Our Baseball Club and How It Won the Championship

Introduction

When we consider how strong a hold the pastime of baseball playing has upon our people, it is a little surprising that more frequent use of the game, as a framework, has not been made by writers of fiction. There are very few Americans, certainly very few of the younger generation, who are not only familiar with the nomenclature and rules of baseball, but are enthusiastic lovers of the sport. Even among the gentler sex, who may be regarded as spectators only of the game, there is to be found much sound information and an intelligent acquaintance with the details of baseball playing; while every hearty and wholesomely taught boy knows everything worth knowing about the game, the famous players, the historic contests, and the notable features of the sport, as practiced in various sections of the republic.

To write an introduction to a story whose slender plot should be threaded on a baseball match seems to be an almost superfluous work. But I am glad that Mr. Brooks has undertaken to illustrate “The National Game” by a story of outdoor life, founded on fact and incidentally introducing personages which are not wholly creatures of his imagination. The tale here told very cleverly gives the reader a glimpse of the ups and downs, the trials and the triumphs of a baseball club. It is written by one who is thoroughly well informed of the things concerning which he gives such vivid pictures, and, while nothing is really needed to popularize the game, I am sure the story will commend itself to every lover of pure and wholesome literature.

I

Great Expectations

Alice Howell was flattening her pretty nose against the window pane as she looked ruefully out into the misty atmosphere that surrounded her father’s house in North Catalpa. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the great baseball match was set for two o’clock, that afternoon. As soon as she had risen, Alice had run to the window to see what were the signs of the sky, for Alice was an ardent lover of the American game, and her heart was set on the great match that was to come off on the Agricultural Grounds, near Catalpa, that day. The sky was dull and lowering, and there was little chance that the game would be called.

“Your father, the Judge, says you should come to breakfast right away, miss,” said the little handmaid of the house.

Alice turned from the window with an impatient sigh, saying “Oh dear, Jessie, do you suppose the Jonesville Nine will come up to play the Catalpas, this afternoon?”

“ ’Deed I don’t know, miss. I hope so, for Miss Anstress has promised me that I shall go over to see the game if it is played, and goodness only knows when I shall get off again to see a baseball match if I don’t go today.”

“But look at the weather! It’s as dark as a pocket, and it looks as if it might rain at any moment. Oh dear! oh dear! it’s too bad, so it is. And this is to be the last game of the season, and the decisive one, too.” And so, more talking to herself than to the small servant who trotted behind her, with a sympathetic air, the pretty Miss Alice went to the breakfast-table where her father waited for her with an aspect of amused dignity.

“One cannot see across the river for the fog, papa,” said the girl, with a disconsolate tone, as she seated herself. “The fences are dripping with moisture, and the dam roars just as it always does when there is a rainstorm coming up. How very provoking!”

“Well, and has my little girl forgotten that it was the day before yesterday that Farmer Boggs was in here from Sugar Grove and said that unless they had more rain before the frosts set in, it would be a hard year for winter wheat? And wasn’t it my little girl who said that she wanted Stone River running full, this fall, in order that she might enjoy her new club skates when the ice came?”

“But, papa, the crops can wait a day or two for the fall rains, I am sure, and I should be willing to give up a whole winter’s skating if the Catalpas would only beat the Jonesville Nine—the horrid fellows! And I am sure they would beat them, if they only played them today, for they are in capital form now.”

“Hush! hush! my daughter,” said Judge Howell, with a little shudder, “that is slang that you are using, and I shall have to curtail your baseball amusement if you are so ready to pick up the jargon of what they call, I believe, ‘The Diamond Field,’ for I do not want my daughter to mingle the slang of the game with her mother’s mode of speech.”

The Judge was somewhat prosy and not at all in love with the noble game which his daughter, in common with all of the girls of Catalpa, and of the whole Stone River country, for that matter, followed with so much enthusiasm.

