It was a great day for baseball when the far-famed Calumet club came to Catalpa to play the home nine. The visitors arrived by the evening train and were met at the station by the greater part of the Catalpa club, who escorted their friends to the hotel in which quarters had been engaged. To say that the strangers were objects of curiosity to the youths and lassies of the town would only faintly describe the enthusiasm with which they were received by the people of Catalpa. The morrow was to witness the final game of the struggle, already made sufficiently notable by the narrowness of the margin left for the two contestants, and by the notoriety given to it by the treachery of Ben Burton, now town-talk, but (thanks to the discretion of the players) not known outside of Catalpa.

So high ran the excitement that there were many sleepless youngsters in Catalpa, that night, although the seasoned veterans who were the actors in the drama slept as soundly as though the next day would not dawn, big with the fate of rival baseball clubs. Tom Selby, as his father reported, arose at frequent intervals through the night, looked out on the cloudless sky across which the harvest moon was riding, and went back to his bed with a deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction at the prospect of another fine day for the great match.

It was a beautiful day that lighted up the valley of Stone River; and the mellow October sun flooded the scene with splendor, when the crowds began to flow towards the Agricultural Fair Grounds, now refurbished with great care, and decorated with every available bit of bunting in the place. An enormous throng greeted the sight of the players as they entered the enclosure and made their way directly to the officers’ old rooms, now set apart for the use of the members of the two nines. Special trains had been run on the two railroads entering the town, and from the country round about came long lines of farm-wagons filled with rustic belles and beaux, stalwart young fellows from the rural districts, elder people from outlying villages, and small boys who had heard from afar the news of the great event that was about to happen, and had trudged into town from distant homes, carrying their frugal luncheons with them⁠—all bound to see the sport.

There was Judge Howell’s carriage, you may be sure, with the Judge, his pretty daughter, and his prim sister, eager for the sight, even Miss Anstress grimly admitting, as if under great mental pressure, that she did hope that the Catalpas would beat and so have done with what she thought a long and very unnecessary contest for the championship of the State. There, too, was old Rough and Ready, alert and spry as a lad of nineteen, making himself very busy trimming the flags, inspecting the grounds, and running of errands for the players, conscious that but for him the game could not go on. There was a great and tumultuous cheer when the two nines, clad in their uniforms, finally emerged from the unpainted little buildings near the judges’ stand in which they had made ready for the game. Hank Jackson, with what some thought was unparalleled impudence, under the circumstances, but which may have been prompted by a spasm of repentance, stood up on his seat and proposed “three rousing cheers for the Catalpa nine” as that famous organization filed into the Diamond Field. Whereupon, Mr. Heaton, fixing his fond paternal eye on his son, now wearing the uniform of the home club, waved his tall hat and asked for three cheers for the visitors, and these were given with a will.

“Ah!” sighed Alice, as the Catalpas lost the toss and went to the bat at the direction of their antagonists, “that is a bad sign; but I have made up my mind not to notice any more signs, good, bad, or indifferent.”

“A sensible conclusion, child,” said the aunt. “I have heard that baseball players are as superstitious as sailors, and that is one reason why I think that the game must be debasing to the morals of the players.”

Alice laughed loud and long at this, and even the Judge relaxed his face into a smile as he heard the sage observation of the elderly lady before him.

“Pay attention, Alice,” said her friend Ida, “there goes that handsome Larry to the bat!”

But it was needless to direct attention to the player. Every eye was fixed on the favorite as he lifted his bat jauntily and took his position with a knowing smile to Sam Morse, the Calumets’ pitcher, as if in recognition of their former contests. But Larry, and Sam Morrison, who succeeded him, failed to hit the ball safely. And Neddie Ellis, who came next to the bat, secured his base only by an error on the part of Captain Ayres, at first base. There was then a chance for the Catalpas to score, but this was destroyed by Charlie King’s going out on a fly. Equally unsuccessful were the Calumets, who now came to the bat with high hopes. Darius Ayres hit a fly to John Brubaker, in the right field, and that vigorous young man neatly captured the ball amid the plaudits of his fellow townsmen, who were plainly glad of the least occasion for hilarity. Sam Morse was retired at first base, and John Handy hit a skyscraper to Neddie Ellis, ending the first inning without a run.

Again both clubs, watching each other with rigid scrutiny, failed to score a run. Each of the nines played a model fielding game and the result was that not a player reached first base in safety. For the Catalpas, Hart Stirling struck out; John Brubaker hit a slow ball to Jamie Kennedy who fielded him out at first base, and Hiram Porter went out on a fly to James McWilliams.

