Foul Ball

Both Men were dressed in frock coats, striped pants and flowing black silk ties. One was fragile and fawn-eyed, the other paunchy. The paunchy one stood up as Swifty entered the room. "Señor Elling-boe?" he said. "I am Blasco Diaz. And this is the celebrated pianist Nestor Del Campo of whom I have the honor to be manager."

"Great, great," said Swifty. "Wonderful, wonderful."

"Señior Del Campo does not have English," Diaz said. "I shall interpret for you."

"Fine, fine," said Swifty. He rubbed his hands briskly. "All set? Come on, the cab is in front of the hotel."

They followed Swifty out of the room, scurrying to keep pace with his long lean legs. In the elevator Del Campo said something plaintive in Spanish to Diaz. Diaz shook his head firmly. The elevator stopped. They crossed the lobby, got into a cab and drove away.

"Cigars?" asked Swifty, proffering a handful. Diaz accepted one, Del Campo murmured "Gracias" and shook his head. Swifty lit Diaz' and his own. "Great day for the game," he said. "Great."

Del Campo glanced nervously at the traffic and closed his eyes.

"I am looking forward to see my first baseball," said Diaz, "but Señor Del Campo is not pleased to go. He has fear of crowds and besides he wants to stay in his room and rest for the concert tonight. But I explained that of the photographer to him. It will be of great importance, the publicity, I said."

"Right," replied Swifty vigorously. "The Bulletin's got a half million circulation. That ain't bad, friend."

Diaz nodded. He puffed his cigar for a moment. "Señor," he said, placing an apologetic hand on Swifty's bony knee, "you will excuse me, but of what benefit is all this to you? What is your — how you say — angle?"

Swifty toyed with the idea of being indignant, but he was so proud of his scheme that he decided to be frank instead. "I'll be frank," he said. "Business has been rotten at the ball park this year and unless I can jazz it up pretty soon, the boss is going to get him a new press agent. I think this Del Campo deal is going to do the trick."

"May one ask how?"

"I'm going to tap an untouched audience — the highbrows. Highbrows don't go to ball games; they think it's lowbrow. But when they see pictures of a concert pianist like Del Campo letting down his long hair at the ball park, really having himself a time, then — you see?"

"Ah," said Diaz, "I see."

"Of course," added Swifty hastily, "the publicity won't hurt your boy none either."

Del Campo opened his eyes and said something in Spanish to Diaz.

"He is carsick," said Diaz.

"Here's the ball park," said Swifty.

Joe May, hard and bored, the Bulletin photographer, was on the grass near first base when they got into their box. Swifty called him over. "Hi, Joe." He pointed at Del Campo. "This one."

Joe nodded and began setting up his camera.

Swifty turned to Diaz. "Joe is going to be shooting Del Campo all through the ball game, so tell him to smile and cheer and act like he's enjoying himself."

Diaz relayed the instructions. The pianist nodded, blinked unhappily at the sun, and spoke briefly to Diaz.

"He would like a parasol," said Diaz.

"No, no, no," exclaimed Swifty. "He don't get the idea at all. This has got to be informal, relaxed. Take off his coat and tie."

After a short argument, Del Campo surrendered the garments and sat, miser-(continued on page 138)Foul Ball(continued from page 67) able and puny, in his shirt sleeves. The game began. Del Campo shuddered at the speed of the first pitch, bit his lip as the ball smacked into the catcher's mitt. "Madre Mia," he keened. "O Madre Mia."

Swifty cast an uneasy look at Joe who stood with camera poised. "For Pete's sake," he said to Diaz, "tell him to smile."

Diaz told him. Del Campo shook his head and uttered a string of passionate words. "He wants to go home," translated Diaz.

"Make him smile," Swifty repeated impatiently.

Diaz pleaded and Del Campo at length complied with a wan grin. But as Joe clicked the shutter, the batter hit a long fly to deep center and Joe photographed an expression of utter terror.