The baseball club of Catalpa was made up of some of the finest young fellows in the town. Catalpa was situated on both sides of Stone River, in northern Illinois. It was a busy manufacturing and milling community, and from its homes had gone many a stalwart young chap to fight his country’s battles in the southwest. The survivors of the company that went out and came back, decimated as to numbers and not all sound in body, founded the first baseball club of the region. The members of the club called themselves “The Catalpas,” after their town. Most of the players lived on the north side of the river, and were soon dubbed “The North Catalpas” by their rivals who, living on the other side of the stream, and in the main portion of the town, and forming another club, arrogated to themselves the title of “Catalpa’s Champions.”

Gradually, the membership of the two organizations changed. The old soldiers retired in favor of their sons and nephews. The club on the south side of the river was reorganized and an entirely new set of young men came into it. The name of “The Dean County Nine,” was given to the southside club, and, as it was largely composed of young men who worked in the flouring mills and the lumberyards along the river front, it was famous for the brawn and muscle of its players.

The Catalpa Nine, on the other hand, was made up of students in the Seminary, young fellows in the law and county offices of the town, and sons of gentlemen of leisure. There was a chasm as wide as Stone River fixed between the Dean County Nine and the Catalpa Nine, so far as social relations were concerned. The Dean County players called the Catalpas “Aristocrats” and the Catalpas retorted with the epithet of “Stalwarts” applied to their town rivals. When it is added that the finest residences were built on the north side of the river dividing the town, and that the men of more moderate means dwelt on the business side of the stream, the reason for the imaginary line of separation betwixt the two ball clubs will be more apparent.

After repeated and not always friendly matches between the rival clubs, they were drawn together by the appearance of a common enemy. From the little town of Jonesville, situated eighteen miles down the river, came the Jonesvillians, as they called themselves, a powerful and well-trained nine. They had challenged and vanquished the nine of Dry Plains, the Blue Falls Nine, and their own Home Club, commonly known through the Stone River region as “The Jonesville Scrubs.” Flushed with victory, the Jonesvillians had challenged and played two games with the Catalpas, contesting the championship of northern Illinois. It must be admitted that the record of neither of the two Catalpa clubs was one of which the people of the town had any right to be proud. Both clubs, while closely contesting with each other, had been repeatedly beaten by visitors from the surrounding region. Naturally the sympathies of the “Stalwarts” was with the “Aristocrats” when an out-of-town club came to try conclusions. Every true son and daughter of the town of Catalpa was hotly enlisted for the home nine in any contest that might be fought out for the championship. It was aggravating that the Jonesville Nine, most of whom were rough and loud-talking fellows, should conquer the whole country, from the Wisconsin line to Lasalle, and from Chicago to the Mississippi River.

That was the reason why Miss Alice Howell, the only daughter and the spoiled child of the eminent and widowed district Judge, should be downcast and fidgety when she looked out and saw, on this fateful morning, that the weather gave signs of being unfit for the decisive game for the championship. The Jonesville Nine had won the first game. The Catalpas were victors in the second game. Today, if all went well, would give the championship to the Catalpas. The Catalpas had regularly whitewashed the Dean County Nine, in spite of their stalwart strength. But they had failed to hold their own against many another club from other portions of the country roundabout. In the first game for the championship, the Catalpas had beaten the Jonesvillians by a score of 24 to 13—an overwhelming defeat for the downriver club. But the Jonesville men had carried off the second game with a score of 14 to 13, which was a close game, and was lost by the Catalpas, as their friends all said, by the Catalpas being in bad condition. Albert Heaton, the catcher, was afflicted with blistered hands and could do very little effective work behind the bat; and George Buckner, center fielder, had been obliged to leave the field just before game was called, on account of a sudden sickness in his own home; and this necessitated sundry changes that demoralized the Nine, and disarranged their plans.

