“Dear Joe,” wrote Mr. Matson. “I got your warning, but it was too late. Why didn’t you telegraph me? The night before your letter got here some valuable papers and models were stolen from my new shop. I have no doubt but that Holdney did it—he or some of his tools. It will cripple me badly, but I may be able to pull through. I appreciate what Benjamin did for us, and it was mighty smart of you to save him that way. But why didn’t you telegraph me about the danger to my models?”
“Dear Joe,” wrote Mr. Matson. “I got your warning, but it was too late. Why didn’t you telegraph me? The night before your letter got here some valuable papers and models were stolen from my new shop. I have no doubt but that Holdney did it—he or some of his tools. It will cripple me badly, but I may be able to pull through. I appreciate what Benjamin did for us, and it was mighty smart of you to save him that way. But why didn’t you telegraph me about the danger to my models?”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Joe bitterly to himself. “What a chump I was. Why didn’t I telegraph dad, and then it would have been in time. Why didn’t I?”
Joe’s first act, after receiving the bad news from home, was to sit down and write his father a letter full of vain regrets, of self-accusation, upbraiding himself for having been so stupid as not to have thought of telegraphing. He hastened to post this, going out himself though barely over his cold.
“I’m not going to take any more chances,” he remarked to Tom. “Maybe that other letter wasn’t mailed by the janitor, or it would have gotten to dad in time.”
“Hardly,” remarked his chum. “Your father says the things were taken the night before your letter arrived, so you would have had to write the day before to have done any good. Only a telegram would have been of any use.”
“I guess so,” admitted Joe sorrowfully. “I’m a chump!”
“Oh, don’t worry any more,” advised his friend. “Let’s get at some baseball practice. The school has two games this week.”
“Who with?” asked Joe.
“Woodside Hall and the Lakeview Preps. We ought to win ’em both. They need you back on the scrub. The first nine has had it too easy.”
“And I’ll be glad to get back,” replied the young pitcher earnestly. “It seems as if I hadn’t had a ball in my hands for a month.”
Joe mailed his letter and then, as the day was just right to go out on the diamond, he and Tom hastened there, finding plenty of lads awaiting them. A five-inning game between the scrub and school teams was soon arranged.
“Now boys, go in and clean ’em up!” exclaimed Luke, as his men went to bat, allowing the scrub the advantage of being last up. This was done to make the first team strive exceptionally hard to pile up runs early in the practice.
“Don’t any of you fan out,” warned Hiram. “I’m watching you.”
“And so am I,” added Dr. Rudden, the coach, as he strolled up. “You first team lads want to look to your laurels. You have plenty of games to play before the finals to decide the possession of the Blue Banner, but remember that every league game counts. Your percentage is rather low for the start of the season.”
He was putting it mildly. The percentage of Excelsior Hall was exceedingly low.
“Beat the scrub!” advised the coach-teacher.
“They can’t do it with Joe in the box!” declared Tom; and Luke and Hiram sneered audibly. Their feeling against our two heroes had not improved since the event of the initiation.
The scrub nine was not noted for its heavy hitting, but in this practice game they outdid themselves, and when they came up for their first attempt they pulled down the lead of four runs which the school nine had, to one. There was an ominous look on the faces of Luke and Hiram as the first team went to bat for the second time.
“Make ’em look like a plugged nickel,” advised Tom to his pitching chum. “The worse you make ’em take a beating the more it will show against Hiram and Luke. We want to get ’em out of the game.”
“All right,” assented Joe, and then he “tightened up,” in his pitching, with the result that a goose egg went up in the second frame of the first team.
Even Dr. Rudden looked grave over this. If the school nine could not put up a better game against their own scrub, all of whose tricks and mannerisms they knew, what could they do againstthe two regular nines with whom they were to cross bats during the week? When the scrubs got another run, Joe knocking a three bagger, and coming home on Tommy Barton’s sacrifice, there was even a graver look on the face of the coach. As for Luke and Hiram, they held a consultation.
“We’ll have to make a shift somewhere,” declared Hiram.
“I’ll just let Akers go in the box in place of Frank Brown,” decided the captain.
“No, that’s not enough,” insisted the manager. “You don’t know how to play your own men.”
“I know as much as you do about it!” fired back Luke. Of late the bully and his crony had not agreed overwell.
“No, you don’t!” reaffirmed Hiram. “I tell you what you ought to do. You ought to get rid of Peaches, Teeter and George Bland.”
“Why, they’re three of the best players on the nine.”
“No, they’re not, and besides they’re too friendly with Joe Matson and Sister Davis. They don’t half play. They make errors on purpose, just to make the school team have a bad reputation.”
“Why should they do that?”
“Don’t you understand, you chump? They want to force you and me out. That’s their game. They’re sore about that meeting, and Matson and Davis are sore about lots of things. Peaches and the other two think if they get us out there’ll be a chance for Joe to pitch.”
“So that’s their game, is it?” exclaimed Luke. “Well, I’ll put a stop to it. I’ll make subs of Peaches, Bland and Teeter, and put in some other players. They can’t come it over me that way.”
“Play ball!” called the umpire, for the talk between the captain and manager was delaying the game.
“Oh, we’ll play all right,” snapped Luke, and he knew that he and his nine had to, for the score was now tie. “Peaches, Teeter, Bland, you can sit on the bench a while!” went on Luke. “Wilson, Natch and Gonzales, you’ll take their places.”
