tothe hotel to take dinner with me. At first he wasglum, but after a while he brightened up somewhatto my persistent cheer and friendliness.Then we went out on the hotel balcony tosmoke, and there I made my play.``Whit, I'm pulling a stroke for you. Now listenand don't be offended. I know what's put you offyour feed, because I was the same way when Millyhad me guessing. You've lost your head overNan Brown. That's not so terrible, though Idaresay you think it's a catastrophe. Becauseyou've quit. You've shown a yellow streak.You've lain down.``My boy, that isn't the way to win a girl.You've got to scrap. Milly told me yesterdayhow she had watched your love affairs with Nan,and how she thought you had given up just whenthings might have come your way. Nan is a littleflirt, but she's all right. What's more, she wasgetting fond of you. Nan is meanest to the manshe likes best. The way to handle her, Whit, isto master her. Play high and mighty. Gettragical. Then grab her up in your arms. I tellyou, Whit, it'll all come your way if you onlykeep your nerve. I'm your friend and so is Milly.We're going out to her house presently--and Nanwill be there.''The Rube drew a long, deep breath and held outhis hand. I sensed another stage in the evolutionof Whit Hurtle.``I reckon I've taken baseball coachin','' he saidpresently, ``an' I don't see why I can't take someother kind. I'm only a rube, an' things come hardfor me, but I'm a-learnin'.''It was about dark when we arrived at the house.``Hello, Connie. You're late. Good evening,Mr. Hurtle. Come right in. You've met MissNan Brown? Oh, of course; how stupid of me!''It was a trying moment for Milly and me. Alittle pallor showed under the Rube's tan, but hewas more composed than I had expected. Nangot up from the piano. She was all in white anddeliciously pretty. She gave a quick, glad startof surprise. What a relief that was to mytroubled mind! Everything had depended upona real honest liking for Whit, and she had it.More than once I had been proud of Milly'scleverness, but this night as hostess and anaccomplice she won my everlasting admiration.She contrived to give the impression that Whitwas a frequent visitor at her home and verywelcome. She brought out his best points, and in herskillful hands he lost embarrassment and awkwardness.Before the evening was over Nan regardedWhit with different eyes, and she neverdreamed that everything had not come aboutnaturally. Then Milly somehow got me out onthe porch, leaving Nan and Whit together.``Milly, you're a marvel, the best and sweetestever,'' I whispered. ``We're going to win. It'sa cinch.''``Well, Connie, not that--exactly,'' shewhispered back demurely. ``But it looks hopeful.''I could not help hearing what was said in theparlor.``Now I can roast you,'' Nan was saying, archly.She had switched back to her favorite baseballvernacular. ``You pitched a swell game lastSaturday in Rochester, didn't you? Not! Youhad no steam, no control, and you couldn't havecurved a saucer.''``Nan, what could you expect?'' was the coolreply. ``You sat up in the stand with your handsomefriend. I reckon I couldn't pitch. I justgave the game away.''``Whit--''Then I whispered to Milly that it might bediscreet for us to move a little way from the vicinity.It was on the second day afterward that I gota chance to talk to Nan. She reached the groundsearly, before Milly arrived, and I found her in thegrand stand. The Rube was down on the card topitch and when he started to warm up Nan saidconfidently that he would shut out Hartford thatafternoon.``I'm sorry, Nan, but you're way off. We'd dowell to win at all, let alone get a shutout.''``You're a fine manager!'' she retorted, hotly.``Why won't we win?''``Well, the Rube's not in good form. TheRube----''``Stop calling him that horrid name.''``Whit's not in shape. He's not right. He'sill or something is wrong. I'm worried sick abouthim.''``Why--Mr. Connelly!'' exclaimed Nan. Sheturned quickly toward me.I crowded on full canvas of gloom to my alreadylong face.``I 'm serious, Nan. The lad's off, somehow.He's in magnificent physical trim, but he can'tkeep his mind on the game. He has lost his head.I've talked with him, reasoned with him, all to nogood. He only goes down deeper in the dumps.Something is terribly wrong with him, and if hedoesn't brace, I'll have to release----''Miss Nan Brown suddenly lost a little of herrich bloom. ``Oh! you wouldn't--you couldn'trelease him!''