“And after all,” said Alice, exultingly, as she recounted these facts to her father, on the morning of the fateful day, “after all, the Jonesvillians only beat by one run. Today, the Catalpas are in splendid form—condition, I mean, and if it only would clear off, I am sure they will send the Jonesville fellows down the river with what Ben Burton calls ‘a basket of goose eggs,’—I beg pardon, papa, for this bit of slang; but you will observe that it is a quotation.”

“Yes, from a favorite author,” said the Judge, rising from the breakfast table, with a shrewd smile.

Alice flushed, a little angrily, perhaps, for she did not like Burton, although he was her cousin and was said to be a suitor for her favor.

II

A Scrub Game

Notwithstanding the gloom of the morning, the day came off bright and fine, and by the time the train was due from the West, bringing the Jonesville boys, the weather was perfect. A serene October sky bent over Catalpa, and the bright river flowed rippling toward the Mississippi, its banks red and yellow with autumnal foliage. Crossing the bridge from North Catalpa and from the farming settlements to the north were strings of buggies, lumber-wagons and other vehicles; and not a few sightseers jogged along on horseback, all with their faces set toward the Agricultural Fair Grounds, just above the town and lying to the southward. Catalpa is built on a slope that descends from the rolling prairie to the bank of Stone River. Once out of the town, one reaches a lovely stretch of undulating ground skirted by a dead level plain, admirably adapted for a baseball field. The original use of the Fair Grounds had almost been forgotten when the ball clubs of Catalpa began to practice within the enclosure. The Northern District fair had gone farther North, and the grounds were left to chance comers—a travelling circus, or an occasional amateur racing match.

Today, the blue and white flag of the Catalpas floated proudly from what had once been the Judges’ stand, while the pale green colors of the Jonesvillians hung lazily from a staff driven into the ground to the westward of the track. For more than an hour before the time set for the calling of the game, a steady stream of people poured into the enclosure. The battered and rickety seats had been patched up to bear the weight of those who were willing to pay the small fee exacted for the privilege; but the mass of the spectators were grouped together in the open spaces to the westward and southward of these, and farther around the ring was a thin line of vehicles of various descriptions. Men and women on horseback, young girls crowded into wagon-boxes, and boys ramping around on scrubby mustangs, filled up the background.

It was a pretty sight. And while the crowd waited for the hour to arrive, much scientific baseball gossip drifted about the enclosure. Village lads who had worked hard or had teased with uncommon assiduity to secure the “two bits” needed to gain admission to the grounds, chaffed each other vociferously and exchanged learned comments on the playing and the qualities of the combatants.

“Oh you should have seen John Brubaker play right field that day when the Catalpas sent the Jonesvillers home with a big headache,” said one of these small critics, as he viewed with admiration Brubaker’s stalwart form reclining at ease in the shade of the judges’ stand. “Why he just everlastingly got away with the ball every time one of the Jonesvillers gave him one. Then there was Lew Morris, there’s no player in the Jonesvillers, ’cept it is Larry Boyne, that can catch a ball like Lew, and why the Catalpas keep him in the left field, I don’t know.”

“Oh you talk too much with your mouth, you, Bill, you,” cried a bigger baseball connoisseur. “What do you know about the game? Why, I saw the Jonesvillians, three years ago, when they first played the old Catalpas, I mean the soldier boys. That was playing, now I tell you. Hurrah! There comes the Nine!”

Pretty Alice Howell, sitting in her father’s carriage and accompanied by the Judge and her severe-looking aunt, Miss Anstress, clapped her hands at the sight, for the two Nines drew near to each other and the game was called. The dignified Judge smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm, but, as he looked around, he saw that multitudes of other young ladies, as well as ladies no longer young—mothers and aged spinsters, watched the preliminaries of the game with absorbing interest.

The Jonesville Nine were not so well developed, physically, as the Catalpas. They were mostly farmer’s sons, born and bred on the low prairies to the westward of Stone River. It is a region long famous for its prevailing fever-and-ague epidemic. The sallow faces of some of the Jonesville players suggested quinine and “cholagogue,” just then a favorite specific among the ague-smitten population of Northern Illinois. Nor were the members of the visiting Nine as uniform in size and appearance as the Catalpas. The breadth of chest and vigorous outline of the home nine were not repeated in the forms of the Jonesville boys.