“What’s that for?” asked the innocent and unoffending Peaches.
“Have we played so rotten?” Teeter wanted to know.
“I made the changes because I wanted to,” snapped Luke. “Go sit down with the other subs, and we’ll see if we can’t play a decent game.”
Perhaps Peaches and his chums may have understoodthe reason for Luke’s act, but if they did, they did not say so. The game went on with the three new players, and the result may be imagined. The scrub continued to get ahead, and the school nine could not catch up because Joe was pitching in great form, and striking out man after man, though he was hit occasionally.
“This is worse than ever,” growled Hiram, when another inning passed and the scrub was five runs ahead. “Change back again, Luke.”
“Say, they’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Can’t help it. We’ll be worse than crazy if we don’t win this little measly game. And think what will happen Friday and Saturday. Change back.”
So Peaches, Teeter and George were called from the bench again, and they played desperately. There was a general tightening all along the line, and the school nine began to see victory ahead. Joe got a little wild occasionally, principally because he was out of practice, but the best the school nine could do was to tie the score in the fifth inning, and it had to go to seven before they could win, though they had planned to play only five. The school nine won by a margin of one.
“That’s too close for comfort, boys,” said thecoach. “Why didn’t you have a little mercy, Joe?” he asked of the young scrub pitcher.
“I will next time—maybe,” was the laughing answer. Luke and Hiram scowled at him as they passed. They would have witnessed with pleasure his withdrawal from the school. But Joe was going to stick.
“What are we going to do?” asked Luke of Hiram as they walked on.
“About what?”
“The nine. We’ve justgotto win these two games.”
“Well, we’ll have to do some more shifting, I guess, and Brown and Akers have got to tighten up on their pitching. We’ll try some more shifting.”
“Oh, you make me sick!” exclaimed the captain. “Always changing. What good does that do?”
“Say, I’m manager of this nine!” declared the bully, “and if you don’t like the way I run things, you know what you can do.”
Luke subsided after that. He was afraid of Hiram, and he wanted to remain as captain. The two discussed various plans, but could come to no decision.
The inevitable happened. In the game withWoodside the Excelsiors managed to get a few runs in the early innings, but their opponents did likewise, because the Hall pitcher could not hold the batters in check. Then Woodside sent in another pitcher, better than the first, and the Excelsiors got only a few scattering hits, while, after shifting from Brown to Akers, Luke’s nine did even worse, for Akers was pounded out of the box. The score was fifteen to six in favor of Woodside when the final inning ended, and the Excelsiors filed off the diamond in gloomy mood.
“Well, it couldn’t have been much worse,” growled Luke to the manager.
“Oh, it was pretty bad,” admitted Hiram, “but we’ll whitewash the Preps.”
The Excelsior Hall nine journeyed to the Lakeview school full of hope, for the lads there did not have a very good reputation as hitters, and their pitcher was not out of the ordinary. But it was the same old story—mismanagement, and a captain of the Excelsiors who didn’t dare speak his own mind.
If Luke had been allowed to run the team to suit himself he might have been able to do something with it, but Hiram insisted on having his way.
The result can be imagined. Instead of beatingthe Lakeview boys by a large score, as they had done the previous year, Excelsior was beaten, nine to seven.
“Well, it’s not as bad as the last game,” was all the consolation Hiram could find.
“Say, don’t talk to me!” snapped Luke. “Something’s got to be done!”
“That’s right,” put in Peaches, who came up just then. “Something has got to be done, Hiram Shell, and right away, too.”
He looked the bully squarely in the face. Behind Peaches came Teeter, George Bland and several of the subs.
“What—what do you mean?” stammered Hiram.
“I mean that it’s either you or us,” went on Peaches.
“Either you get out as manager or we get out as players,” added Teeter. “We’re tired of playing on a nine that can’t win a game. We can play ball, and we know it. But not with you, Hiram. What’s it going to be—you or us?”
“Say!” burst out the bully. “I’ll have you know that——”
A hand was placed on his shoulder. He wheeled about to confront Dr. Rudden.
“I think somethingmustbe done,” said thecoach quietly. “Call a meeting of the Athletic Committee, Shell.”
“What for?” asked the bully.
“To discuss the situation. There has got to be a change if Excelsior Hall is to have a chance for the Blue Banner. If you don’t call the meeting, Shell, I will.”
It was perhaps the best thing that could have happened, and to save friction among the students, many of whom were still for the manager, Hiram knew he had to give in to Dr. Rudden.
“All right,” he growled. “The meeting will take place to-night.”
Quickly the word went around through the precincts of Excelsior Hall.
“There’s going to be another hot meeting.”
“Hiram’s on his last legs.”
“His game is up now.”
“This means that Joe Matson will pitch, sure, and we’ll win some games now.”
“If Hiram goes, Luke will, too, and there’ll be a new captain.”
These were only a few of the comments and predictions made by the players and other students as they got ready to attend the session.
There was an ominous silence over the gathering in the gymnasium. It was entirely different from the former meeting which started in such a hub-bub, and which created such a stir. This time it meant “business,” as Peaches said.
Hiram called the session, but refused to preside. He wanted to be able to say what he thought from the floor, and from the manner in which he and Luke and one or two of their friends conferred before the session opened, it was evident that Hiram was going to make a fight to maintain his prestige.
