Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

224 were called, hummed a snatch of song which they pronounced to be the ckipmunk’s knuckles—at the same time that Shapley hit into a double play and spoiled our scor- ing chances for that inning. It was in the ninth that the game was definitely lost, when a Pirate runner was on first base with two out, and another Pirate was at bat. Tay- nor, catching, had been humming a song half aloud which caught the umpire’s atten- tion. Taynor turned around, with the ball in his hand, to repeat a line of the song for the umpire’s special benefit, pointing out its superiority over the usual treatment accord- ed it. Bill Joslin shouted his head off try- ing to get Taynor’s attention. By the time he succeeded, the Pirate runner on first had stolen second. He scored a minute later on a hit, and the tally won the game. Bill Joslin was furious. “If I could fine you a thousand dollars, I would,” he told Taynor. ‘ And if I had another catcher that could hold Pudney to- morrow, I’d not only fine you—I’d fire you!” The worst of it was that Bill couldn’t explain to Hobson or the other directors why Taynor had let that base runner steal second. Bill didn’t dare tell him it was due to such an irregularity as a morbid interest in a barber shop chord. ° Yet that interest continued to hold sway among the players. Late into the evening the singers were serenading the stars and the telephone poles outside the hotel, inspired to a protracted program by competition from the Pirates, who had a quartet of their own led by Crawford, the catcher. Craw- ford maintained that his quartet was better than Taynor’s. Taynor retorted with lyri- cal proof under Bill Joslin’s window. Bill threw everything he could find out of the window. “No wonder you quit the farm,” he shouted disgustedly. ‘“ The cows all died of earache.” IV. For eight innings the Blue Sox and the Pirates battled that last afternoon, with first one team ahead and then the other, while the vast crowd, packing the grand ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. stand, bleachers, and roped-off spaces be- yond the outfield, thrilled and perspired and thrilled again. It was a game to break hearts and suspenders. Pudney, our star twirler, pitched the best ball of his career. But so did Hornby, the Pirates’ slab artist, and the last of the ninth arrived with the score tied at six—six. We had one more chance at bat, to bring in a winning run or let the contest go into extra innings, where Pudney could scarcely last. Taynor, who had been catching an excel- lent game, despite certain tendencies to go into lyric concentration while on the bench, came first to the bat for the Blue Sox. He tried hard to drive out a hit, and managed to send a deep grounder between first and second base which he beat-to the initial sack by the fraction of a second. The crowd began to yell. Hornby, the Pirate pitcher, got excited and sent a wild pitch up against the grand stand, giving Taynor the chance to go to second. He advanced to third on Pudney’s grounder. Then Scott came to bat, and the crowd clamored for a hit to bring Taynor home. But Scott struck out, amid the cessation of the clamor. That left Taynor still on third, with two men out and a weak man at bat, and Bill Joslin looking on in the grip of overwhelming agitation. From his position on the bench, where he sat leaning forward tensely, his doubled- up fists beating a nervous rhythm against ‘his thighs, he looked at Taynor leading off from third base and prayed that he would get home with the winning run, and he looked at McNulty at bat and prayed that somehow he would hit the ball to a safe spot that would enable Taynor to accom- plish that homeward journey. The cham- pionship hung in the balance. At his side Bill felt an elbow pressing itself insistently into his consciousness and his ribs. It proved to belong to Mr. Hob- son, who had found the moment so crucial that he had deserted the other directors in the grand stand for this more intimate post at the edge of the battle. “Can McNulty hit Hornby to-day?” de- manded Hobson excitedly. comiclbooolx C©