The Catalpas were well chosen with an eye to symmetry and uniformity. They were all brawny and athletic young fellows. As they were mostly men of leisure, they had had plenty of time to practice, and they were apparently ready to give good account of themselves. Chiefly on Al Heaton, the stalwart catcher, did the eyes of the multitude rest with favor. He was a tall, shapely young fellow, with a ruddy and oval face, bright brown eyes, a keen glance, and a sinewy length of limb that gave him preeminence in the field.

The batting game of the Catalpas was better than that of the Jonesvillians, as all previous encounters had shown. But the fielding of the Jonesville boys was far better than that of any other nine with whom they had measured their strength and skill. And Larry Boyne, a fresh-faced and laughing young man from Sugar Grove, but a member of the Jonesville Nine, was the champion catcher of the whole region. So long as the Jonesville Nine held on to Larry, they felt sure of victory. Larry Boyne was a trifle shorter than the average of his comrades. His round and well-poised head was covered with a shock of curly flaxen hair, and his sturdy legs, muscular arms and ample chest gave token of a large stock of reserved power. “That’s the best looking Jonesvillian of them all” was the secret thought of many an observant girl and the open criticism of many a loud-talking spectator.

This is the manner of placing the two Clubs:—

The Catalpas won the toss and went to the field, with due consideration for the improvement of their chances in the final innings, and the game began with a comfortable feeling pervading the champions of the home nine. The winning of the toss was a good omen, everybody thought.

A buzz of half-suppressed excitement swept over the field as Studley, of the Jonesville Nine, went first to the bat. He sent a low ball to second base which Hart Stirling failed to hold, and Studley got to first base. Larry Boyne followed and sent up a sky-high ball, and Studley, having stolen to second and third base, got safely home, while Larry reached second base. Morrison sent a good right fielder, on which he got halfway around, while Larry, with a rush, made the home run, adding one more to the score of the Jonesvilles. Alice bit her lip with vexation, but some of the more magnanimous of the townspeople commented, under their breath, “Good for the red-cheeked Irishman!”

Great things were expected of Ellis, the champion pitcher of the Jonesvillians, who went next to the bat, and who was reckoned as nearly as good with the bat as with the ball; but he made a poor strike, and, with a long-drawn “Oh‑h‑h!” from the sympathetic friends of the home club, the ball dropped near the home base and the young champion of Jonesville went out on his first. Next, Morrison, in his haste to get to third base, was put out by Will Sprague, and the fortunes of the visitors visibly waned. Wheeler, who went next to the bat, provoked a murmur of approbation from the spectators, who were now warming up to the game, and who admired the handsome proportions and springy movements of the center fielder of the Jonesvillers. He sent a resounding ball safely to the right field, got to first base, but, overrunning the second base, was neatly put out by Hart Stirling, the second baseman of the Catalpas. Thus closed the innings—two runs for the visiting Nine.

“Not much to brag of,” remarked Bill Van Orman, the big pitcher of the Dean County Nine. “Not much to brag of, and I don’t think that the Jonesvillians are feeling first rate over this. Let them wait until Al Heaton and Charlie King get after them. Then they’ll sing small, I allow.”

“Hush up, you, there goes Lew Morris to the bat for the Catalpas. He’ll show them something. Look at that chist of his! Golly! don’t I remember him, though!” remarked Hank Mitchell.

Lew Morris, tall, handsome and sinewy, deserved the praises lavished upon him, as he stood, modestly but confidently, to open the innings for the Catalpas. But, to the great disappointment of his admirers, he failed to make a hit and was sent to first base on three called balls. Charlie King justified the expectations of his friends by striking a tremendous ball to right field, on which Lew Morris tallied one, but in trying to get to second base, was put out by Studley in excellent style. Hart Stirling followed, making the first quarter, and Will Sprague went to second base on a strong hit to right field, which brought Stirling home. John Brubaker next went to the bat, with an air of serene confidence, but he failed to satisfy the expectations of the onlookers, and went out on a foul tip.