“Come to order, young gentlemen,” suggested Dr. Rudden, when the gymnasium was well filled. It seemed as if every lad in Excelsior Hall was there. “You know what we are here for——”
“To elect a new manager and captain!” shouted someone.
“Stop!” commanded the coach, banging his gavel.
“Who said that?” cried Hiram, springing to his feet. “If I find out——”
“Silence!” commanded the chairman, while Luke pulled his crony to his seat.
“This meeting will be conducted in a gentlemanly manner, or not at all,” went on the professor quietly; but the boys knew what he meant. “We are here to discuss the baseball situation, and try to decide on some plan for bettering the team. I will hear suggestions.”
“I just want to say one thing,” began Hiram. “I have managed this team for three seasons, and——”
“Mis-managed it,” murmured someone.
“Why didn’t we get the Blue Banner?” asked another voice.
“Young gentlemen, you will have to keep from making side remarks, and interrupting the speakers,” said Dr. Rudden. “Go on, Shell.”
“I never had any kicking on my management before,” continued Hiram, glaring at those around him. “I can manage it all right now, and it’s only some soreheads——”
“Rather unparliamentary language,” the chairman warned him.
“If we had a few good players we could winevery game,” went on the bully. “But the season is young yet, and——”
“I don’t think that is a valid excuse,” said the professor. “You had your choice of the whole school in picking the nine, so it is the fault of yourself and the captain if you haven’t a good team. As for the earliness of the season, the boys have had plenty of practice and they ought to have struck their gait before this. I’m afraid something else is to blame.”
“We need better pitchers for one thing!” called someone.
“That’s right!” yelled a double score of voices, and Dr. Rudden, seeing the sway of sentiment, did not object.
“We’ve got two good pitchers!” fairly yelled Hiram. “I know what this all means—that Joe Matson and his crowd——”
“That will do,” the chairman warned him.
“It’s true!” exclaimed Frank Brown, jumping to his feet. “I’m not a good pitcher, and I don’t mind admitting it. I can’t hold the other fellows down enough. If I could, we would have won these last two games, for our boys can bat when they haven’t the heart taken out of them.”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried Tom Davis.
“Nothing like being honest about it,” commentedDr. Rudden. “That statement does you credit, Brown. How many of you think the same—that a different pitcher would strengthen the team?”
“I! I! I!” yelled scores.
“It’s not so! Our pitchers are good enough!” These cries came from Luke, Hiram and a few of their cronies.
“There seems to be a division of opinion,” began the chairman. “I think we had better vote on it.”
“There are a lot of fellows here who have no right to vote!” cried Hiram.
“That won’t do, Shell,” said Dr. Rudden sternly. “This is a matter that concerns the entire school—to have a winning nine. Every student is entitled to vote.”
“Hurrah!” yelled Tom. “This is a victory all right. The end of Hiram, Luke and Company has come.”
“You’ll pitch on the school team, Joe!” called Peaches in our hero’s ear.
“I’d like to,” Joe answered back, “but I’m afraid——”
“All in favor of having a change in pitchers, since Frank Brown has been good enough, and manly enough, to say that he knows his own weakness—allin favor of a change vote ‘aye,’” directed the chairman.
“Aye!” came in a thunderous chorus.
“Contrary minded——”
“No!” snapped Hiram. Luke and Jake Weston followed with feeble negatives. They, too, were beginning to see which way the wind blew.
“Whom will you have for pitcher?” asked the Professor. “Can you decide now, or will you wait and——”
“Decide now!” was yelled. “Joe Matson for pitcher! Baseball Joe. Joe Matson!” was cried in different parts of the room.
“Very well,” assented the chairman. “This may be a wise move. All in favor of Joe Matson as pitcher, since Frank Brown, the regular boxman, has practically resigned—all say ‘aye.’”
Again came the hearty assent, and again the feeble objection of Hiram.
“Joe Matson is now the regular pitcher for the school nine,” said Dr. Rudden.
“And I want to say that I’m glad of the change,” put in Larry Akers.
“Hurray! Hurray!” yelled the now excited and enthusiastic students. Things seemed to be coming out right after all.
“I want to say,” exclaimed Joe, “that whileI appreciate the honor done me, we may need substitute pitchers. In fact, I’m sure we will, and I wish Frank and Larry would remain to help me. I’ll coach them all I can, and I know they both have pitching stuff in them. I’ve made quite a study of pitching as an amateur. Some day I hope to be a professional, and I’m willing to tell Frank and Larry all I know.”
“Good!” exclaimed the chairman. “I think they’ll take your offer. Well, we have now made one change. Are there any more that you think necessary?”
It was rather a delicate question, for everyone knew what was meant. But the lads were saved from doing what most of them knew ought to be done.
“Do I understand that Joe Matson is the regular pitcher on the school team?” asked the manager, sourly.
“That seems to be the sentiment of the students, Shell,” answered Dr. Rudden.
“And without me, or the captain, having anything to say about it?”
“You were out-voted, Shell.”
“Well, then all I’ve got to say is that I don’t manage this nine any more!” fairly yelled Hiram. “There’s my resignation, and it takes effect atonce!” and, walking down the aisle he threw a folded paper on the table at which the professor sat.
“Shall this resignation be accepted?” asked the chairman, amid a rather tense silence.
“Yes!” came so quickly and with such volume that there was no doubt about the sentiment of the crowd. Perhaps Hiram had hoped that he would be asked to reconsider it, but if so he was disappointed. He walked back to where Luke sat. He leaned over the captain and said something in a whisper.
“I’m not going to,” replied Luke, loudly enough for all in the room to hear.
“Go on!” ordered the bully. “If you don’t, I’ll——” and then his voice sank to a whisper again.
“All right,” assented Luke, and walking forward as his crony had done, he, too, tossed a paper on the table. “There’s my resignation as captain and a member of the Excelsior baseball nine!” he exclaimed.
There was a gasp of surprise from the crowd. Hiram and Luke both out! It was rather unexpected, but Tom and his friends felt elated. Now they would have a chance to play. It looked like the dawn of a brighter day for Excelsior Hall.
“There is another resignation to act on,” said Dr. Rudden, after a pause, and, somehow he did not seem half as worried over it as Luke had hoped he would be. “What shall we do with it?”
“Take it!” exclaimed Tom, and it was accepted with a promptness that startled the former captain.
“The action taken to-night makes it necessary to elect a new manager and a captain,” went on the professor. “Perhaps the manager should be elected first. Whom will you have?”
“Peaches Lantfeld,” called some.
“Teeter Nelson,” said others.
“George Bland! Sister Davis! Ward Gerard! Tommy Barton,” called various lads. There were more nominations, but Peaches received the majority of votes, and was declared elected. Teeter was the first to congratulate him, and the others followed.
“Now a captain,” suggested the chairman.
“Joe Matson!” yelled scores of voices.
“No, I can’t accept,” cried Joe, jumping to his feet. “If I’m going to pitch I want to give all my time to that. I’m much obliged, but I decline.”
“I think it would not be wise to make your pitcher the captain, especially at this time,” spoke Dr. Rudden. “The catcher is in a better position to captain a team, for he can see all the plays. You will have to have a new catcher, and——”
“Ward Gerard!” called Joe. “He’s caught for me on the scrub, and——”
“Ward! Ward Gerard!” Scores of lads took up the calling of his name. He was very popular, and was elected in a minute, while Hiram and Luke, followed by Jake Weston, filed from the room in plainly-shown disgust, sneers on their faces.
Nothing more remained to do save to have a conference of the new captain and manager, to arrange for future practice and playing. This was soon done, and Ward told the lads to report early the next Monday afternoon, when they would play the scrub, which organization had also to select a new captain and pitcher, as well as catcher.
“Now, all I want is to get Tom Davis on theschool nine, and I’ll be happy,” said Joe to Peaches and Teeter, as the meeting broke up.
“I think you can,” declared Teeter. “Jake Weston is going to get out, I hear, and Tom will fit in. Charlie Borden can take Jake’s place at short and Tom can play first, which he’s used to. Oh, I guess old Excelsior Hall has come into her own again, and we’ll make some of these other teams sit up and take notice.”
And Jake did resign, following the example of his two cronies. This made a place for Tom, and he promptly filled it.
There was a snap and a vim to the playing of the school nine when they first went at it with the changed players, that fairly took the breath out of the scrub. Of course that unfortunate collection of players was weakened by the withdrawal of Joe, Ward and Tom, but even with players of equal strength it is doubtful if they could have held the school nine down.
Joe and his mates struck a winning streak, and the young pitcher never was better than in that practice game on Monday afternoon.
“Joe’s pitching his head off,” observed Tom Davis, and when Ward missed holding one or two particular “hot” ones he thought the same thing. The school team won a decisive victory.
“But that doesn’t mean we will beat Trinity on Saturday,” said Peaches, the new manager. “Don’t begin to take it easy, fellows. And then follows the second game in the series with Morningside. We’ve got to get that or those boys will think they’ve gotten into the habit of beating us.”
“We’ll trim ’em both!” cried Tom.
“Sure,” assented Joe. It was like old times now, he reflected, he and Tom together on a team as they had been on the Silver Stars. The only thing that worried Joe was the theft of his father’s papers and patent models. He knew it would mean a serious loss to his parents, and Joe was rather in fear that he might have to leave boarding school.
“If I have to go away, I hope it won’t be until after I have helped win back the Blue Banner,” he confided to Tom.
“Oh, don’t worry,” advised his chum; and a few days later Joe received a letter from home, telling him the same thing.
Mr. Matson wrote that whereas the loss would badly cripple him, yet he did not want Joe to worry.
The game with Trinity was a source of delight to the Excelsior team. Their rivals came to the diamond battlefield eager for a victory, and theyworked hard for it, but the new combination was too much for them. When the final run was chalked up the score stood:
Excelsior Hall, 11; Trinity, 4.
“That’s what we want to do to Morningside,” said Tom.
“And we will!” predicted Joe.
They had hard practice before the second game with their ancient rivals—for Morningside was a foe whom Excelsior Hall was always eager to beat. In the series for the possession of the Blue Banner she had three games with Morningside and a like number with the other teams in the league.
It was the day of the second Morningside game, and it was to take place on the Excelsior diamond. The weather could not have been better. Spring was just merging into Summer, and the lads were on their mettle. There had been a big improvement in their playing, and they were ready to do battle to a finish.
Luke and Hiram had not been much in evidence since their resignations. They occasionally came to a game, or to practice, but they made sneering remarks, and few of the students had anything to do with them. It was quite a jolt for Hiram, used as he was to running matters to suit himself.
The crowd began arriving early at the Excelsior diamond, for word had gone around that it was to be a game for “blood,” and both teams were on edge. If Excelsior had improved, so had Morningside. They had strengthened their men by long, hard practice, and they were confident of victory.
Joe and Tom had expected before this to hear something about their old enemy, Sam Morton, at Morningside, but the former pitcher for the Silver Stars was seldom mentioned. However, it was learned that he was to substitute in the Morningside-Excelsior game.
Out on the diamond trotted the renovated Excelsior nine. They were received with a burst of applause, and at once got to practice. A little later out came their rivals, and there was a cheer for them. Immediately the opposition cheering and shouting contingents got busy, and there was a riot of sound.
“Going to stay and see the game?” asked Luke of Hiram, as they entered the gate.
“Yes, might as well. Gee! But I hope our fellows lose!”
Nice sentiments, weren’t they for an Excelsior student? But then Hiram was very sore and angry.
“So do I,” added Luke. “It would show them what a mistake they made by dropping us.”
“That’s right,” agreed the conceited Hiram. “If they had only waited we’d have come out all right. It was all the fault of Joe Matson and Tom Davis. I’ll get square with ’em yet.”
They strolled over the grounds, winding in and out amid the throngs. They almost collided with a Morningside player.
“Beg your pardon,” murmured Luke. “Oh, it’s Sam Morton,” he added, for he had met Sam in town a week or so previously. “Have you met Hiram Shell, Sam,” and he introduced the two.
“Oh, yes, you’re the manager of the Excelsiors,” said Sam. “Glad to know you. I think we’ll beat you again. I may pitch after the fifth inning. I’m only the sub now, but I expect to be the regular soon.”
“Iwasmanager,” replied Hiram bitterly, “but Joe Matson and his crowd put up a game on me, and I resigned.”
“Joe Matson, eh? He’s the same fellow who made a lot of trouble for me.”
“Excuse me,” murmured Luke. “I see a friend of mine. I’m going to leave you for a minute.”
“All right,” assented Hiram. “So Joe Matson made trouble for you, too, eh?” he went on to Sam, curiously.
“Yes, he played a mean trick on me, and took my place as pitcher,” which wasn’t exactly true, as my old readers know. “I’d like to get square with him some way,” concluded Sam.
“Say, so would I!” exclaimed Hiram eagerly. “Shake hands on that. He’s a low sneak, and he played a mean trick on me. I’d do anything to get even.”
“Maybe we can,” suggested Sam.
“How?”
“Oh, lots of ways. Come on over here where no one will hear us. Maybe we can fix up some scheme on him. I’d give a good deal to get even.”
“So would I,” added Hiram. “I wish I could get him off the nine, and out of the school.”
“I’ll help you,” proposed Sam eagerly; and then the two, who were very much of a kind when it came to disliking our hero, walked off, whispering together.
“Play ball!” came the distant cry of the umpire, and the great Excelsior-Morningside game was about to start. But the plotters did not turn back to watch it.
“Whew!” whistled Captain Elmer Dalton of the Morningside nine, as he greeted some of the lads against whom his team was to play, “you fellows have been making a lot of changes, haven’t you?” and he looked at the several new members of the school team, including Joe and Tom.
“Yes, a bit of house cleaning,” replied Ward Gerard. “I am captain now. Hiram and Luke got out.”
“Yes, I heard there was some sort of a row.”
“Oh, I suppose it’s all over the league by this time,” put in Peaches. “But it couldn’t be helped. It was like a dose of bitter medicine, but we took it, and I think it’s going to do us good.”
“You meanwe’regoing to do you good,” laughed Elmer. “We’re going to trim you again to-day.”
“Not much!” cried Ward. “We’ll win. Come now, a little wager between you and me—for the sodas, say.”
“You’re on!” agreed Elmer. “Where’s your batting list?”
The two captains walked over to the scoring bench to arrange the details of the game. The two teams were made up as follows, this being the batting order:
The Excelsiors were to bat last, and while the rival crowds of school boys were singing, cheering and giving their class yells, Joe Matson walked to the box for the second time as pitcher on the school nine in a big school league game. No wonder he felt a trifle nervous, but he did not show it, not even when some one yelled:
“Look at the new pitcher they’ve got! We’ll get his number all right.”
“Yes, we’ll have his goat in about a minute!” added another Morningside partizan.
“Go as far as you like,” answered Joe with a smile.
“Play ball!” yelled the umpire, and Joe facedthe first batter, Dunlap Spurr, who had the reputation of being a heavy hitter. Ward signalled for a low one, for he knew that Dunlap had a tendency to hit over such a ball. Joe nodded his head to show that he understood, andthe next moment the horsehide went speeding toward the plate.
The batter swung viciously at it but—missed. He had gone half a foot over it.
“Strike!” cried the umpire.
“Make him give you a pretty one!” called Elmer. “He will if you wait.”
“He won’t have long to wait,” retorted our hero. This time he decided to send one over the corner of the plate, as he noticed that Dunlap had a free swing. Joe hoped he would strike at it and miss, and that was exactly what happened.
“Strike two!” howled the umpire, and there followed a gasp of dismay. Dunlap was not in the habit of doing this, and he rather scowled. Joe smiled.
“One more and we’ll have him down!” called the catcher.
“Where’d you get the pitcher?” asked a Morningside wit.
“Oh, we had him made to order,” replied Tom Davis, who was anxiously waiting on first.
Joe hoped he could make it three straight strikes, but his next was called a ball, and the Morningside supporters let out a yell of gratification.
