Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars.

by Lester Chadwick.

CHAPTER I

A HOT GAME

"Come on, Sam, get a move on. I thought you'd be out on the diamond long ago. What's the matter?"

"Oh, I had to help dad put in some fence posts. I'm through now, Darrell, and I'll be right with you."

"Setting fence posts; eh?" and Darrell Blackney, the young manager of the Silver Star baseball nine of Riverside looked critically at Sam Morton, the team's pitcher. "Well, Sam, I hope it didn't make you stiff so that you can't put some good b.a.l.l.s over the plate. It's going to be a hot game all right."

"Oh, forget it!" cried Sam, as he finished b.u.t.toning his jacket while he joined his chum. "We'll beat 'em to a frazzle all right. I'm going to pitch my head off to-day."

"You may--if you don't go to pieces the way you once did."

"Say, what you talking about?" demanded Sam, with some warmth. "I can pitch all right, and don't you forget it." He seemed unnecessarily aroused.

"Oh, I know you can pitch," spoke Darrell easily, "only I don't want you to be too sure about it. You know the Resolutes of Rocky Ford have a strong team this season, and their pitcher is----"

"Oh, I know what Hen Littell is as well as you," broke in Sam. "He thinks he's a whole lot, but you wait. I've got a new drop ball, and----"

"Well, then, you'd ought to have been out on the diamond this morning, practicing with Bart Ferguson. He's got a new catching glove, and if you and he can connect on the curves we may do some good work. But I wish you'd had some practice this morning."

"So do I, but dad made me help him, and I couldn't very well get off. I tried to sneak away, but he got on to my game and put a stop to it."

"Oh, well, of course if you had to help your father that's different,"

spoke Darrell, who was a manly young chap, somewhat in contrast to Sam, who was not as upright as he might have been. Sam had a boastful and confident air that caused many to dislike him, but as he was the best pitcher the Silver Stars had had in some seasons his short-comings were overlooked.

And certainly Sam had been pitching pretty good ball thus far. True, at times, he "went up in the air," but all pitchers are likely to do this on occasions. Sam had great belief in his own ability.

There was considerable baseball feeling in the little town of Riverside, located on the Appelby River, in one of our New England States. Though the nine was an amateur one, and composed of lads ranging from fourteen to nineteen years of age, yet many fast games had been seen on the village diamond, which was kept in good shape by volunteers. A small admission sum was charged to view the contests and from this the boys were able to buy their uniforms, b.a.l.l.s, bats, and other things. With some of the money the grounds were renovated from time to time, and the fences, bleachers and grandstand kept in order.

There was a sort of informal county league existing among several nines in the towns surrounding Riverside, and perhaps the bitterest rivals of the Silver Stars were the Resolutes of Rocky Ford, a place about five miles farther up the stream than Riverside. To-day one of the games in the series was to take place, and the occasion, being Sat.u.r.day, was a gala one in the home town of the Silver Stars, on whose grounds the contest was to take place.

"Well, you'll have a little time for practice before the game begins,"

remarked Darrell as he and Sam walked toward the diamond. "We've got about an hour yet."

"Are the Resolutes here?"

"They hadn't come when I pa.s.sed the grounds a little while ago on my way to see you. I couldn't imagine what kept you."

"Well, it was all dad's fault. Hang it all----"

"Never mind," broke in Darrell quickly. "Dads are all right as a rule."

He had lost his own father not long since, and his heart was still sore.

He could not bear to have any one speak disrespectfully of parents. "I guess we'll make out all right," he added.

"Oh, sure we will!" exclaimed Sam, full of confidence. "They won't have a look in."

"Well, hurry up and get in some practice with Bart," advised the manager.

"Who's going to cover first to-day?" inquired Sam, as they hurried along the streets, which were already beginning to fill with the crowds making their way to the game.

"I think I am for most of the time," answered Darrell. "George Rankin and I talked it over and decided that would be a good way to lead off.

Later, if I find I'm needed on the coaching line, I'll let Tom Davis take my place."

"Tom isn't much good."

"Oh, I think he is."

"Didn't he miss two hot throws to first base in the game last Sat.u.r.day?"

"That was because you put them over his head. You want to be careful, Sam, when there are two on the bags, how you throw to first. Lots of times I have to jump for your throws, and if I wasn't pretty quick at it they'd get by me."

"Oh, well, you won't have any complaint to-day. I'll get 'em there all right. But you'd better stay in the whole game yourself."

"I'll see. Hark, what's that?"

The inspiring notes of a coaching horn echoed down the village street.

"Sounds like a tally-ho," remarked Sam.

Just then there swung into view a large stage, drawn by four horses, the vehicle filled with a cheering, shouting and laughing crowd of boys.

"That's the Resolute team," said Darrell. "They're coming in style all right."

Again there came the thrilling notes of the bugle, blown by some one in the stage. Then followed another large vehicle, filled with a throng of cheering lads.

"They've brought a crowd along," commented Sam.

"Yes, maybe they're depending on rooters to help them win the game."

"Well, our fellows can root some too," spoke the pitcher. "I'm glad there's going to be a big crowd. I can pitch better then."

"Well, do your best," urged the manager. "There's Percy Parnell and Fred Newton over there. I thought they were out on the field long ago."

"Maybe they had to set fence posts too."

"Maybe," a.s.sented Darrell with a laugh. "And here comes Tom Davis. Who's that with him?" and the pitcher and manager glanced at a tall, well-formed lad who was walking beside the subst.i.tute first baseman.

"Evidently a stranger in town," went on Darrell.

"Yes, I've seen him before," remarked Sam. "He lives down on our street.

The family just moved in. His name is Batson, or Hatson, or something like that. His father works in the harvester factory."