“Your champions do not seem to be in good condition, today, Alice,” said the Judge, demurely. “I am just beginning to become interested in the game, and I must say that I shouldn’t like to see the Catalpas beaten.”

“Thank you, papa,” said Alice, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I thought you would get waked up if you once saw the play and realized how much depends on the game today.”

“It’s the championship of the Northern District, is it not, my child?”

“Yes, and if the Catalpas don’t win now, I am afraid—well, I don’t know what I am afraid of. But they will be dreadfully discouraged.”

“So shall I be,” said the Judge, gravely turning his eyes to the stand, where Hiram Porter, the first baseman of the home nine, and an honor man in his class at Ann Arbor, had taken up the bat. Hiram retrieved the failing fortunes of the Catalpas by a powerful ball to center field on which he reached the first base. George Buckner, who followed, sent a high ball which was beautifully caught by Studley, on second base, amidst murmurs of applause, as if the townsmen and townswomen of the Catalpas were half-ashamed to give full expression to their extorted admiration of the visitors’ good play.

“That was well done, anyway,” remarked Hank Mitchell, “and that winds up the first inning with three outs and three runs to two for the Jonesvillians. Come, you must wake up, Catalpas, or we shall get licked again.”

“Wait until the Catalpas come in on the last innings, and then you’ll see some fun. They are laying low for black ducks, and don’t you forget that. We’ve tried them too many times, Hank, and you know it.” This was Van Orman’s shrewd comment, as the second inning began with Martin, the Jonesville left fielder, at the bat. He should not have made the first base “by rights” as the observant Hank remarked, under his breath, but Charlie King and Hiram Porter fumbled the ball, and he got safely to first. Simpson struck the ball straight into the pitcher’s hands and went out ignominiously. Then Berthelet went out on three strikes, and the spirits of the sympathetic spectators rose perceptibly. Two out and no runs for the visitors.

“Things are looking dark for your friends from Jonesville,” said the Judge. “And, by the way, isn’t there danger of their getting what you call ‘a goose-egg’ in this game, Alice?”

“O yes, papa,” she answered, “I shouldn’t wonder the least bit if they should be whitewashed in this inning, but there are so many chances against it that I wouldn’t like to boast too much beforehand. Those Jonesville boys are awful sly!”

“That’s Sam Alexander at the bat now, trying in vain to strike the ball.” And, as Alice spoke, Alexander walked to first base on called balls, and Martin cleverly made his home run, scoring one for the Jonesvillians. “So they will not be whitewashed, at all events,” said Alice, with a little sigh.

Studley now made his second base by a ground ball to third base which Will Sprague failed to stop, and by which also Alexander came home. Larry Boyne, smiling, but keenly alive to the critical condition of affairs, now went to the bat, made a magnificent ball to center field and went to first base whither he was quickly followed by Morrison, and Studley scored another run for the Jonesville Nine. Next, amidst great excitement, for the play was now waxing hot, Ellis struck a splendid right fielder, by which Larry and Morrison easily reached the home plate and Studley got to second base. The spectators trembled with excitement as Wheeler made a capital safe hit to center field, Studley got in, Wheeler reached the second base, stole to third, and, by the wild throwing of the Catalpas, got home on a passed ball.

Next, Martin got to first base on a slow ball to right field, and then home on passed balls. He was followed by Simpson, after two strikes, on which he got to first base and came dangerously near being put out by Hart Stirling, who made a fine one-handed catch amidst the ringing applause of the spectators, Alice Howell’s small handmaid exciting much mirth by her shrill exclamation of “isn’t he grand!” when Hart, with a tremendous leap, secured the ball as it was flying far above his head.