“There’s his glass arm showing! He’s going to pieces!” they yelled. Joe shut his jaw grimly. He was going to fool the batter if possible, and the next ball he sent in was a puzzling inshoot.
Instinctively Dunlap started away from the plate, but he need not have moved, for the ball, with a neat little twist, passed him at a safe distance, and at a point where he could almost have hit it had he tried. But he did not move his bat, and an instant later the umpire called:
“Three strikes—batter out!”
Then indeed was there a gasp of dismay and protest from the big crowd of Morningside sympathizers, and the visiting nine.
“Say,” began Dunlap Spurr, “that was never——”
“You dry up!” commanded his captain with a laugh. “It was a peach of a ball, and you ought to have hit it. Don’t begin that way. We can beat ’em without that. Good work, Matson, but you can’t keep it up. Come on, Lee; you’re up next. Carlburg on deck.”
Joe was immensely pleased, but he knew it wasonly the beginning of the battle. He got two strikes on Lee and that player began to get worried. Then, after one ball, Lee hit the next one for a pop fly that Joe hardly had to step out of his box to get.
“Two down, play for all you’re worth, Joe,” called Ward; but Joe needed no such urging. However, something went wrong. Either Joe did not have as good control, speed or curving ability as when he had started in, or the next players found him. At any rate Carlburg knocked a dandy two bagger, and Ted Clay, who followed, duplicated the trick. Carlburg came in with the first run of the game, amid a riot of noise, and when Wallace Douglass hit safely to first, Clay got to third, coming in with the second run a little later, when Captain Dalton also singled.
“We’ve got ’em going! We’ve got ’em going!” yelled the delighted Morningside crowd, and it did seem so. Joe felt that he must tighten up, and strike out the next man, or all would be lost.
He glanced at the bench, where the jubilant Morningside players were sitting, all regarding him sharply. It was a supreme test. Then Joe caught the eyes of some one else on him. The eyes of Sam Morton, his old enemy.
It was like a dash of cold water. For the time being he had forgotten that Sam was the substitute pitcher on the visiting team, but had Joe seen him and Hiram in close consultation a little while previously, our hero would have had reason long to remember it.
“I’ll show ’em I am still in the ring!” Joe murmured, and when he wound up for his next delivery he knew that he had himself well in hand again.
“Come on now, bring us all in!” urged Captain Dalton, when Walker Bromley got up to the plate. “He’ll walk you, and then Loftus and Harry will have a show. We’ll have the whole team up.”
It began to look so, for already seven of the nine had been at bat. Joe might have wasted time trying to nail some lad who was playing too far off base, but he did not. Instead he sized up Bromley and sent him a swift one. The batter struck at it and missed. The next ball was called a strike, and attention was at fever heat. Would Walker hit it?
The question was answered in the negative a moment later, for he swung at it with all his force and fanned the air.
“Out!” called the umpire, and the side was retired. But Morningside had two runs, and theway Joe had been hit by four men did not augur well for Excelsior’s chances.
“Oh, we’ll do ’em!” said Ward, with more confidence than he felt.
“I hope they pound Joe out of the box,” murmured Hiram to Luke.
“So do I,” said the former catcher.
Excelsior hoped for great things when it came her turn at stick-work, but alas for hopes! A series of happenings worked against her. George Bland rapped out as pretty a two bagger as one could wish, but he tried to steal third, slipped on a pebble when almost safe, and was thrown out. Peaches Lantfeld knocked a sharp grounder that looked almost certain to get past the shortstop; and it did, but the third baseman, who was a rattling good player, nabbed it and Peaches went down.
“Now, Teeter!” called Ward. “See what you can do.”
Teeter got to first on a muffed fly, and it was Nat Pierson’s turn. Nat could usually be depended on, but this time he could not. He fanned twice and the third time got two fouls in succession.
“Well, we’re finding the ball, anyhow,” saidWard cheerfully. “Kill it next time, Nat, and give Sister Davis a show.”
Nat tried to, but he knocked an easy fly, which the pitcher gathered in, and the opportunity of the Excelsior nine was over for that inning. A big goose egg went up in their frame. Score: 2—0, in favor of the visitors.
Joe took a long breath when he went into the box again, and facing Loftus Brown, struck him out in such short order that his friends began to breathe easier again. The game was far from lost, and as long as Joe did not allow his “goat” to be gotten, Excelsior might win yet. Then Harry Young, probably the poorest batter the visitors had, fanned thrice successively, and it was Dunlap Spurr’s turn again. Joe knew just what to give him, and when he struck him out, after two foul strikes had been made, the crowd set up a yell.
The visitors did not get a run in their half of the second, and once more Excelsior had a show. Tom Davis singled, got around to third when Charlie Borden knocked a two-bagger, and slid home in a close play when Harry Lauter was thrown out at first. There was only one gone when Joe came to bat, and one run had come in. Joe knocked a safety, or at least it looked as if it was going to be that, but the shortstop, by a magnificentjump into the air, nabbed it, and then came as pretty a double play as had ever taken place on that diamond. Joe was put out and Charlie Borden, who had been hugging third, was caught at home, for he was not a fast runner.
That retired the side, and there was only one run to match the two which Morningside had. Still it was something, and the home team began to take heart.
Then began what was one of the most remarkable games in the series. Joe did not allow a hit in the first half of the third inning and the Excelsiors got one run, tying the score. In the fourth the visitors pulled a single tally down, putting them one ahead, and then, just to show what they could do, the home team knocked out two, gaining an advantage of one.
