Free World Series by John R. Tunis Page A

old timer.” You could always depend on Dave in the clutch.
    Hammy, the Indian slugger, came to the plate. From his position in right the Kid could see the two veterans go to work on him. Fat Stuff wasted his first ball. Then he got a strike, low, then a called strike. He took the signal and wound up. Hammy caught it and slammed it back. The ball traveled like a bullet, catching Fat Stuff just below the belt. He went down as if he’d been shot. But the fighting instinct which was part of the pitcher’s makeup woke him long enough to get the ball across to first. Running in to back up, the Kid saw Fat Stuff collapse, saw the throw nip the runner at first, and as everyone’s eyes were on the stricken pitcher he saw McClusky, running wild, dash for the plate.
    “Home...Red...home...quick...home.”
    The big first baseman heard his voice and shot the ball to Dave Leonard, crouching and ready at the plate in time to nab McClusky. A double-play and the inning was over.
    Meanwhile the Dodgers formed a circle around Fat Stuff. Just as they were getting ready to carry him off, he came to.
    “Wait a sec...if I can only sit still a few minutes, I’ll be all right.”
    So they assisted him to the bench where he sat as long as he could, which wasn’t long because he was the second batter. Dave, the first man up, had drawn a base on balls.
    The stands applauded when the big man with his bat toddled to the plate. Not a bad hitter, and like most pitchers proud of his hitting, he stood balancing his club. In the box Spike Johnson nodded to his catcher and wound up. The ball came close, the batter turned, turned...and caught it full on the ribs. For the second time in ten minutes he fell, groggy, to the ground.
    The Dodger bench jumped to their feet with a roar of rage. This was too much! First the Kid, now Fat Stuff! Swanson rushed at Johnson who was hurrying in. He swung first, missed Swanny, and the Dodger caught him full on the nose. McCormick, the Cleveland catcher, mask off jumped on Swanny. Karl Case ran up and swung on McCormick. The catcher went down on his back, heels in the air.
    In five seconds there was a terrific melee at the plate. Fists and spikes flying, a mix-up of players writhed on the ground while poor old Fat Stuff, entirely neglected, rolled on the grass, trying to catch his breath. When the players were finally separated and order restored, the game continued with patched up teams on both sides. Johnson and McCormick were banished. So were Swanny and Case. With two of their best hitters out, with an injured pitcher in the box and a forty-year-old catcher behind the plate, the Dodgers went after that two run lead.
    Red Allen hit into a doubleplay, chiefly because Fat Stuff was a slow runner. Now there were two men out with Dave on third. The Kid came to the plate against Paul Drewes, Cleveland’s relief pitcher. If only he could hit that ball. If only he could hit. He was still in a daze after his scrap with Casey. Shaking his head, he tried to forget it, to concentrate on the pitcher. The ball came and he swung. But by the sound he knew it was no good. Just a Baltimore chop that struck in front of the plate. Another easy out at first.
    Don’t carry it with you into the field. Forget it. Forget Casey. And the batting slump. And the situation. Dave was back, wasn’t he? Now they’d pull out. They’d go ahead.
    Yet inning after inning went by with no runs scored, and the figure 2 on the scoreboard looked as big as a million. Pale, lame, and sore, Fat Stuff in the box hung on by sheer will power, aided by Dave’s knowledge of the hitters.
    In the last of the seventh Bruce Gordon, a dangerous man, came to the plate with two men out. Dave waved the Kid toward the right. Still in a kind of daze, he obeyed slowly and was moving just as Gordon caught the pitch and smacked a tremendous drive his way. The wind caught the ball and carried it foul. Had he been on his toes as he should have been it would have meant an