CHAPTER XL.A QUEER DELUSION.
Mike Lynch was placed under the care of a doctor, who found it necessary to give the fellow opiates in order to quiet him. The doctor fancied Lynch would come around all right in case he could get some sleep, which he seemed to require. Mike’s friends took turns in watching him through the day.
Toward nightfall Lynch awoke and discovered Ditson and Wolfe in the room. He announced his intention of getting up and proceeded to do so in spite of their remonstrances.
“I’m all right,” he declared. “The trouble with me was that I couldn’t seem to sleep after the unfortunate drowning of Merriwell last night. I’ve been troubled with hallucinations I suppose. Never had anything like that before. I’m nearly starved, fellows.”
“I should think you would be,” said Ditson, exchanging glances with Wolfe. “Come on with us and get something to eat. You know we all thought Merriwell drowned, and even now I don’t know how he escaped. Of course we’re glad he did escape.”
“What are you talking about?” cried Lynch, beginning to show excitement. “Merriwell’s dead. Don’t think you can soothe my feelings by giving me the impression that he escaped. Don’t try to deceive me, Ditson.”
“Now listen to reason, Mike,” urged Duncan. “Here’s Bern—he’ll tell you that Merriwell’s all right. We’ve both seen him several times to-day.”
But at this Lynch fell into such a state of excitement that both his friends were startled and alarmed. He beat the air with his clenched fists and cried out that Merriwell was dead and would have to remain so.
“By Jove!” whispered Wolfe, in Ditson’s ear. “We’d better let up on this. The only way to satisfy him is to show him Merriwell alive and in good health.”
“And that may not satisfy him,” murmured Dunc. “They say the thing that threw him into a fit was the sight of Merriwell this morning. Mike’s the last person I’d ever fancied would get this way. I didn’t suppose he had any nerves. He’s literally gone to pieces.”
They soothed him by changing the subject of their conversation. By the time he was dressed and ready to go out he again seemed in his normal condition.
On their way to a restaurant they met Merriwell, who, with several friends, was coming from the gymnasium.
At sight of Dick, Lynch turned ghastly pale and trembled. Not a word came from his lips, but he turned his head away and walked on with averted eyes.
“Merriwell is looking pretty healthy for a dead man,” observed Wolfe, winking at Ditson.
“Stop!” cried Mike, with a snarl. “Don’t try any more of that! I won’t have it. I know he’s dead, and that ends it.”
His companions looked at each other in wonderment, deciding that, although Lynch seemingly had recovered, he was a subject for the care of a physician.
But even the doctor who attended Lynch could not quite understand the condition of the fellow’s mind. In everything else Mike seemed rational, but the mere mentioning of Merriwell’s name in his hearing threw him into a state of excitement that bordered on frenzy. At sight of Dick, whom he occasionally encountered, he invariably turned pale and averted his eyes. Some of the fellow’s friends insisted that he ought to go home and take a rest, but this caused Lynch to grinand declare that he was in “the finest condition ever.” He simply refused to acknowledge that Dick Merriwell was not dead.
Ditson and Du Boise raised money to settle for Brad Buckhart’s boat and felt that they were getting out of the affair very cheaply. Of course Dick was told of Mike Lynch’s singular mental delusion, but he, like nearly every one else, believed Lynch would get over it in time.
These were busy days for Dick. Baseball absorbed nearly all his spare time. He was not a little surprised when Wilbur Keene came to him and asked to be coached in pitching. At first Dick thought the fellow joshing, but Keene was in sober earnest, and therefore day after day Merriwell spent thirty minutes or more time instructing the varsity pitcher.
When Welch and the rest of the varsity twirlers learned that Keene was being coached by Dick they unbottled their scorn upon Wilbur. He was compelled to endure all sorts of jeers and sneers. Nevertheless, he persisted, for from the very start he was convinced that Dick’s tutoring would be beneficial to him. Within a few days he could see an improvement in his work.
The first thing Dick insisted on was that Keene should persist in obtaining control of the ball. This he declared was far more essential than speed or curves. The man who possessed perfect control and had a good head on his shoulders could often deceive a batter who could not be deceived by the chap whose control was imperfect, even though the latter had everything else that a pitcher needs.
The moment Keene could, put the ball where he wished to put it Dick began on other things, and from that time the pupil made rapid progress.
In practice on Friday, the day before the scheduledgame with Cornell, Keene did some pitching for batting practice. It happened that Dick was present and on the bench. Wilbur decided to try his newly learned kinks upon his comrades, and did so with the most surprising and satisfying results. Safe hits were few and far between. When hit at all the ball had a nasty way of popping into the air or rolling punkily along the ground. To the exasperation of the players, they could not seem to get their bats squarely against the ball.
“What do you think of that, Leyden?” inquired Emery, trotting up to the coach. “Keene seems to be in pretty good trim to-day, doesn’t he?”
“And you know why, don’t you?” said Leyden. “He’s the only pitcher who has taken the freshman Merriwell as a coach. The rest are prejudiced against Merriwell or else they have too much foolish pride. Keene is certainly improving. You’d better consider putting him into the box to-morrow. It would be a good time to try him out.”
“Welch expects to pitch to-morrow.”
“But you haven’t told him that he’s to pitch, have you?”
“Hardly. I don’t choose a pitcher so far ahead of a game.”
“Well,” said Leyden, “I urge you once more to consider my suggestion. Keene hasn’t been given much real work. Start him on the slab to-morrow. If they pound him, pull him off.”