Berthelet then went out on a foul tip leaving Simpson on the base and closing the innings for the Jonesvillians. Al Heaton having gone to the bat for the Catalpas, made his first base on called balls, and when Ben Burton, who succeeded him at the bat, made a good hit, he reached third base. Burton then got to second base, and Al Heaton reached the home plate, while Larry Boyne was attempting to throw Burton out at second base. Lew Morris next got to first base through the muffing of Studley, but was forced out by Charlie King, who sharply followed him to the first. Will Sprague sent the ball well up into the sky, but Berthelet, the agile and keen-eyed young Frenchman in the right field, caught it handsomely, and Will retired in good order. John Brubaker went to first base, and then Ellis, the Jonesville pitcher, made a muff with his ball, giving the Catalpas one tally. Hiram Porter followed with a safe hit, but George Buckner went out on a foul ball and the inning closed with a score of ten for the Jonesville boys and eight for the Catalpas.

The Jonesvilles opened the third inning by sending Alexander to the bat. He was sent to first base on called balls, and was followed by Studley, who sent a ball to Ben Burton at shortstop, but which Ben muffed, and Studley got safely to first base. Larry Boyne followed with a winged ball which he sent flying to the right field and which enabled him to reach second base and brought Alexander and Studley home. Morrison sent an air ball to left field, by which he reached first base, and Larry came home. Then Ellis hit a ground ball to Ben Burton at shortstop, which Ben muffed again, allowing Larry to come home and Ellis to get to first base. Wheeler made first base on a ground ball to left field, and Martin sent a slow ball to center field which reached the first base before him. During the passage of the ball, however, Morrison came home, and Ellis subsequently tallied on a passed ball. Simpson went to the bat and was struck out, and Berthelet, who followed, was neatly caught out on a foul fly by Ben Burton, who thus partially retrieved his reputation and the inning was closed for the Jonesvilles.

The showing for the Catalpas was now pretty dark, and it did not improve during their next inning. Al Heaton, who led for the home nine, was put out in attempting to steal from first to second base, and Ben Burton, who followed him, met with a similar disaster. Lew Morris went to first base on a ball to shortstop which Alexander overthrew to first base. Next, Charlie King hit an air ball which was caught by Alexander at shortstop, leaving three out with Morris dead on the second base. The score then stood, Jonesvilles, 15; Catalpas, 8.

“A whitewash!” cried Hank Mitchell, uncertain whether he ought to exult as an old adversary of the home club, or be downcast as a citizen of the town of Catalpa. But, his patriotism rallying in time, he cried to Andrew Jackson Simis, a Jonesville spectator, “I s’pose you think your boys are going to get away with us, this time? Just you wait till the last innings, and then you will see them come up with a rush.”

“They’d better begin to rush pretty quick, then,” was the sneering answer. “I guess your goose is cooked.” There was a stir among the Dean County Nine, who, with their friends, sat together at the end of the range of seats, when this unfriendly remark was flung out. There were threatening glances and clenched fists in the group of Catalpa boys.

“Here! here! no squabbling!” cried Deputy Sheriff Wheeler, hurrying up, as his vigilant eye fell on the angry-looking knot of lads. “These men are visitors; can’t you behave yourselves?”

But the Catalpas were in nowise cast down. Lew Morris, their captain, went among the boys and impressed on them something of his own cheerful courage and roused them to the importance of making a tremendous effort in the next inning. Perhaps the Jonesvillians were unduly elated. Their first man at the bat, Alexander, was put out by sending the ball almost directly into the hands of Hiram Porter at first base. Then Studley sent a good ball to center field, on which he went to first base, and went to second while Larry Boyne was batting. Larry tipped a foul fly which Al Heaton caught, and Morrison, who succeeded him, was caught out in a precisely similar manner, and the inning closed with Studley left on the second base and a whitewash for the visitors.