The Calumets were retired with equal precision and celerity, Rob Peabody being thrown out at first base by Albert Heaton, Tom Shoff meeting his fate at the same point at the hands of Hart Stirling, while Glenn Otto failed to hit the ball, although he made three mighty strokes at it.

The third inning began without a run to the credit of either club, and it ended in like manner. The Catalpas went to work with a will that promised to achieve something for their success, but they were forced to yield to the strong fielding game played by the visitors. Al Heaton made his first appearance at the bat, and a little rustle of applause ran around the crowded seats as he stepped lightly to his position. He had been “a little shaky,” as he expressed it confidentially to his friend Larry, but the welcome he received from the spectators gave him a bracing of the muscles, and he hit a hard ball to the right field, where it was captured neatly by Rob Peabody. “The Lily” next tried his best to hit the ball, but he could not send it out of the diamond, and, as Deputy Sheriff Wheeler remarked, “he died at first base.” Larry Boyne fared no better than his predecessors, as he hit up a very easy fly which fell to the lot of Shoff. It was the work of a few minutes to dispose of the Calumets. Jamie Kennedy struck out; Charlie Webb was retired at first base, after hitting a hot ball to Hart Stirling, and McWilliams went down before the deceptive curves of the Catalpas’ pitcher.

“Three innings and not a run yet!” was the exclamation of Miss Ida Boardman. “Why, both clubs seem to be watching each other as a cat would watch a mouse! I wonder if either will score a run in this game? If they don’t, I shall feel as if my time was wasted, shan’t you, Alice?”

But Miss Alice, with a demure glance at her aunt, who beheld the field with a listless manner, declared that the playing was simply splendid, and she pitied anybody who could not appreciate the wonderful fielding of the two clubs. She wished victory for the home nine; but she could not withhold her generous praise for the fine playing of the visitors.

When Sam Morrison went to the bat for the Catalpas, there was on his face a look of determination that indicated mischief, as his admirers said among themselves. “The Lily” said, “It is high time that something was done, and we must be the first to send a man across the plate.” Sam hit a difficult grounder to Handy, who allowed the base runner to reach the first bag in safety, by making a poor throw to Ayres, after accomplishing a first-rate stop, at third base. Neddie Ellis made his first base hit of the game, and this advanced Morrison to third base.

The next two strikers, Charlie King and Hart Stirling, threw a gloom over the spirits of the Catalpas and their allies sitting in rapt silence in the benches around, by going out at first base. As John Brubaker, the redoubtable, handled his bat in this inning, the attention of the spectators was fixed on him when he took his position. The eyes of Sam Morrison and Neddie Ellis were also riveted on John; the former was on third base, and Neddie had succeeded in reaching the second bag in safety. Anxiously did they wait to be sent around homewards. John hit a ball over the head of Tom Shoff which secured him two bases and his club the same number of runs, as Morrison and Neddie finished the circuit of the bases on this timely hit of the right fielder of the home nine. A great roar of applause went up from the assemblage, and the moisture gathered in the eyes of some of the more impressionable of the fair ones among the spectators. It was an auspicious moment for the Catalpas. The spirits of the onlookers were slightly dampened, however, by Captain Hiram’s being put out, which ended this half of the inning.

Nor was the scoring of runs to be confined to one club. The Calumets, in their half of the inning, also “broke the ice,” as Rob Peabody expressed it to Shoff. Captain Darius hit the first ball pitched and it yielded him a base hit. Sam Morse struck up an easy fly which fell before the skillful fielding of Sam Morrison. Next to the bat came John Handy, who imitated the example of John Brubaker, sending home his captain on a two-base hit. Rob Peabody took his base on called balls, but was put out by a neat double play. Tom Shoff hit a ball to Al Heaton who threw it to Stirling, who put out Peabody and then threw it to first base in time to head off Thomas; and the fourth inning was closed with the Catalpas two to one for their competitors. Whereat there was a thundering round of applause from the partial spectators.

Inspired by this token of their success, the sons of Catalpa went cheerily to the bat and began what proved to be a fruitless attempt to increase the lead of their club. Albert Heaton, their first striker, made a base hit and reached second base on a bad throw by Charlie Webb, but he was left there, as “The Lily,” Larry Boyne, and Sam Morrison were all retired at first base. Here the Calumets played a first-rate game and ran the bases in fine style, taking advantage of two errors committed by their opponents, which allowed them to score the single run needed to put them on even terms. Glenn Otto, the first striker, went out on a fly to Larry Boyne. The next man to the bat was Jamie Kennedy, who hit a line ball to Sam Morrison, who fumbled it and allowed the base runner to reach the first bag safely. Kennedy then succeeded in reaching the second base by a passed ball, and was sent across the home plate by Charlie Webb, who struck the ball for a base hit. McWilliams went out on a foul fly to “The Lily,” and Darius Ayres ended the inning, being fielded out at first base.

