St Anthony High School - Tattler Yearbook (St Anthony, ID)

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T H E T A T T L E R The DuMont infield closed up, coming ' far in toward home plate to field a bunt which they all thought inevitable. The runner on third was running back and forth to worry the pitcher. The man on second was doing likewise. The coachers were signaling the runners to “play safe,” and shouting at the pitcher to unstring his nerves. James choked” his bat, as though he intended to bunt. The first ball he let go by and the umpire announced it a strike. The second one was passed up, and it also went as a strike. A cry of protest came from the Brenton bench. “You must make connec- tions, James! Hit the apple!” was their appeal, while the tall young pitcher coolly stood as though he had heard no sound. He now had had two strikes. The DuMont players backed up to their nor- mal positions. They knew James would not bunt, because if he did it had to be a “fair ball” or he would he out. They thought this would be too big a chance for him to take, consequently they backed up for a short hit. Anderson studied James for several seconds. He seemed to be undecided what curve he should give him. James released his choke” on the bat and gripped it at the end. Once more he cast a glance to third, as Anderson com- menced his delivery. As the ball came speeding up, shoulder-high, James slid his right hand down the bat, drew it in front of the ball, and laid a perfect bunt down third base line. The runner on third was flying to the plate while James raced for first. The DuMont third baseman scooped the hall and pegged it home. As the cloud of dust settled, and while the sun was casting its last golden rays across the Brenton hall park. Bill James was shaking hands and receiv ing his four thousand dollars that he had won from the DuMont fan. “Where are you from, James?” inquired the man who had lost the bet. I am from Boston, replied James. “I came out here to rest up a little after my season’s work with the Boston Nationals. I received a severe sprain in my right shoulder and came out here to rest it up a while before the World’s Series. I could not put much stufif” on the ball today on account of that sprain. “Are you Big Bill James of the Boston champions? inquired the gamester. “I am,” replied James. “You did not need to use much “stufif for this game. All you had to do was to use The Weight Above Your Eyes,” answered the loser, as lie left the field. — Editor. Page Twenty-Ike

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THE TATTLER place. Instantly the ball was to second base, and on its flight back to the plate, where it stopped a score. A “double” play. This play caused loud applause in the DuMont bleachers, while in the Brenton stands a murmur of disappointment was audible. James again took his position at the plate. After a short interval, Anderson delivered a “fast one,” shoulder high and in close. James stepped back from the plate and swung terrifically at the flying pellet. Once more the quietude of the { atmosphere was broken. James landed the hall deep in left field, and was scram- bling around the bases. He was rounding third base when the ball began its homeward flight, and he scored just ahead of it, amid a tumult of cheering. This was the first score of the game, and it was now the last of the seventh. After this home-run drive Anderson pulled himself together and retired the side by striking out the next batter for Brenton. The teams changed places, and the look which Anderson gave James was a revengeful one. The eighth inning passed without either pitcher getting in serious danger. James struck out one man and the other two grounded out to short-stop. Ander- son retired the Brenton team by striking out three batsmen in succession. And now the ninth inning started with the score 1 to 0 in favor of the Brenton club. The people in the stands came to their feet, those in the bleachers were kept back by force. The DuMont rooters started a deafening din, as the last act of this paramount game started with the heavy end of the DuMont batting list coming to bat. The first man to the plate for DuMont drove a long fly into deep center. The fielder fumbled the ball, and the runner advanced to second. A shout of rage came from the Brenton stands. Even Manager Nelson, over on the players’ bench, came to his feet, dumbfounded. James received the hall, stepped in the box with a determined scuff of his right foot. He looked at the batter, then at the runner 4 on second. Once more he dug his spike into the pitcher’s mound, and delivered a “spit-ball” to the batter, who missed the lightening drop by several inches. Two more deliveries and the batter was out. The next man up hunted to third base and advanced the runner on second to third by his sacrifice. The follow- ing man also hunted, but James headed it off, whirled and feinted at third, and then threw to first, and made a put-out. When he feinted to third the runner on that base expected a sure throw, and consequently he played safe, and raced back to his base. Thus, when James did throw to first, there was no danger of the man on third scoring. There were now two out and a runner poised on third, ready to race home on anything like a hit. James took his position and waited for the signal. This time he did not wind up, but hurried his delivery to the plate. It went as a strike. His next delivery did not go as it was aimed — a wild pitch and a score for DuMont. Again the rooters gave vent to their feelings, while James slowly assumed his position in the box. With a g raceful wind-up, a swing of his mighty right, a shooting white speck, a feeble swing of the batsman, and a roar of the catcher’s mit, announced the second strike. The same features were duplicated and the beginning of the last half of the ninth inning was at hand. The first two men to the bat for Brenton hit safely, the first man going to third base and the second man advancing to second. The third struck out. The fourth man to make his stand was James. He walked up to the plate, cinched up his trousers, lowered his cap over his eyes, rubbed his hands in the dust, and stood facing the pitcher. Page Twenty-four

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T H E T A T T L E R The Hunt BIG hunt was planned by Wayne Davis, Frank Swartz, Frank Wilson, John Meredith and Jay Fischer, on the coming Friday. The day set for the occasion, was bright and clear, but a little too chilly to suit Frank Swartz, so he remained in the house preparing the grub while the rest of the bunch got the harness and wagon ready. John Meredith, not knowing how to harness a horse, was compelled to ask Jay Fischer ' s assistance. Jay understood all about harnesses, and was very proud to think that he could show John the particulars. At last the outfit was ready, and the party climbed in, hit the horses and were off; but they had not gone far until Wayne remembered that the grub and Frank Swartz were being left behind. Wilson had a hard time turning those horses around on that road, and he complained about the people not making a road more than five rods wide so anyone could turn around without running into the fence. When they reached the starting place, all of them jumped out and ran into the house to see what was wrong with the cook. At once Wayne yelled out, “What’s the matter with you? Come and get in the rig, and don’t sit around that store all day.” “Well,” said Frank, “1 was waiting for these flat irons to get warm.” “Good gosh, what are the flat irons for?” bellowed John Meredith. { “To keep our feet warm while we are riding, of course,” spoke Frank, with the pride of one who has discovered something new. Finally Frank was force ! to leave his nice warm irons and climb into the wagon. Long was the ride that morning from St. Anthony to that great wilderness known as Island Park. Swartz got warm enough to eat lunch at noon, and at eight o ' clock that night they reached their camping place. Jay tended to the horses while the other boys fixed the camp for the night. As none of the boys liked to be out in the dark, they all were very soon sleeping quietly in their beds. They were up before the sun the next morning. Jay let the horses loose, and the others took their guns and started out to get a rabbit or a moose. Wayne was brave, so he took the part of the wilderness where the trees were the thick- est. Poor Wayne hunted all day and was just about back to camp, disheartened over his poor luck, when suddenly there came a crackling in the thick brushes. In a second the gun was at his shoulder and fired in the direction of the sound. Then, like a flash, he was gone to tell Jay and Frank that lie had killed an elk and he wanted the horses to haul him in. Frank and Jay wouldn’t believe this, although they had heard the shot. Jay said, “Well, I have turned the horses loose, and won ' t catch them again until I have seen your elk.” Then the three excited young huntsmen started in the direction where the shot had occurred. Wayne led them to the place where he had fired the shot, and then in the direction where it had traveled. About six rods from the place lay Jay’s big, Page Twenty-six