CHAPTER XXIIIRENEWED HOPES
Ray Wendell was right when he said that I exaggerated the effect that our defeat would have upon our college mates. They were surprised and disappointed, it is true—bitterly disappointed, for they had shared our confidence in the nine; but fortunately we had numerous witnesses in the omnibus load of companions who accompanied us, and who knew well enough where the trouble lay, and what had caused our defeat. To these witnesses I soon felt a genuine debt of gratitude, for it speedily became evident that the reports which they brought back from the game were as charitable to the team as could possibly be expected under the circumstances.
The greetings which we received were kind and considerate. Fellows took pains to make us feel the humiliation as little as possible. Early Monday morning I met Clinton Edwards, and his first words, as he shook hands with me, were, “Harry, you played a fine game—steady and true right through to the end. I am very sorry you had such hard luck. It was no fault of yours, nor the others in fact, except Fred Harrison, that we didn’t win.”
And this was the general expression of feeling on every hand, no one showing the least disposition to find fault with the team, but all ready to attribute the result to ill fortune, and to extend their sympathy. Even poor Fred Harrison came in for as much pity as condemnation for his foolish act.
The disposition on the part of the college put new spirit into us, and renewed our purpose to go in and regain our lost ground. That we could entirely recover ourselves and win the Crimson Banner of course seemed next to impossible, but we pinned our hope to the game with the Park men. