Baseball Joe on the School Nine; or, Pitching for the Blue Banner Read online

  Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

  THE NEXT MOMENT THE HORSEHIDE WENT SPEEDING TOWARD THEPLATE.]

  Baseball Joe on the School Nine

  OR

  Pitching _for the_ Blue Banner

  _By_ LESTER CHADWICK

  AUTHOR OF "BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS," "THE RIVAL PITCHERS," "A QUARTER-BACK'S PLUCK," "BATTING TO WIN," ETC.

  _ILLUSTRATED_

 

  NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

  BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK

  THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES =12mo. Illustrated=

  BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS Or The Rivals of Riverside

  BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE Or Pitching for the Blue Banner

  (_Other Volumes in Preparation_)

  THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES =12mo. Illustrated=

  THE RIVAL PITCHERS A Story of College Baseball

  A QUARTER-BACK'S PLUCK A Story of College Football

  BATTING TO WIN A Story of College Baseball

  THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN A Story of College Football

  (_Other Volumes in Preparation_)

  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York

  Copyright, 1912, by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

  =Baseball Joe on the School Nine=

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I HITTING A TEACHER 1 II PLANNING A BATTLE 12 III AN ANGRY BULLY 23 IV JOE LEARNS SOMETHING 31 V THE TABLES TURNED 40 VI THE BULLY SNEERS 52 VII A CLASH WITH LUKE 58 VIII "WHO WILL PITCH?" 68 IX TOM'S PLAN FAILS 74 X THE BANNER PARADE 82 XI JOE HOPES AND FEARS 92 XII ON THE SCRUB 98 XIII JOE'S GREAT WORK 106 XIV THE GAME AT MORNINGSIDE 115 XV A STRANGE DISCOVERY 124 XVI A HOT MEETING 130 XVII THE INITIATION 136 XVIII "FIRE!" 143 XIX A THRILLING RESCUE 150 XX THE WARNING 160 XXI BAD NEWS 167 XXII BITTER DEFEAT 173 XXIII HIRAM IS OUT 183 XXIV TWO OF A KIND 190 XXV BY A CLOSE MARGIN 198 XXVI THE OVERTURNED STATUE 211 XXVII ON PROBATION 218 XXVIII LUKE'S CONFESSION 224 XXIX A GLORIOUS VICTORY 233 XXX GOOD NEWS--CONCLUSION 240

  BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE

  CHAPTER I

  HITTING A TEACHER

  "Look out now, fellows; here goes for a high one!"

  "Aw come off; you can't throw high without dislocating your arm,Peaches. Don't try it."

  "You get off the earth; I can so, Teeter. Watch me."

  "Let Joe Matson have a try. He can throw higher than you can, Peaches,"and the lad who had last spoken grasped the arm of a tall boy, with avery fair complexion which had gained him the nickname of "Peaches andCream," though it was usually shortened to "Peaches." There was a crowdof lads on the school grounds, throwing snowballs, when the offer of"Peaches" or Dick Lantfeld was made.

  "Don't let him throw, Teeter," begged George Bland, jokingly.

  "I'll not," retorted "Teeter" Nelson, whose first name was Harry, butwho had gained his appellation because of a habit he had of "teetering"on his tiptoes when reciting in class. "I've got Peaches all right,"and there was a struggle between the two lads, one trying to throw asnowball, and the other trying to prevent him.

  "Come on, Joe," called Teeter, to a tall, good-looking, and rather quietyouth who stood beside a companion. "Let's see you throw. You're alwaysgood at it, and I'll keep Peaches out of the way."

  "Shall we try, Tom?" asked Joe Matson of his chum.

  "Might as well. Come on!"

  "Yes, let 'Sister' Davis have a whack at it too," urged George Bland.Tom Davis, who was Joe Matson's particular chum, was designated "Sister"because, in an incautious moment, when first coming to Excelsior Hall,he had shown a picture of his very pretty sister, Mabel.

  Tom and Joe, who had come upon the group of other pupils after theimpromptu snowball throwing contest had started, advanced further towardtheir school companions. Peaches and Teeter were still engaged in theirfriendly struggle, until Peaches tripped over a stone, concealed undera blanket of snow, and both went down in a struggling heap.

  "Make it a touchdown!" yelled George Bland.

  "Yes, shove him over the line, Peaches!" cried Tom.

  "Hold him! Hold him!" implored Joe, and the little group of lads, whichwas increased by the addition of several other pupils, circled about thestruggling ones, laughing at their plight.

  "D-d-down!" finally panted Peaches, when Teeter held his face in thesoft snow. "Let me up, will you?"

  "Promise not to try to throw a high one?" asked Teeter, still maintaininghis position astride of Peaches.

  "Yes--I--I guess so."

  "That doesn't go with me; you've got to be sure."

  "All right, let a fellow up, will you? There's a lot of snow down myneck."

  "That's what happened to me the last time you fired a high snowball,Peaches. That's why I didn't want you to try another while I'm around.You wait until I'm off the campus if you've got to indulge in highjinks. Come on now, fellows, since Peaches has promised to behavehimself, let the merry dance go on. Have you tried a shot, Joe? Or you,Sister," and Teeter looked at the newcomers.

  "Not yet," answered Joe Matson with a smile. "Haven't had a chance."

  "That's right," put in Tom Davis. "You started a rough-house withPeaches as soon as we got here. What's on, anyhow?"

  "Oh, we're just seeing how straight we can aim with snowballs," explainedTeeter. "See if you can hit that barrel head down there," and he pointedto the object in question, about forty yards away on the school campus.

  "See if you can hit the barrel, Joe," urged George Bland. "A lot of ushave missed it, including Peaches, who seems to think his particularstunt is high throwing."

  "And so it is!" interrupted the lad with the clear complexion. "I canbeat any one here at----"

  "Save that talk until the baseball season opens!" retorted Teeter. "Goahead, Joe and Tom. And you other fellows can try if you like," headded, for several more pupils had joined the group.

  It might seem easy to hit the head of a barrel at that distance, buteither the lads were not expert enough or else the snowballs, being ofirregular shapes and rather light, did not carry well. Whatever thecause, the fact remained that the barrel received only a few scatteringshots and these on the outer edges of the head.

  "Now we'll see what Sister Davis can do!" exclaimed Nat Pierson, asJoe's chum stepped up to the firing line.

  "Oh, I'm not so much," answered Tom with a half smile. "Joe will beat meall to pieces."

  "Joe Matson sure can throw," commented Teeter, in a low voice to GeorgeBland. "I remember what straight aim he had the last time we built afort, and had a snow fight."

  "I should say yes," agreed George. "And talk about speed!" he added."Wow! One ball he threw soaked me in the ear. I can feel it yet!" and herubbed the side of his head reflectively.

  The first ball that Tom threw just clipped the upper rim of the barrelhead, and there were some exclamations of admiration. The second one wasa clean miss, but not by a large margin. The third
missile split intofragments on the rim of the head.

  "Good!" cried Peaches. "That's the way to do it!"

  "Wait until you see Joe plug it," retorted Tom with a smile.

  "Oh, I'm not such a wonder," remarked our hero modestly, as he advancedto the line. In his hand he held three very hard and smooth snowballs,which he spent some time in making in anticipation of his turn to throw."I haven't had much practice lately," he went on, "though I used tothrow pretty straight when the baseball season was on."

  Joe carefully measured with his eye the distance to the barrel. Then heswung his arm around a few times to "limber up."

  "That fellow used to pitch on some nine, I'll wager," said Teeter in awhisper to Peaches.

  "Yes, I heard something about him being a star on some small countryteam," was the retort. "But let's watch him."

  Joe threw. The ball left his hand with tremendous speed and, an instantlater, had struck the head of the barrel with a resounding "ping!"

  "In the centre! In the centre!" yelled Peaches with enthusiasm as hecapered about.

  "A mighty good shot!" complimented Teeter, doing his particular toestunt.

  "Not exactly in the centre," admitted Joe. "Here goes for another."

  Once more he threw, and again the snowball hit the barrel head, closeto the first, but not quite so near the middle.

  "You can do better than that, Joe," spoke Tom in a low voice.

  "I'm going to try," was all the thrower said.

  Again his arm was swung around with the peculiar motion used by manygood baseball pitchers. Again the snowball shot forward, whizzingthrough the air. Again came that resounding thud on the hollow barrel,this time louder than before.

  "Right on the nose!"

  "A clean middle shot!"

  "A good plunk!"

  These cries greeted Joe's last effort, and, sure enough, when severallads ran to get a closer view of the barrel, they came back to reportthat the ball was exactly in the centre of the head.

