Evening star., 1925-08-09

didn't you? Yah. Well, Wall Street
can't butt into base ball"
| X x X
! A LII this time the portable typewrit-
ers were clicking. On Saturdays
they must have early copy" The
Hard Losers fingered. There was no
screen behind the pest box. They
leaned on the shoulders of the CORE
spondents, reading aloud and COM
menting caustically.
| Send that to the New York Tri-
bune, you four-eyed blankety blank"
one of them shouted. At the same
moment a cushion bounded from the
head of the Tribune man. 1t was fol
| lowed by a scattered volley Of these
missiles. One of the fans playfully
| poured some pop from a bottle over
the typewriter being used by Mr.. VIII
| liam ]. Tanner.
| There was nothing for the CORE
! spondents to do but to pretend that
they were absolutely alone and to
keep on writing. When the available
supply of cushions was exhausted the
crown dwindled slowly.
! "Wait till tomorrow, they shouted
as a parting warning. "Our boys will
knock you fiat. Wen send you buns
| back to New York in freight cars"
The Master Mind was haggard that
night. He went to his room early ana
| had the Ace up with him for half an
| hour. 1t all depended on the weary
soup bone of Arthur Mast. He would
| face Red Harris and it would be a
pitchers duel.
| The local papers had stirred those
| fans to the border of hysteria for that
| final game. They felt that their city
| would slide off into the river II they
| lost. Their homes and their hearths
| and their civic honor-al were at
| stake. Suspense and suffering had
| scanned even the faces of the women
and children. Figuratively, the city
was in the state of a lady who did not
know whether to scream, wall or
| faint or to do all three simultaneously
The scream came first. and ii was
scream of triumph. Mast started
badly. He walked the first one, who
got to second on the conventional
sacrifice. SchmitZ drove one through
\ short and the Scarletinas had run.
With Reb Harris in the box it looked
as large as six. The Master Mind
came out of the dugout during the
tumult. He put one arm around
Nasts neck as he whispered to him.
No need to plead with Mast A share
of the worlds series meant that new
sedan. No share meant that Mrs.
Mast would have much TO say of an
irritating nature all winter.
The Ace steadied down and the
pitchers duel materialized. Up to the
eighth the Mastodons twice had man
as far as third. but that steaming day
was made to order for Reb Harris.
There were two out in the eighth
when Ryder, the Mastodon catcher,
came to bat. OF all of the Mastodons,
he was the most hated, for once he
had been a member of the Scarletinas.
He had been sold to New York This
Hn1l6 hing q M tYpa
Yah, Jumper. Yah, Double Cross
er," they were screaming. Ryder was
the most placid ball. player in any
league. He chewed a wad of tobacco
in manner that suggested a calm
faced COW chewing her cud. He
swung at the second one and drove
it into the left-field bleachers for a
home run. He trotted slowly and
ponderously around the bases, and as
he crossed the plate he lifted his cap
derisively.
TIED in the eighth, it looked as
though the game would last into
the twilight. They did no shouting
in the stands They were hoarse and
they were in an agony of suspense
The team began to show the tension
The Mastodons came up in the ninth
with the head of the batting order.
Hennessey raped one down to
second. 1t took queer bound and
went for a scratch hit as Mr.. Hamil-
ton Cain, plying his trade, dictated to
the telegraph operator. Smith bunted
toward third, and the Scarletinas'
third baseman, in his eagerness to
gather it up, fumbled Smith was
safe on first. Reb Harris became ir-
ritable and wild. Dugan got a base
on balls. The bases were filed.
Look" said the Tribune man
look at Base Ball Betty"
She was perched there above the
pest box, smiling eagerly, a wingless.
well tailored Victory.
we win" said Hamilton Cain Il
see it in her face"
The Scarletinas catcher went down
TO talk to Harris, who had begun TO
stir the dirt on the pitchers mound
irritably with his spike. In the death
like silence the calling of Jimmy
Burkett-Catfish, the hated umpire
behind the plate could be heard all
over the field.
Ball one"
Strike one
Ball two"
Ball three"
Harris was showing signs of wild
ness. He was heaving them wide. but
up In the stands they began to scream
Robber.' Burkett did not even look
around
Strike two"
1t was as though the stand were
packed with dead people as Harris
held that fateful ball a minute
AS he threw 1t there were some
stlfed means. Allen at the plate stood
motienless as the ball whizzed by. 1t
was wide by an inch.
Ball four" said Burkett without
an instant's hesitation. Allen trotted
toward first. Hennessey trotted to-
ward the plate with the run forced in.
Then the wrath of baffied commu-
nifty broke loose. Some of the fans
leaped out of the boxes. The crowd in
the outfield tried to surge forward.
One pop bottle hurtled into the field
close to the umpire. He gave a care
ful look around. His mask was off
and he held it as a defensive weapon
Scarletinas flocked around him. The
MaStodons in their dugout were wait
ing with bats in their hands for the
melee to become general.
Squads of police mobilized around
the plate. The only calm and un-
ruff1ed figure was that of Catfish Bur
kett. The bottles descended in show
er "Robber-thief!' the fans shouted
He's been bought by Wall street. Kill
him.
The Scarletinas went back to their
positions growing. The police lined
up against the wall. Burkett stood
there with his back to the bottle
throwers.
Umpire or no umpire said old
Hamilton Cain hes a game guy.
Give me a bat. Oh, somebody give
me bat
One of the bottles struck Burkett a
glancing blow on the head. He stag
h,1f lo1 ca1f nd
took out his watch. He did not look
around. The police IN the stands be-