There was great uproar in the crowd around the field, as soon as the Catalpas went in their turn to the bat. The townsfolk forgot all decorum in their delight over the semblance of victory thus snatched from defeat. They cheered the Catalpas as they came in from the field, and by their noise, at least, showed that no impartial judgment could be expected from the majority of the spectators. Judge Howell critically looked over the crowd and remarked to Alice that he thought it was bad mannered in the townspeople to exult over the defeat or reverses of their visitors.

“But it is because they know that the Catalpas are going to be beaten, after all,” said Alice, with a tone of great despondency.

“Going to be beaten?” asked the Judge, with surprise. “Why, haven’t they just given the Jonesvilles a whitewash, as I think you call it, and the score is 15 to 8, with your favorites going to the bat?”

“Yes, papa, that is so; but you see that the Jonesvillians play a much better fielding game than the Catalpas, and I am sure that our club will never be able to regain what they have lost.”

Miss Alice soon began to think that she had lost hope too soon, for the Catalpas scored three runs in their inning, Hart Stirling having made a home run on a tremendous ball sent to left field where it was muffed shamefully, first by Martin and then by Simpson. Will Sprague and John Brubaker followed him successfully, and Hiram Porter, who had made his first base, was put out by Morrison. The same fate overtook George Buckner and Al Heaton, who were put out by the active and vigilant first baseman of the Jonesvilles. Nevertheless, the inning closed with a decided gain for the home nine, the score being 15 for the Jonesvilles, 11 for the Catalpas.

There was intense but suppressed excitement all around the field, as the visitors sent Ellis to the bat, and he was at once caught out by Hart Stirling on a fly sent to second base. Wheeler made first base, and Martin, who followed him, was put out on first base, while Wheeler came home on a ball balked by Charlie King. Simpson was put out on first base, and the Catalpas took their inning, sending Ben Burton to the bat. He was caught out by Studley; then Lew Morris was put out at first base by a ball sent by Alexander to Morrison; next Charlie King went out on called balls, and, amidst cries of “another whitewash!” the inning closed with a score of 16 to 11, in favor of the visitors.

In the sixth inning, the Jonesvilles added eight to their score, and the Catalpas gained seven, thus making the home nine a little more hopeful, although the relative distance of the two nines was not changed. The feature of this inning was a grand hit to the center field made by Larry Boyne, on which he made first base and brought home Alexander and Studley, who were on the second and third bases, respectively. The score stood thus: Jonesvilles, 24, Catalpas, 18. And there was no exultation in the ranks of the townsfolk.

Larry Boyne went to the bat in the next inning, for the visiting Nine. He sent a magnificent air ball so high that it seemed lost in the misty blue of the October sky. But it descended straight into the hands of John Brubaker in the right field, and a chorus of “ah‑h‑h’s” went up from the assembled multitude. Morrison was caught out on a foul fly; Ellis shared his fate, and Wheeler was put out on first base. Great was the exultation among the citizens of Catalpa. The Jonesvillers had been again whitewashed. The short October day was wearing on apace, but the chances of the Catalpas were improving as the light went down in the west.

The home nine added three to their score in the inning, home runs being made by John Brubaker, Hiram Porter, and George Buckner. Al Heaton and Ben Burton were both put out by foul flies. Charlie King was put out on first base, leaving Lew Morris on third base. But as the score stood 24 for the Jonesvilles and 21 for the home nine, the spirits of the majority of the spectators, whose sympathies were all one way, began to rise. Perhaps the Jonesvillers would be sent home without the championship.

But these hopes were dashed by the next inning, which was the eighth, the Jonesvilles having gained one run, while the Catalpas were ignominiously “whitewashed.” The visitors showed their good qualities in the field by a fine double play in their inning. Hart Stirling being on the first base, Will Sprague hit short to Ellis, who sent the ball to Studley at second base, cutting off Stirling; and John Brubaker, in attempting to steal from first to second base, was run out by Studley and Morrison.