"Great," muttered Swifty furiously. He called to Joe, "He's a little nervous. The next one will be better. How about one with peanuts?"

Joe shrugged. A vendor was summoned and a bag of peanuts was placed in Del Campos limp hand. "Tell him to throw the peanuts in his mouth," said Swifty.

Del Campo protested vehemently. "He does not like peanuts," said Diaz. "They make him nauseous."

"Just one," begged Swifty. "Just one."

The pianist was finally persuaded and a look of gastric agony was recorded on film. Swifty forced a hollow laugh. "Don't worry," he assured Joe. "The next one will be better."

"I ain't worried," said Joe.

In the second inning a bottle of pop forced into Del Campo's mouth produced a portrait that the late Lon Chaney couldn't have equaled. Swifty sweated profusely. A few more such pictures and his job would be a memory. And perhaps baseball itself. Swifty wheedled, threatened, stormed, but the pianist only grew more agitated. Joe snapped relentlessly. In the next two innings he made studies that included every nuance of consternation.

Joe leaned on the rail with a grin as the fifth inning began. "This is turning out better than I thought," he said.

"Joe," cried Swifty, "you ain't going to use those pictures?"

"Why not?" replied Joe. "This'll make a sensational spread. I'll get a raise for this."

Swifty slumped in misery approaching Del Campo's. Listlessly, hardly seeing, he sat staring at the ball game. The first batter fouled a pitch into the third base stands. A knot of spectators stood up, scrambling for the ball. One, triumphant, snared it. Swifty sat up, suddenly struck with inspiration.

Del Campo was sitting in a sort of stupefaction, accompanied by sporadic trembling. Diaz was trying to soothe him with liquid phrases and tender pats. Joe was happily making one picture alter another. "I'll be right back," said Swifty to Diaz. "Don't go away."

He climbed out of the box and drew Joe aside. "Listen, Joe," he said earnestly, "I got a proposition. If I can get you one good picture of Del Campo, a really sensational picture, will you tear up the others?"

"What kind of picture?" asked Joe suspiciously.

"Del Campo catching a foul ball."

"How do you know a foul ball is coming this way?" asked Joe.

"We'll fake it," said Swifty. "After the game I'll have one of the boys hit him a fungo."

"No," said Joe.

"Please!" begged Swifty, looking at him with eyes that would melt even a photographer's heart. "Please, Joe, I got a wife and kids!"

"Well, all right." said Joe grudgingly.

Swifty gave him a grateful handclasp and raced to the home team's dugout. Here he made arrangements with Bill Devlin, the batting coach, to hit the ball to Del Campo after the game. Then he returned to the box.

When the game ended, Del Campo, flagrantly relieved, rose from his seat. Swifty promptly pushed him down again. The pianist loosed a torrent of piteous Spanish, but Swifty held him firmly. "One more minute," he said soothingly. "Just one more minute."

Bill Devlin, carrying bat and ball, took a stance in the first base coaching box. "Ready?" he called.

Swifty looked at Joe. Joe's camera was in position.

"Ready," answered Swifty.

Devlin tossed the ball up, swung his bat. Swifty slipped behind Del Campo and raised his right hand to catching position. The ball whistled toward the box. Swifty moved Del Campo's arm slightly to the left and released it. The arm stood frozen upright. The ball sped true into Del Campo's hand. Joe clicked the shutter.

• • •

Del Campo is working again. His three broken fingers have healed as good as new. And he didn't really lose any money during his long idleness. What he collected from the ball club was at least as much as he could have earned playing concerts.

Swifty is working again, too. He's press agent for a symphony orchestra.. And doing well. Attendance was way off when he took the job, but he fixed that. He got a wonderful idea to tap an untouched audience — the lowbrows. Lowbrows don't go to symphonies; they think it's highbrow. So Swifty got his baseball player to go to a concert and he got Joe May to come over and ...