The crowd was wild with delight at the clean playing, for both teams were on their mettle, and the rival pitchers were delivering good balls. But the fifth inning nearly proved a Waterloo for our friends. The Morningsides got four runs, which made Joe groan inwardly in anguish, for he was severely pounded.
“Maybe you’d better let Brown or Akers go in,” he suggested to Ward.
“Not on your life!” cried the captain. “You are all right. It was just a slip. Hold hard and we’ll do ’em.”
Joe held hard, and there was a little encouragement when his team got one run, making the score at the ending of the fifth inning seven to five in favor of the Morningside team.
Once more in the opening of the sixth Joe did the trick. He allowed but one single, and then three men fanned in succession, while, just to make things more than ever interesting, the Excelsiors got two runs, again tying the score.
“Say, we’ll have to wake up if we’re going to wallop these fellows,” confided the visiting captain to his lads. “They have certainly improved a lot by getting Hiram and Luke out.”
“Oh, we’ll do ’em,” predicted Ted Clay, the pitcher.
From then on the Excelsiors fairly “played their heads off,” and they ought to have done much better than they did when their hard work was taken into consideration. But there were many weak spots that might in the future be eliminated by good coaching, and Joe needed harder practice.
But in every inning thereafter the home team got at least one run, save only in the seventh. In their half of the sixth they got two, as I have said,and though the visitors got one in their half of the seventh, again making the score one in their favor, in the eighth our friends got three, while the visitors got only two. So that at the close of the eighth the score was: Excelsior, 10; Morningside 10.
“A tie! A tie!” cried hundreds of voices. Indeed it had pretty nearly been a tie game all the way through, and it might go to ten innings or more.
“We’ve got to beat ’em!” declared Captain Ward. “Joe, whitewash ’em this inning, and in the next we’ll get the winning run.”
“I’ll do it!” confidently promised the young pitcher, and he did. He was tossing the ball according to his old form again, and not a man landed his stick on it during the first half of the ninth. Then, as the home team came up for their last whacks (except in the event of the score being a tie), they were wildly greeted by their schoolmates.
“One run to beat ’em! Only one!” yelled the crowd.
“I guess it’s all up with us,” remarked the visiting captain to his men, as they took the field. “They’re bound to get that one.”
“Not if I can help it!” exclaimed the pitcher fiercely.
And it looked as if he was going to make good his boast, for he struck out two men in quick order. And then up came Tom Davis.
“Swat it, Tom. Swat it!” was the general cry. “Bring in a home run!”
“Watch me,” he answered grimly.
Two strikes were called on him, and two balls. There was a nervous tension on everyone, for, unless Tom made good, the game would have to go another inning, when all sorts of possibilities might happen.
Ping!
That was the mighty sound of Tom’s bat landing on the ball. Away sailed the horsehide—up and away, far over the head of the centre fielder, who raced madly after it.
“Go on! Go on!”
“Run, you swatter, run!”
“A homer! A homer!”
These cries greeted and encouraged Tom as he legged it for first base. On and on he went, faster and faster, rounding the initial bag, going on to second and then to third. The centre fielder had the ball now, but he would have to relay it in. He threw as Tom left third.
“Come on! Come on!” yelled Joe, jumping up and down.
“If you don’t bring in that run I’ll never speak to you again!” shouted Ward.
The crowd was in a frenzy. Men and women were standing up on the seats, some jumping up and down, others yelling at the tops of their voices, and some pounding each other on the back in their excitement.
On and on ran Tom, but he was getting weary now. The second baseman had the ball and was swinging his arm back to hurl it home. But Tom was almost there now, and he slid over the plate a full two seconds ere the ball landed in the catcher’s big mitt.
“Safe!” howled the umpire.
“And we win the game!” yelled Joe, as he raced over to Tom and slapped him on the back, an example followed by so many others that poor Tom nearly lost his breath. “You won the game for us, Tom!”
“Nonsense! If you hadn’t held ’em down by your pitching, Joe, my run wouldn’t have done any good.”
“That’s right!” cried the others, and it was so. Excelsior Hall had won the second of the big games with her ancient rival, though it was by the narrow margin of one run.
“Three cheers for the Excelsiors!” cried the visiting captain, swinging his hat around in the air as a signal to his crowd, after the excitement had somewhat calmed. “Three good cheers, boys! They beat us fair and square! Three big cheers!”
And how they rang out! And how also rang out the return cheers, which Joe and his mates rendered. Never had applause sounded sweeter in the ears of our hero, for it seemed that the school nine had now begun to live in better days, since the dismissal of Hiram and Luke.
Joe kept at his pitching practice, and he himself knew, even had others, including Tom, not told him, that he was doing well.
“You’re better than when you pitched for the Silver Stars,” said Tom, “and you were no slouch then.”
“Yes, I think Iammore sure of myself,” admitted Joe. “And I’ve got more speed and bettercurves.” It was natural that he should have. He was growing taller and stronger that Summer, and he had most excellent practice. He had not given up the idea of becoming a professional pitcher, and everything he could do tended that way for him.
He had heard nothing more definite from home, but Mr. Matson said he was still trying to trace the stolen models and papers.
“I’ll help you when vacation time comes,” said Joe in a letter. “But I’m playing ball for all I’m worth now.”