Nobody stirred from the field, although the day was dying slowly and the simple habits of the Catalpa women called them home to their household duties. The decisive inning was near at hand, and as Alice stood up in her father’s carriage, in order to get a better view of the game, the hitherto orderly crowd closed in around the players. Spectators and players drew a long breath as Larry Boyne went to the bat for the Jonesvilles. He wielded the bat with great skill and dexterity; but Charlie King’s pitching was wonderfully clever, and Larry went out on a foul tip to Al Heaton, catcher. Morrison made third base on a safe hit; Ellis made first base and Morrison came home on a ball muffed by Charlie King, and then Martin, on a center field ball hit, brought Ellis and Wheeler home. Simpson now made first base on a hit to the right field, and an overthrow brought Martin home and gave second base to Simpson. Berthelet was caught out on a foul fly by Al Heaton, and Simpson, in attempting to steal home, was run out by Al Heaton and Will Sprague.

“Three out on the last inning!” roared two or three of the Dean County Nine, great hulking fellows, who stood near the carriage of the Judge. Alice looked at them reproachfully, although her cheeks were ruddy with half-suppressed excitement.

“It’s real mean of them, isn’t it, papa?” she said. “They will not seem to consider that we should be very angry if we were treated thus in Jonesville.”

Now went Hiram Porter, big and handsome Hiram, to the bat for the Catalpas. Hiram looked as tall as a giant in the gathering twilight, and he stood up in manly fashion. But Hiram was put out on first base by a ball sent by Studley to Morrison, and George Buckner, who followed him, had great ado to save himself. But he made first base, and Al Heaton next sent a singing ball to center field, on which he went to second base and Buckner to third. Ben Burton then undertook to bat Buckner home, but he was, himself, put out on first base. Lew Morris then took the bat, sent a high ball to center field and secured the first base. Charlie King followed to the first, and amidst despondent cries of “Three out!” the game and the inning ended with a score of 29 for the Jonesville Nine and 23 for the Catalpas.

Deputy Sheriff Wheeler, forgetting for the time his official dignity, stood up in what was once the judges’ stand and shouted, “Three cheers for the champions of Northern Illinois! Now, then! Hip! Hip! Hip!”

The cheers were given with a pretty good will, considering how great was the disappointment of the townspeople. The captain of the Catalpas set a laudable and manly example to his comrades by going straight to Larry Boyne, the captain of the Jonesville Nine, and, grasping him warmly by the hand, congratulating him on the victory so honorably and handsomely won.

“Of course you can’t expect that a fellow can say that he is glad to have lost the day; but you have worked hard for the pennant, and it belongs to you without any grumbling.”

Larry, with his ruddy face still ruddier than before, responded in frank fashion and then the crowd began to melt away, for the darkness was coming on. Passing by the Judge’s carriage, yet entangled in the throng of vehicles, Larry glanced up at the pretty girl whom he had noticed with distant admiration. The Judge intercepted his glance, and leaning over with what was meant to be a gracious smile, said, “This is Larry Boyne, the famous catcher of the downriver nine? Well, I congratulate you, young man, on your well-won victory and on your own beautiful playing.”

Larry very much taken aback by this unexpected condescension from the great man of Catalpa, touched his cap, blushed and stammered and gladly rejoined his comrades.

“Fine young man, that,” said the Judge, sententiously, as his carriage slowly drew out of the crowd and moved toward the gate.

“If a few such players as he were in the place of some of the muffs in the Catalpa Nine,” said Alice, “I think that the championship of the whole State would belong in this town.”

“Why I do believe my little daughter is crying!” cried the Judge.

“I am not crying,” said Alice stoutly. “But I confess that I am mad enough to cry. Are we always going to be beaten by every scrubby nine that comes here, I’d like to know?”

Dr. Selby, the staid and dignified village town apothecary, who was walking by the carriage, heard the indignant outburst, and looking up, said with a smile, “We’ve got the timber here for a first-class nine, Miss Alice, but the thing is to get the timber together.”

Judge Howell, with his grandest manner, said, “If there is any movement to retrieve the honor of Catalpa in the baseball field, please count on my assistance and support.”