Rival Pitchers of Oakdale | Page 6

a bowstring, and the boys of Oakdale found that a
sleeping lion had suddenly awakened. Then it came to be known that
Grant had inherited a most unfortunate family failing, a terrible temper,
which, when uncontrolled, was liable to lead him into extreme acts of
violence; and it was this temper he feared, instead of the fellows he had
shunned whenever they sought to provoke him. Even now, although
baseball was a gentle game in comparison with football, he was not
absolutely sure he could always deport himself as a gentleman and a
sportsman while playing it.
When the boys of the academy and the citizens of the town had joined
in praise of Grant's courageous efforts in the work of rescuing Lela
Barker from drowning, Hooker, who never had words of eulogy for
anyone save himself, remained silent. Not that he had not come, like
others, suddenly to regard the young Texan with respect; but for one of
his envious nature respect does not always mean liking, no throb of
which was awakened in his bosom. Indeed, he secretly disliked Rodney
Grant more than ever, and, now that Springer had taken Grant in hand
to make a pitcher of him, Roy's spleen was embittering his very soul.
Elbows on his knees, projecting chin on his clenched fists, he sullenly
watched Rod pitch for the first time to batters. Several times he made in
his throat a faint sound like a muttered growl of satisfaction, as he saw
those batters hitting the ball to all parts of the field, and finally he
triumphantly whispered:
"Well, I don't see that he's doing anything. They're pounding him all
over the lot."
But, at the suggestion of Eliot, Rodney Grant was simply putting the
ball over, now and then using speed, of which he apparently had
enough, and occasionally mixing in a curve. Behind the pan Eliot
would hold up his big mitt first on one corner then the other, now high,
now low, and almost invariably the ball came whistling straight into the
pocket of that mitt, which caused Roger to nod his head and brought to
his face a faint touch of that rare smile seldom seen there.

"Good control, Rod, old man," he praised. "That's one of the most
essential qualities a pitcher can have."
"Bah!" muttered the envious lad on the bleachers. "What's that amount
to, if a fellow hasn't the curves at his command?"
Presently, with Barker stepping out to hit, Eliot called Grant, met him
ten feet in front of the plate, and they exchanged a few words in low
tones, after which Roger returned to his position and gave the regular
finger signals that he would use in a game.
Barker slashed at a high one close across his shoulders and missed. He
let two wide ones pass, and fouled when a bender cut a corner.
"Two strikes!" cried Sage, who was still umpiring. "Look out or he'll
strike you out, Berlin."
With a faint smile, the batter shrugged his shoulders, and then he did
his best to meet the next pitched ball, which seemed to be the kind he
especially relished. To his surprise, he missed it widely, for the ball
took a sharp drop at the proper moment to deceive him.
"You're out," laughed Sage. "He did get you."
"He did for a fact," agreed Berlin. "That was a dandy drop, Grant. I
wasn't looking for it."
Rodney put the next one straight over, and Berlin hit to Cooper at short.
Jack Nelson followed, and he was likewise surprised to be struck out,
Grant using his drop twice in the performance.
"Hi there, you!" shouted Nelson. "What did you put on the old ball,
anyhow? Pitch? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you could, some."
"You bet he will," called Phil Springer delightedly. "I'll have him
delivering the goods before the season is half over."
"Bah!" again muttered Hooker. "You're a fool, Springer."

Later he saw Eliot and Barker talking together not far from the bench,
and near them stood Herbert Rackliff, a city boy who had entered
Oakdale Academy at the opening of the spring term.
Rackliff was a chap whose clothes were the envy of almost every lad in
town, being tailor-made, of the latest cut and the finest fabric. His ties
and his socks, a generous portion of the latter displayed by the
up-rolled bottoms of his trousers, were always of a vivid hue and
usually of silk. His highly-polished russet shoes were scarcely browner
than the tips of two fingers of his right hand, which outside of school
hours were constantly dallying with a cigarette. He had rings and scarf
pins, and a gold watch with a handsome seal fob. His face was pale and
a trifle hollow-cheeked, his chest flat, and