Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 116: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1062 “Don’t get the idea that we’ve clinched this game, boys,” he cautioned. ‘‘ We'll have to fight for it until the last man is down. Get more runs; we're almost sure to need them.”’ Kotman, however, soon gave evidence that he belonged in a different class from Harris; apparently he did not work for strike-outs, but his pitching was so baffling that Whip- ple, Collier and Temple popped to the in- field or poled weak rollers into the dia- mond, not one of them coming within ten feet of reaching first. The game had settled into a grim battle, with the Big Leaguers, no longer disdainful and careless, fighting every inch of the way and resorting to every artifice at their com- mand. Hunter, leading off in the third, “got a life’? on an error and sought to shake Whip- ple’s nerve by laughing at him from the sack; but when he tried to steal on the second ball pitched to Creel he was slaughtered by Bennett’s perfect throw and Grozman’s fearless covering of the anchorage. ‘Then Creel fanned and Kotman drove a whistling liner straight into the unflinching hooks of Conroy. ‘Some baseball!’? commented a happy spectator. Kotman continued his hitless career on the slab, mowing down the bushers in one- two-three order. In the fourth, with the head of the list up, the Indians got after Whipple and, with one down and two on, had him wobbling. A double play, executed on a fly to center and a rifle-shot throw to the plate, stopped at least one run and allowed the choking spec- tators to get breath enough to howl. Whipple was perspiring and shaky when he reached the bench. Pennington saw this and, hiding his anxiety, tried to chirk him up. Deep in his heart, the Sahagan manager was apprehensive of what might happen if a break came and the belligerent visitors started scoring. The young pitcher knew how bitterly sore the great crowd would be if, after such a favorable beginning, the Indians were to win, and he could not put that haunting, harassing thought aside. When he came to bat with two out and Conroy on first, Whipple betrayed the con- dition of his nerves by slashing at three wide ones, not one of which could have been touched with a bat several inches over regu- lation length. Adventure Fully as well as Pennington, Dugan seemed to understand that the time for the break had arrived. “Start something now!”’ “‘Here’s where you do it! pitcher’s head off!” Maddern started it with a clean single. Samson rolled out a soggy bunt and, in his anxiety, Whipple fumbled the ball, being saved from a wild throw, perhaps, by Eagan’s yell for him to hold it. Hunter, laughing uproariously, pranced to the bat and banged the ball into the crowd, scoring Maddern. “Get out back of the stand, Coppinger, and warm up!”’ ordered Pennington at once. “Hustle!” The coachers were howling; the crowd was aghast; Whipple was shaking. There was some relief when Creel, eager to follow Hunter’s example, boosted a fly back of second and was out. This relief was tem- porary, however, for Kotman came on with a single to right, scoring Samson and Hunter. . Three tallies had been made and, with Whipple off his feet and the Indians hot on the warpath, everything seemed to promise that the game would be lost and won right there. Pennington had no faith in the ability of Coppinger to check the rout, but he knew Whipple would be in no form to con- tinue in the next inning and some one must pitch. Instead of swinging on the ball, Flaherty bunted and Whipple interfered with the fielding of Temple, who might have got the man at first. “It’s all over,” groaned the ‘same spec- tator who, a short time before, had declared the game “‘some baseball.”’ Buckley’s weakness was forgotten by the confused young twirler, who handed him one high on the inside. The batter smashed the ball on a dead line toward third and Temple forked it sensationally with his bare right hand, swinging in time to wing it to first for a double, Kotman being unable to get back to the sack. he rasped. Pound that Til ACs) “WHERE’S Morgan?” was the Qy,| Question as the Comets reached the bench, heedless of the relieved shouting of the gathering. Pennington was not there. CO MICLOOKS CO