Harmony | Page 7

the old bird was goin' to be lucky
enough to scrape through.
"For four or five innin's, he got the grandest support that was ever gave
a pitcher; but I'll swear that what he throwed up there didn't have no
more on it than September Morning. Every time Art come to the bench,
he says to Mike, 'Keep it up, old boy. You got more than you ever had.'
"Well, in the seventh, Mike still had 'em shut out, and we was six runs
to the good. Then a couple o' the St. Louis boys hit 'em where they
couldn't nobody reach 'em and they was two on and two out. Then
somebody got a hold o' one and sent it on a line to the left o' second
base. I forgot who it was now; but whoever it was, he was supposed to
be a right field hitter, and Art was layin' over the other way for him. Art
started with the crack o' the bat, and I never seen a man make a better
try for a ball. He had it judged perfect; but Cobb or Speaker or none o'
them couldn't of catched it. Art just managed to touch it by stretchin' to
the limit. It went on to the fence and everybody come in. They didn't
score no more in that innin'.
"Then Art come in from the field and what do you think he tried to
pull?
"'I don't know what was the matter with me on that fly ball,' he says. 'I
ought to caught it in my pants pocket. But I didn't get started till it was
right on top o' me.'
"'You misjudged it, didn't you?' says Ryan.
"'I certainly did,' says Art without crackin'.
"'Well,' says Ryan, 'I wisht you'd misjudge all o' them that way. I never

seen a better play on a ball.'
"So then Art knowed they wasn't no more use trying to alibi the old
boy.
"Mike had a turn at bat and when he come back, Ryan ast him how he
felt.
"'I guess I can get six more o' them out,' he says.
"Well, they didn't score in the eighth, and when the ninth come Ryan
sent I and Lefty out to warm up. We throwed a few w'ile our club was
battin'; but when it come St. Louis' last chanct, we was too much
interested in the ball game to know if we was throwin' or bakin'
biscuits.
"The first guy hits a line drive, and somebody jumps a mile in the air
and stabs it. The next fella fouled out, and they was only one more to
get. And then what do you think come off? Whoever it was hittin' lifted
a fly ball to centre field. Art didn't have to move out of his tracks. I've
saw him catch a hundred just like it behind his back. But you know
what he was thinkin'. He was sayin' to himself, 'If I nail this one, we're
li'ble to keep our tenor singer a w'ile longer.' And he dropped it.
"Then they was five base hits that sounded like the fourth o' July, and
they come so fast that Ryan didn't have time to send for I or Lefty.
Anyway, I guess he thought he might as well leave Mike in there and
take it.
"They wasn't no singin' in the clubhouse after that game. I and Lefty
always let the others start it. Mike, o' course, didn't feel like no jubilee,
and Art was so busy tryin' not to let nobody see him cry that he kept his
head clear down in his socks. Finally he beat it for town all alone, and
we didn't see nothin' of him till after supper. Then he got us together
and we all went up to Mike's room.
"'I want to try this here " Old Girl o' Mine,"' he says.

"'Better sing our old stuff,' says Mike. 'This looks like the last time.'
"Then Art choked up and it was ten minutes before he could get goin'.
We sung everything we knowed, and it was two o'clock in the mornin'
before Art had enough. Ryan come in after midnight and set a w'ile
listenin', but he didn't chase us to bed. He knowed better'n any of us
that it was a farewell. When I and Art was startin' for our room, Art
turned to Mike and says:
"'Old boy, I'd of gave every nickel I ever owned to of caught that fly
ball.'
"'I know you would,' Mike says, 'and I know what made you drop it.
But don't worry about it, 'cause it was just a question o' time, and if I'd
of got away with that game, they'd of murdered some o' the infielders
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