CHAPTER XIXSPRING PRACTICE
“I’m the fellow who did it,” admitted Sparrow modestly.
“Sparrow, old scout, you’re a wonder!” cried Mouser, clapping him on the back.
“It hit him right where he lived,” chuckled Skeets.
“That pays him up for scattering ashes on the hill,” grinned Fred.
“He’ll never hear the last of it as long as he stays in school,” said Shiner. “Every once in a while a dead mouse will turn up on his desk and make him hopping mad.”
“He’ll never be much madder than he was this morning,” put in Skeets. “His eyes were fairly snapping.”
“Bronson and Jinks got theirs, too,” said Pee Wee. “I guess they’ll think twice before they pick on the other fellows again.”
“They’ve been rather quiet since the goat tumbled them over at our last initiation,” laughed Bobby, referring to an incident of the previous term, “but since Hicksley came they’ve been getting ugly again. I guess what they got this morning will hold them for a while.”
As a matter of fact, the bullies did seem to be somewhat dashed by the stout resistance that the smaller boys had put up and they did not refer to the valentine again. They were only too willing to have it forgotten, and Tom Hicksley ground his teeth more than once at not having kept it to himself.
Spring was now at hand, coming this year a little earlier than usual. The snow disappeared from the ground, the ice vanished from the lake, and the soft winds that blew up from the south turned the thoughts of the boys to track games and baseball.
Fred and Bobby had done a good deal of practicing in the gymnasium and were in prime condition. But actual practice on the diamond was the real thing they wanted, and they were delighted when the ground had dried out enough to play in the open air.
Frank Durrock had been busy for a month past, getting all the details perfected for the entrance of Rockledge into the Monatook Lake League. But now everything was ready and he could devote himself to picking the members of the team.
This proved to be no easy matter. An unusually large number of good players were at Rockledge, and the struggle for places on the nine was interesting and exciting.
It seemed that Bobby should play in the pitcher’s box and Fred at short stop. They had both done exceedingly well at those positions the previous spring and fall. But there was a new boy, Willis by name, who had been a good short stop on his home nine before he had come to the school, and it seemed to be a toss up between him and Fred as to who could do better in the position.
Bobby, too, had rivalry to face in the person of Tom Hicksley.
On the first day that they actually had field practice, Hicksley came out on the ball ground in an old uniform that proclaimed that he had once been a member of the “Eagles” of Cresskill, his native town.
Frank knew that he had been a pitcher, and so he put him in the box and had him toss up some balls for the rest of the team in batting practice.
And Hicksley did exceedingly well. Whatever his defects in character, he certainly knew how to pitch. He had a good outcurve, a fair incurve and a high fast ball that Bobby himself generously declared to be a “peach.”
Hicksley’s height and strength, too, were greater than Bobby’s, which was not to be wondered at when it was considered that he was three years older. But he was inclined to be a little wild, and his control was not as good as Bobby’s.
But what made his work of special interest to Frank was that he pitched with his left hand. Most of the pitchers in the new league were right-handed, and the boys were used to hitting that kind of pitching.
Frank felt that with a left-handed pitcher he would have the other fellows all at sea when it came to “lining them out,” and for that reason he watched Hicksley with the closest attention.
“He puts them over all right,” conceded Bobby, as he watched Hicksley winging them over the plate.
“Yes,” said Fred, “when he gets them over at all. But lots of them don’t even cut the corners. He’ll give too many bases on balls.”
“And a base on balls is as good for the fellow that gets it as a base hit,” commented Mouser.
“His arm seems to be all right, but we don’t know how he’ll act when he gets in a pinch,” said Skeets dubiously.
“That’s what makes Bobby so strong as a pitcher,” said Shiner. “No matter how tight a hole he finds himself in, he’s cool as an iceberg.”
“That’s so,” remarked Pee Wee, who was too fat and too slow to play himself, but was an ardent rooter for the home team. “I’ve never seen Bobby get rattled yet.”
“That’s because there isn’t a bit of yellow in him,” said Fred, throwing his arm affectionately about his chum’s shoulder.
“And I’ll bet that Hicksley has a yellow streak in him a yard wide,” snapped Sparrow.
“Oh he may not be that way when it comes to baseball,” remonstrated Bobby who always tried to be fair. “At any rate he ought to have a chance to show what he can do before we make up our minds about him. You fellows know that I don’t like him a bit more than you do, but that doesn’t say he may not be a good baseball player.”
Jinks was not on the nine, but Bronson, who was a good batter and a fair fielder, was expected to play center field. They were both delighted at the showing that their crony was making and were loud in their applause. Their praise was so extravagant in fact that it was clear that they did it to depreciate Bobby.
“You’re the best pitcher we ever had at Rockledge, Tom,” cried Bronson, casting a side glance at Bobby to make sure that he heard.
“You lay over them all,” crowed Jinks. “There’s no one else can hold a candle to you.”
“Here, cut that out, you fellows,” called Frank Durrock sharply. “Blake has proved what he can do and I don’t want any talk like that. He won both of the last games he pitched against Belden, and any one who can do better than he did will have to be going some.”
“You bet they will,” cried Fred loyally, and there was a round of hand clapping from the other boys, with most of whom Bobby was a prime favorite.
Frank’s hearty defense put Bobby on his mettle, and when his turn came to put the balls over, he did so with a snap and skill that delighted his friends.
The practice all around was sharp and spirited, and Frank was greatly encouraged as he saw how well the team took hold. But it would not do to play too long on the first day, and after an hour or so, he called a halt.
“We want to keep an eye on those fellows, Bobby,” remarked Fred a little uneasily as they were going toward the school. “They’re going to crowd you out if they can.”
“Let them try,” replied Bobby. “I’m going to try my best to hold up my end with Hicksley and beat him if I can. But if he can prove that he’s a better pitcher than I am, I won’t kick if I have to play second fiddle. I’d be willing to do anything to help Rockledge win.”