But a great triumph was in store for the friends of the absent sons of Catalpa. Even while Alice Howell was trying to cheer her despondent friend Ida with the suggestion that the game was “yet young,” the Editor of The Leaf, whose despatches were sent to him across the street in a flying box attached to a wire, put his dishevelled head out of his office window and excitedly cried, “Three cheers for the Catalpa Nine! Fifth inning, Catalpas, five; Black Hawks, one!”
There was something like a little groan for the discomfited Black Hawks and then a wild yell broke out for the home nine. The small boys hurrahed shrilly and lustily, and even the street dogs, sharing in the general joy, barked noisily and aimlessly around the edges of the crowd. Miss Anstress Howell, scanning the joyful mob from the windows of her brother’s office, remarked to herself, with aggravated sourness, that it was perfectly ridiculous to see Alice mixing herself up there in the street with a lot of lunatics who were making themselves absurd over a pesky baseball game, away down in Sangamon County. It was unaccountable.
Judge Howell, sitting on his judicial bench in the courthouse on the hill, heard the pother in the town below and covertly smiled behind his large white hand to think that the home nine was undoubtedly doing well in Sandy Key.
Once more the traditional enterprise of the daily press vindicated itself with the earliest news, and Editor Downey put out of his office window his uncovered head, every hair of which stood up with excitement, as he bawled, “Sixth inning, Catalpas, none; Black Hawks, two. Seventh inning, no runs scored.”
“Now you yoost keep your big fists out of my beef!” said Jake Adee, with his wrathful eye fixed on Hank Jackson, who was looking around for some enemy to punch. There was depression in the crowd, but Alice Howell smiled cheerfully in the rueful face of Mr. Heaton and said that she felt her spirits rising. She was getting more confident as the rest of the party became despondent.
The innings had been made rapidly. Scarcely an hour had passed, and, so intense was the interest in the game, that everybody thought the despatches had trodden upon each other in their hurry to tumble into Catalpa. It was a warm, bright day, and the prairie wind blew softly down the hill above the town. To look into the knots of people standing about the street corners, one would suppose that it was an August noon. Everybody was perspiring. It was a warm engagement down there in Sandy Key where the boys were vigorously doing battle for the honor of old Catalpa. But it seemed even hot in the town where the people waited for the news.
So when Mr. Heaton, radiant with joy, and without waiting to come down the stairs of the telegraph office, put his leg and his head out of the window of the building and cried “Good news again!” everybody stood breathless. As Miss Anstress Howell afterwards remarked, with disdain, one might have heard a pin drop.
Victory! victory! Eighth inning, Catalpas, nine; Black Hawks, none. Glory enough for one day. Your loving son,
Then went up a shout that reached the jury in the case of the County of Dean against Jeremiah Stowell, shut up in the close room provided in the courthouse for jurors and other criminals, and which startled Judge Howell, who, looking out of the window from his private room, beheld his daughter, flushed and almost tearful with joy, hurrying across the courthouse green, eager to tell her father the good news. The solitary horse-thief in the jail heard that hurrah and wondered if relief was coming to him from his long-delayed accomplices. Dr. Everett, reining his sturdy steed at the next street corner above the telegraph office, asked a wandering small boy what had happened, but got no answer, for the urchin was off like a shot to tell his mates who were bathing prematurely down under the mill dam. And careful housewives, making ready their early suppers, in houses beyond the railroad track, heard the yell of triumph, and softly laughed to be told in this far-off way that the Catalpa nine were victorious over their adversaries in Sandy Key.
The game was virtually decided. The ninth and last inning showed one run for the Catalpas and a “goose egg” for the Black Hawks. There was more cheering in the street under the windows of the telegraph office. Somebody suggested that the flag should be hoisted on the Court House, but fears of Judge Howell’s displeasure and veto prevailed, and the proposition fell dead. Hiram Porter’s father, however, raised the stars and stripes over the Catalpa House of which he was proprietor. Editor Downey flung out from his third story window the red bunting with the white Catalpa Leaf that symbolized his standard sheet to the world below.
Later on, when the wild shower of despatches from Al Heaton, Hiram Porter, and others of the home nine, had ceased for a time, this bulletin appeared on the board of The Catalpa Leaf.
A Glorious Victory for Our Nine! Old Catalpa to the Front!
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Catalpas 2 0 0 0 5 0 0 9 1 = 17 Black Hawks 0 0 0 2 1 2 0 0 0 = 15 First Base by errors, Catalpas, 8; Black Hawks, 1.
Earned Runs, Catalpas, 7; Black