``I'll have to if he doesn't brace. It means alot to me, Nan, for of course I can't win the pennantthis year without Whit being in shape. ButI believe I wouldn't mind the loss of that anymore than to see him fall down. The boy is amagnificent pitcher. If he can only be broughtaround he'll go to the big league next year anddevelop into one of the greatest pitchers the gamehas ever produced. But somehow or other he haslost heart. He's quit. And I've done my bestfor him. He's beyond me now. What a shameit is! For he's the making of such a splendidman outside of baseball. Milly thinks the worldof him. Well, well; there are disappointments--we can't help them. There goes the gong. I mustleave you. Nan, I'll bet you a box of candy Whitloses today. Is it a go?''``It is,'' replied Nan, with fire in her eyes.``You go to Whit Hurtle and tell him I said ifhe wins today's game I'll kiss him!''I nearly broke my neck over benches and batsgetting to Whit with that message. He gulpedonce.Then he tightened his belt and shut out Hartfordwith two scratch singles. It was a greatexhibition of pitching. I had no means to tellwhether or not the Rube got his reward thatnight, but I was so happy that I hugged Millywithin an inch of her life.But it turned out that I had been a littlepremature in my elation. In two days the Rube wentdown into the depths again, this time clear toChina, and Nan was sitting in the grand standwith Henderson. The Rube lost his next game,pitching like a schoolboy scared out of his wits.Henderson followed Nan like a shadow, so that Ihad no chance to talk to her. The Rube lost hisnext game and then another. We were pushedout of second place.If we kept up that losing streak a little longer,our hopes for the pennant were gone. I hadbegun to despair of the Rube. For some occultreason he scarcely spoke to me. Nan flirted worsethan ever. It seemed to me she flaunted herconquest of Henderson in poor Whit's face.The Providence ball team came to town andpromptly signed Henderson and announced himfor Saturday's game. Cairns won the first of theseries and Radbourne lost the second. It wasRube's turn to pitch the Saturday game and Iresolved to make one more effort to put the love-sick swain in something like his old fettle. So Icalled upon Nan.She was surprised to see me, but received megraciously. I fancied her face was not quite soglowing as usual. I came bluntly out with mymission. She tried to freeze me but I would notfreeze. I was out to win or lose and not to belightly laughed aside or coldly denied. I playedto make her angry, knowing the real truth of herfeelings would show under stress.For once in my life I became a knocker and saidsome unpleasant things--albeit they were true--about Henderson. She championed Hendersonroyally, and when, as a last card, I comparedWhit's fine record with Henderson's, not only asa ball player, but as a man, particularly in hisreverence for women, she flashed at me:``What do you know about it? Mr. Hendersonasked me to marry him. Can a man do more toshow his respect? Your friend never so muchas hinted such honorable intentions. What'smore--he insulted me!'' The blaze in Nan's blackeyes softened with a film of tears. She lookedhurt. Her pride had encountered a fall.``Oh, no, Nan, Whit couldn't insult a lady,'' Iprotested.``Couldn't he? That's all you know about him.You know I--I promised to kiss him if he beatHartford that day. So when he came I--I did.Then the big savage began to rave and he grabbedme up in his arms. He smothered me; almostcrushed the life out of me. He frightened meterribly. When I got away from him--the monsterstood there and coolly said I belonged to him. Iran out of the room and wouldn't see him anymore. At first I might have forgiven him if hehad apologized--said he was sorry, but never aword. Now I never will forgive him.''I had to make a strenuous effort to conceal myagitation. The Rube had most carefully takenmy fool advice in the matter of wooing a woman.When I had got a hold upon myself, I turnedto Nan white-hot with eloquence. Now I was talkingnot wholly for myself or the pennant, but forthis boy and girl who were at odds in thatstrangest game of life--love.What I said I never knew, but Nan lost herresentment, and then her scorn and indifference.Slowly she thawed and warmed to my reason,praise, whatever it was, and when I stopped shewas again the radiant bewildering Nan of old.``Take another message to Whit for me,'' shesaid, audaciously. ``Tell him I adore ball players,especially pitchers. Tell him I'm going tothe game today to choose the best one. If he losesthe game----''She left the sentence unfinished. In my stateof mind I doubted not in the least that she meantto marry the pitcher who won the game, and soI told the Rube. He made one wild upheaval ofhis arms and shoulders, like an erupting volcano,which proved to me that he believed it, too.When I got to the bench that afternoon I wastired. There was a big crowd to see the game;the weather was perfect; Milly sat up in the boxand waved her score card at me; Raddy andSpears declared we had the game; the Rubestalked to and fro like an implacable