In the sixth inning, the Catalpas once more took the lead. Neddie Ellis led off with a base hit and was followed by Charlie King, who secured his base by an error on the part of Glenn Otto. Hart Stirling went out on a fly to Rob Peabody and was followed at the bat by John Brubaker, who hit safely and so sent in Neddie Ellis amidst the cheers of the excited spectators, now fairly alive with enthusiasm. Hiram Porter was thrown out at first base, and Al Heaton hit a long fly to McWilliams, which the latter deftly captured, and the crowd, apparently anxious to seem impartial, loudly applauded the catch.

The Calumets failed to tally one in their half of this inning. Sam Morrison made a base hit and Peabody went to first on a trifling error by Captain Porter, but Handy, Shoff and Glenn Otto were retired in quick succession, the first-named at first base and the other two on high flies to the outfielders.

Once more the Catalpas added to their score, the glory of making a home run falling this time to “The Lily.” Coming to the square, he swung his ashen bat over his shoulder, and selecting a “drop ball,” he hit with a will and with all his might, and the sphere flew far over the center fielder’s head, giving the gratified catcher of the home nine the first and only home run of the game. Before the ball could be returned to the diamond, Van Orman had cleared the circuit of the bases, and, as he seated himself breathlessly on the players’ bench, he was greeted with a hearty round of cheers from the excited throng. Cries of “Good for ‘The Lily’ of Catalpa!” burst from the multitude, and Ida Boardman waved her scarf at the bashful William, who detected the compliment from his post on the opposite side of the amphitheater.

“Get up, Bill, and show yourself proud!” cried Neddie Ellis. “You have won an encore.” At this, Bill heaved up his burly form, doffed his cap and grimly bowed to the spectators, who cheered him more wildly than ever.

But Larry, who now took his bat to the square, was the cynosure of all eyes. Somehow, the confidence of the great assembly was with him always, even as their affection seemed lavished on peachy-cheeked Neddie Ellis. But Larry failed to win the plaudits that would have readily followed the least pretext for a burst of applause. He made a single hit, but did not score a run, as Sam Morrison, Neddie Ellis and Charlie King were rapidly retired, one after another. In this inning, the Calumets succeeded in keeping themselves within one run of their opponents. Jamie Kennedy made a two-base hit, and, after Charlie Webb and James McWilliams were retired at first base, they scored a run which was achieved by Captain Darius Ayres making a base hit. Sam Morrison ended the inning by going out on a liner to Larry Boyne.

The score now stood four to three in favor of the Catalpas, and as “The Lily” sagely remarked, “It’s anybody’s game.” The home club tried every possible maneuver to increase their lead; but all was in vain. The contest was now drawing to a close, and the least bit of luck falling into the hands of the visiting nine would carry them so far ahead that defeat would be inevitable for the Catalpa club. Hart Stirling, John Brubaker, and Hiram Porter, the first three strikers for the home club, went out very quickly in the order named. Then the Calumets came to the bat with high hopes of securing at least the one run needed to bring them up to an even score with their adversaries. But they, too, were doomed to disappointment. John Handy, Rob Peabody, and Tom Shoff were put out in “one-two-three order,” so skillful was the fielding and so accurate the throwing of Larry Boyne, Hart Stirling, and Al Heaton.

“The last inning! The last inning!” cried Miss Alice, gleefully clapping her hands, “and the Catalpas are first at the bat with a lead of one to their credit! Oh, I do hope that Albert will make a run! I know he will! Look at him where he stands! Isn’t he handsome, Aunt Anstress?”

Miss Anstress Howell turned her cool glance in the direction of the Diamond Field, and looking at Albert, said that she was not sure whether a young man could be called good-looking in those singularly ill-fitting and peculiar clothes that ballplayers wore; but she was interested in the game, as a whole, she said, without any special interest in the players as individuals. She took in the performance without any thought for the men who carried it forward. “You are a kind of overseeing providence, Anstress?” said the Judge.

While they were talking, a murmur, only a murmur, of conversation swept around the crowded enclosure, and everybody seemed to be saying to his neighbor that this was the conclusive and crucial moment in the struggle. All eyes were intent on Al Heaton, and even grown men held their breath, as, with close tension of every nerve, they watched the movements of the players in the field. Tom Selby, attended by his faithful satellite, Mike Costigan, who had a holiday, gazed with admiring eyes at his demigod, Albert Heaton, and so still was the air, now soft and warm and dimmed by the lustrous October haze, that one might have heard a leaf drop, as Bill Van Orman eloquently expressed it, afterwards.