  "Say, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Peaches, admiringly.

  "Who's a wonder?" inquired a new voice, and a tall heavily-built lad,with rather a coarse and brutal face, sauntered up to the group. "Who'sbeen doing wonderful stunts, Peaches?"

  "Joe Matson here. He hit the barrel head three times out of three, andthe best any of us could do was once. Besides, Joe poked it in theexact centre once, and nearly twice."

  "That's easy," spoke the newcomer, with a sneer in his voice.

  "Let's see you do it, Shell," invited George Bland.

  "Go on, Hiram, show 'em what you can do," urged Luke Fodick, who was asort of toady to Hiram Shell, the school bully, if ever there was one.

  "Just watch me," requested Hiram, and hastily taking some hard roundsnowballs away from a smaller lad who had made them for his own use, thebully threw.

  I must do him the credit to say that he was a good shot, and all threeof his missiles hit the barrel head. But two of them clipped the outeredge, and only one was completely on, and that nowhere near the centre.

  "Joe Matson's got you beat a mile!" exclaimed Peaches.

  "That's all right," answered Hiram with the easy superior air hegenerally assumed. "If I'd been practicing all day as you fellowshave I could poke the centre every time, too."

  As a matter of fact, those three balls were the first Joe had thrownthat day, but he did not think it wise to say so, for Hiram had meanways about him, and none of the pupils at Excelsior Hall cared to rousehis anger unnecessarily.

  "Well, I guess we've all had our turns," spoke George Bland, afterHiram had thrown a few more balls so carelessly as to miss the barrelentirely.

  "I haven't," piped up Tommy Burton, one of the youngest lads. "Hiramtook my snowballs."

  "Aw, what of it, kid?" sneered the bully. "There's lots more snow. Makeyourself another set and see what you can do."

  But Tommy was bashful, and the attention he had thus drawn upon himselfmade him blush. He was a timid lad and he shrank away now, evidentlyfearing Shell.

  "Never mind," spoke Peaches kindly, "we'll have another contest soon andyou can be in it."

  "Let's see who can throw the farthest," suggested Hiram. His greatstrength gave him a decided advantage in this, as he very well knew.

  The other boys also knew this, but did not like to refuse to enter thelists with him, so the long-distance throwing was started. Hiram didthrow hard and far, but he met his match in Joe Matson, and the bullyevidently did not like it. He sneered at Joe's style and did his bestto beat him, but could not.

  "I ate too much dinner to-day," said Hiram finally, as an excuse, "so Ican't throw well," and though there were covert smiles at this palpableexcuse, no one said anything. Then came other contests, throwing attrees and different objects. Finally Hiram and Luke took themselves off,and everyone else was glad of it.

  "He's only a bluff, Shell is!" murmured Peaches.

  "And mean," added George.

  "Joe, I wonder if you can throw over those trees," spoke Tom, pointingto a fringe of big maples which bordered a walk that ran around theschool campus. "That's something of a throw for height and distance.Want to try?"

  "Sure," assented our hero, "though I don't know as I can do it."

  "Wait, I'm with you," put in Peaches. "We'll throw together."

  They quickly made a couple of hard, smooth balls, and at the word fromTom, Joe and Peaches let go together, for it was to be a sort of contestin swiftness.

  The white missiles sailed through the air side by side, and not farapart. Higher and higher they went, until they both topped the trees,and began to go down on the other side. Joe's was far in advance of thesnowball of Peaches, however, and went higher.

  As the balls descended and went out of sight, there suddenly arose fromthe other side of the trees a series of expostulating yells.

  "Stop it! Stop that, I say! How dare you throw snowballs at me? I shallreport you at once! Who are you? Don't you dare to run!"

  "We--we hit some one," faltered Peaches, his fair complexion blushing abright red.

  "I--I guess we did," admitted Joe.

  There was no doubt of it a moment later, for through the trees camerunning a figure whose tall hat was battered over his head by thesnowballs, some fragments of the missiles still clinging to the tile.

  "You sure did," added Teeter, stifling a laugh. "And of all persons inthe school but Professor Rodd. Oh my! Oh wow! You're in for it now! Hewon't do a thing to you fellows! Look at his hat! Here he comes!"

  Professor Elias Rodd, one of the strictest and certainly the "fussiest"instructor at Excelsior, was hurrying toward the group of boys.