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[Illustration: SAFE AT HOME]




  THOSE SMITH BOYS
  ON THE DIAMOND

  OR

  NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY

  BY

  HOWARD R. GARIS

  _Author of
  Uncle Wiggily and Alice in Wonderland, Uncle Wiggily
  Longears, Uncle Wiggily and Mother Goose,
  Uncle Wiggily’s Arabian Nights_

  [Illustration]

  MADE IN U. S. A.

  M·A·DONOHUE·&·COMPANY
  CHICAGO      NEW YORK




  Made in U. S. A.


  COPYRIGHT, 1912 BY
  R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
  _Those Smith Boys on the Diamond_




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                               PAGE

        I  A CLOSE GAME                    9

       II  A FIRE DEPARTMENT RUN          19

      III  A LEAKY BOAT                   30

       IV  A GREAT HOME RUN               39

        V  OFF FOR WESTFIELD              50

       VI  A LIVELY HAZING                58

      VII  MOVING THE SENIOR STONE        69

     VIII  ORGANIZING THE NINE            77

       IX  BILL IS HIT                    84

        X  THE DOCTOR’S VERDICT           91

       XI  MEETING AN OLD FRIEND          96

      XII  PROFESSOR CLATTER’S PLAN      105

     XIII  BILL IS HIMSELF AGAIN         113

      XIV  THE TRY-OUT                   125

       XV  THE CONSPIRATORS              131

      XVI  CAUGHT                        136

     XVII  BILL’S PITCHING               141

    XVIII  A PLOT AGAINST BILL           154

      XIX  THE PROFESSOR’S WARNING       160

       XX  THE PLOTTERS CAUGHT           171

      XXI  AN INTERRUPTED SUPPER         181

     XXII  HITTING A BULLY               190

    XXIII  THE FIGHT                     197

     XXIV  THE KIDNAPPED PITCHER         203

      XXV  TO THE RESCUE                 211

     XXVI  JUST IN TIME                  219

    XXVII  A SCRIMMAGE                   230

   XXVIII  THE GLASSES ARE GONE          235

     XXIX  MERSFELD IN THE BOX           239

      XXX  BILL’S FALL                   245

     XXXI  “PLAY BALL!”                  250

    XXXII  NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY      257

   XXXIII  WINNING THE PENNANT           263




  THOSE SMITH BOYS ON THE
  DIAMOND

  OR

  NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY




THOSE SMITH BOYS ON THE DIAMOND




CHAPTER I

A CLOSE GAME


“Come on now, Bateye, soak it in!”

“Say, are you going to hold that ball all day?”

“What’s the matter with you; didn’t you ever see a horsehide before?”

“Oh, for the love of Mike! Throw it! Throw it! Do you want to give ’em
a run?”

“That’s the way! Wake up, Bateye!”

These were only a few of the expressions and questions hurled by the
other players at Bateye Jones, the Freeport rightfielder, who, after
running back to recover a ball that had passed high over his head, was
holding the sphere for a moment until he had made sure of the position
of the runner, Jake Jensen, of the Vandalia team.

“Throw it! Throw it! You can take a picture of it after the game!”
howled Captain John Smith of the Freeport nine, as he danced about
behind home plate, and saw Tom Evans come in from third, and noticed
Jensen legging it around from second.

Bateye threw, and, mingling with the cries of the players and the yells
of the crowd, there were groans of anguish as the ball passed high over
the second baseman’s head, who jumped for it in vain.

Bill Smith, the wiry little pitcher, made a successful grab for the
horsehide as it bounced on the ground, captured it, and hurled it to
third, just in time to catch Jensen there.

“Out!” yelled the umpire.

“Aw, say, I beat it a mile!” protested the panting runner. “What’s the
matter with you, Foster?”

“Out,” said the umpire again, waving his hand to indicate that Jensen
was to leave the bag.

“Say, I’ll leave it to anybody if I—”

“Come on in,” invited Rube Mantell, captain of the Vandalias in a weary
tone, and Jake shuffled to the bench.

“Mighty lucky stop, Bill,” called Pete, or “Sawed-off” Smith, to his
brother the pitcher. The small-statured lad again took his position at
short stop which he had left for a moment. “I wonder what’s the matter
with Bateye to-day? That’s the second error he’s made.”

“Oh, I guess he got a bit rattled with so many howling at him,” spoke
Bill good-naturedly. “Come on now, Pete. There are two down, and we
ought to wallop ’em easy when it comes our turn. Watch me strike Flub
Madison out.”

Bill, who was the best pitcher the Freeport team had secured in
several seasons, again took his place in the box, while his brother
John, or “Cap” from the likeness of his name to that of the old Indian
fighter, resumed his mask, after shooting a few indignant looks in the
direction of the unfortunate Bateye Jones.

“He’s got to improve if he wants to stay on the team,” murmured Cap
Smith as he waited for the next ball. “I s’pose he’ll excuse himself by
saying the sun was in his eyes, or something like that. Or else that
he can’t see well in the daytime. He certainly can see good at night.
Old Bateye—well, here goes for the next one,” and Cap plumped his fist
into the big mitt, and signalled to his pitching brother to send in a
slow out curve to Flub Madison who took his place at the plate.

It was the ending of the eighth inning, and the score was seven to
six, in favor of the Freeport lads. The game was far from won,