Indian chief--but I was not happy in mind. Calamitybreathed in the very air.The game began. McCall beat out a bunt; Ashwellsacrificed and Stringer laced one of his beautifultriples against the fence. Then he scoredon a high fly. Two runs! Worcester trotted outinto the field. The Rube was white with determination;he had the speed of a bullet and perfectcontrol of his jump ball and drop. But Providencehit and had the luck. Ashwell fumbled,Gregg threw wild. Providence tied the score.The game progressed, growing more and moreof a nightmare to me. It was not Worcester'sday. The umpire could not see straight; the boysgrumbled and fought among themselves; Spearsroasted the umpire and was sent to the bench;Bogart tripped, hurting his sore ankle, and hadto be taken out. Henderson's slow, easy ballbaffled my players, and when he used speed theylined it straight at a Providence fielder.In the sixth, after a desperate rally, we crowdedthe bases with only one out. Then Mullaney'shard rap to left, seemingly good for three bases,was pulled down by Stone with one hand. It wasa wonderful catch and he doubled up a runner atsecond. Again in the seventh we had a chanceto score, only to fail on another double play, thistime by the infield.When the Providence players were at bat theirluck not only held good but trebled andquadrupled. The little Texas-league hits droppedsafely just out of reach of the infielders. My boyshad an off day in fielding. What horror that ofall days in a season this should be the one forthem to make errors!But they were game, and the Rube was thegamest of all. He did not seem to know whathard luck was, or discouragement, or poor support.He kept everlastingly hammering the ballat those lucky Providence hitters. What speed hehad! The ball streaked in, and somebody wouldshut his eyes and make a safety. But the Rubepitched, on, tireless, irresistibly, hopeful, notforgetting to call a word of cheer to his fielders.It was one of those strange games that couldnot be bettered by any labor or daring or skill.I saw it was lost from the second inning, yet sodeeply was I concerned, so tantalizingly did theplays reel themselves off, that I groveled thereon the bench unable to abide by my baseball sense.The ninth inning proved beyond a shadow ofdoubt how baseball fate, in common with otherfates, loved to balance the chances, to lift up one,then the other, to lend a deceitful hope only todash it away.Providence had almost three times enough towin. The team let up in that inning or grew over-confident or careless, and before we knew whathad happened some scratch hits, and bases onballs, and errors, gave us three runs and left tworunners on bases. The disgusted bleachers cameout of their gloom and began to whistle andthump. The Rube hit safely, sending another runover the plate. McCall worked his old trick,beating out a slow bunt.Bases full, three runs to tie! With Ashwell upand one out, the noise in the bleachers mountedto a high-pitched, shrill, continuous sound. I gotup and yelled with all my might and could nothear my voice. Ashwell was a dangerous man ina pinch. The game was not lost yet. A hit,anything to get Ash to first--and then Stringer!Ash laughed at Henderson, taunted him, shookhis bat at him and dared him to put one over.Henderson did not stand under fire. The ball hepitched had no steam. Ash cracked it--square onthe line into the shortstop's hands. The bleachersceased yelling.Then Stringer strode grimly to the plate. Itwas a hundred to one, in that instance, that hewould lose the ball. The bleachers let out onedeafening roar, then hushed. I would rather havehad Stringer at the bat than any other player inthe world, and I thought of the Rube and Nanand Milly--and hope would not die.Stringer swung mightily on the first pitch andstruck the ball with a sharp, solid bing! It shottoward center, low, level, exceedingly swift, andlike a dark streak went straight into the fielder'shands. A rod to right or left would have madeit a home run. The crowd strangled a victoriousyell. I came out of my trance, for the game wasover and lost. It was the Rube's Waterloo.I hurried him into the dressing room and keptclose to him. He looked like a man who had lostthe one thing worth while in his life. I turned adeaf ear to my players, to everybody, and hustledthe Rube out and to the hotel. I wanted to benear him that night.To my amaze we met Milly and Nan as weentered the lobby. Milly wore a sweet,sympathetic smile. Nan shone more radiant than ever.I simply stared. It was Milly who got us allthrough the corridor into the parlor. I heard Nantalking.``Whit, you pitched a bad game but--'' therewas the old teasing, arch, coquettishness--``butyou are the best pitcher!''``Nan!''``Yes!''
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