“Keep at it,” his father wrote back.
There were many games played that season by Excelsior Hall—many more than the previous Summer—for Spring had now given place to warm weather. The school term was drawing to a close, but there were still many more games to play in the league series.
In succession Excelsior met and defeated Trinity, the Lakeview Preps. and Woodside Hall. She was near the top of the list now, though Morningside was quite a way in advance. It looked as if eventually there would be a tie for first place between the old rivals—a tie for the possession of the Blue Banner, and if there was it meant a greatfinal game. Joe looked forward to it with mingled fear and hope.
“How I hate him!” exclaimed Hiram to his crony, Luke, one day after a close game, when Joe’s pitching had won again for Excelsior. “I wish I could get him out of the school, or off the nine, or something.”
“Why don’t you? I thought you and Sam Morton had some scheme.”
“We thought so, too, but it fell through. But I’ve thought of something else, and if you and Sam will help me carry it out, I think we can put it all over that fresh guy.”
“Sure, I’ll help; what is it?”
“First we’ve got to get hold of something belonging to him—his knife, if it’s got his name on; a letter addressed to him, that he’s opened and read; a handkerchief with his name on; anything that would show he’d been in a certain place at a certain time.”
“Suppose we do?”
“Leave the rest to Sam and me, if you can get us something.”
“I’ll do it!” promised Luke. “I’m on the same corridor with Joe now; I changed my room, you know. I shouldn’t wonder but what I could sneak in and get something belonging to him.”
“Do it, then. I’ve got a date with Sam, and I’ll go see him. See if you can get something this afternoon or evening, and if you can we’ll do it.”
“I will,” and the two plotters parted, the chief one to keep an appointment with Joe’s enemy. Sam’s hatred against our hero was increased because Sam was not allowed to pitch for his own team.
“I’ve got to keep Ted Clay in condition, so that when we meet Excelsior again he’ll be on edge,” said Captain Dalton of the Morningsides. “That Matson is a wonder and we can’t take any chances. I don’t dare risk letting you pitch.”
“That’s another one I owe to Joe!” muttered Sam. “I must certainly get even with him. Hiram and I ought to pull off something,” and then he sent word to the Excelsior bully. That afternoon the three conspirators, with guilty looks, met in a secluded place and talked over their plans.
There was a knock on Joe’s door. His chum Tom had gone out that evening to a lecture, and our hero was all alone.
“Come!” called Joe, and from down the corridor Luke Fodick peered out of his slightly-opened door to see what was going on.
“Here’s a telegram for you,” said one of the school messengers, handing in a yellow envelope.
“A telegram for me,” murmured Joe. “It must be from dad. I may have to send an answer. Did the messenger wait?”
“No, he’s gone.”
“All right, if I do have to wire, perhaps I can get permission to go in to town to do it.”
Quickly Joe tore open the message. It was brief, and it was from his father.
“Understand Holdney is somewhere near Cedarhurst,” the message read. “Keep a lookout, and if you get trace notify police there at once. Arrest on larceny charge.”
“Rufus Holdney near here,” murmured Joe. “I must keep my eyes open. I’ll wire dad at once, telling him I’m on the job.”
He hurried from his room, stuffing the telegram in his pocket as he went, and never noticing as he passed Luke’s door that it fell out into the corridor.
“I hope I can get permission to go to the telegraph office,” mused Joe as he hastened to the office. “I guess the doctor will let me when I tell him what it’s about.”
As Joe turned a corner out of sight, Luke sprang out, picked up the message and envelope, and exclaimed:
“This will do the trick! Now to find Hiram and Sam.”
He hurried to tell his crony, who was being visited by Sam, and once more the three put their heads together, to work the ruin of our hero.
Joe easily obtained permission to go to town to send his message. He was rather surprised on looking in his pocket for his father’s telegram, not to find it, but concluded that he had left it in his room. He did not really need it, anyhow, as he knew the contents perfectly well.
The telegraph office was closed when he reached it, but the operator lived near by, and agreed to open his place, and tick off the message. This delayed Joe, however, and he was rather late getting back to the school. He did not see a teacher to report to him, as he had been bidden to do, but hurried to his own room.
He was tired and soon fell asleep, noting that Tom was already in bed and slumbering. Joe did not look for his lost message.
There was a thundering knock at Joe’s door the next morning. It awoke him and Tom.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Fire!”
“Fire! No. Haven’t you heard the news?” asked the voice of Peaches. “There’s a big row on.”
“What’s up?” demanded Tom, slipping out of bed, and opening the door.
“The Founder Statue has been pulled from its base, and overturned!” said Teeter, who was with Peaches. “Look, you can see it from your window.”
Tom and Joe hastened to the casement to look. On the campus, not far from the school, stood a bronze statue of Dr. Theodore Whittleside, the original founder of the institution. It was a fine piece of work, the gift of several of the alumni societies, and was almost sacred. Now some ruthless hand had pulled it from its base, and part of one of the hands was broken off.
For a moment Joe and Tom stood aghast, looking at it. Then the meaning of it came to them. Some sacrilegious student, or students, had done the deed.
“There’ll be a peach of a row over this!” declared Teeter. “Hurry up and get to chapel. Old Cæsar is sure to spout a lot about it. It’s sure dismissal for whoever did it.”
“And it ought to be!” exclaimed Joe wrathfully.
“If they catch them,” added Tom, thoughtfully. “I wonder who did it?”