Albert patiently waited for a good ball, and when he saw one come, at last, he sent the sphere out of the reach of Glenn Otto and placed a base hit to his credit. Next came “The Lily” who hit the very first ball pitched, for two bases, and, with a volley of ah‑h‑h‑s following him, sent in Al Heaton to the home plate. Larry came next in order, and pretty Alice Howell felt a quickening of her pulse and her color glowing as she saw the resolute and sturdy figure of the favorite of the club shouldering his bat and striding to position. Larry made a safe hit to the right field, sending in “The Lily,” and securing his own base. Sam Morrison was put out at first while Larry shot to second base. Then Neddie Ellis went out on a fly to Rob Peabody, and Charlie King ended the inning for the Catalpas, by striking out, leaving Larry on third base, to which he had stolen meanwhile.

The Catalpas now had a lead of three, and the Calumets came to the bat with lugubrious faces. “But I have seen sicker children than this get well,” was Captain Ayres’s philosophical remark, as Glenn Otto went to the bat for the visiting club.

The Catalpas went to the field with an elation which they could hardly conceal, and with a tolerably firm belief in their victory. They handled the ball with a dexterity almost unexampled, even for them, and speedily put a damper on any hopes that the Calumets might have cherished. Glenn Otto went out on a fly to John Brubaker. Jamie Kennedy was thrown out at first base by Hart Stirling, and Charlie Webb ended the game by hitting a hot ball to Larry Boyne who made a lightning throw to first base, before any of the spectators could see what had become of the ball, so swift and agile were his motions.

A great cheer burst forth from the multitude. The umpire superfluously cried “Game” in the midst of a deafening uproar, and, as the two captains advanced towards each other to clasp hands, the Catalpas, relieving their pent-up enthusiasm with a wild yell, swooped down upon Larry Boyne, whose brilliant play had terminated the game, and, seizing him bodily, carried him above their heads, shouting “Hurrah for the ‘Curly-headed Cat!’ ” as they swung around and round the Diamond Field. Men and boys whooped and shouted, women waved handkerchiefs and parasols, and numberless small boys shrilly added to the din. Truly it was a great day for Catalpa.

For a moment, Alice could not trust herself to speak. And when, with unsteady voice, she responded to her father’s delighted comments, he looked at her with surprise and said,

“Why, Alice, my child, I believe you are crying!”

“For joy, papa,” was all she said. Just then, the lads, still carrying Larry, with flushed face and sparkling eyes, his curly hair ruffled by his unwonted treatment, surged towards the Judge’s carriage. Alice extended her hand, and their eyes met with one swift glance of unspeakable elation. The Judge looked on with benignant approbation, an unusual lump rising in his throat as he regarded with unaffected admiration the young athlete who had carried off the honors of the day.

“You are to be congratulated very heartily, Mr. Boyne,” he said. “Our club has won a famous victory, and it is a proud thing for you that your associates fix upon you as the noblest warrior of them all.”

With more cheers and congratulations, the assembly slowly dispersed, the booming of an anvil salute falling on their ears as the men, women and children of Catalpa descended the hill to the town. And in the records of that proud community was written this score:⁠—

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9		total.
Catalpas	0	0	0	2	0	1	1	0	2	=	6
Calumets	0	0	0	1	1	0	1	0	0	=	3

Runs earned⁠—Catalpas, 3; Calumets, 2.

Base hits⁠—Catalpas, 10; Calumets, 5.

Errors⁠—Catalpas, 3; Calumets, 4.

Umpire, Mr. John E. O’Neill.

All these things happened years ago. It would be difficult for any inquiring stranger to gather the threads of the narrative herein set forth. Even the name of the Calumet baseball club disappeared from the roll of the League, after that once-famous organization had been reconstructed, merged, and re-reconstructed. The title of the Catalpa Baseball Club has survived time’s changes, but the founders of the club are now sedate upholders of the dignity and credit of their city, with little time or inclination for athletic sports. Their successors cherish with just pride the traditions of the early achievements of the club, and the titles of the original nine are carried with due respect for those who first wore them. The visitor in Catalpa would note many changes in the busy western town from which the famous baseball club went forth to conquer. Judge Howell has left the bench; and he and his daughter Alice have taken to themselves a partner, whose name appears on a signboard bearing the inscription⁠—

Howell & Boyne, Attorneys at Law.

Of a summer afternoon, when the cares of business may be laid down for a while, ’Squire Boyne, as he is called by his fellow-townsmen, may sometimes be found seated in the outer rim of the well-appointed amphitheater of the Catalpa grounds, with other battle-scarred veterans around him, watching the mimic combat in the field below, and telling once more How our Baseball Club won the Championship.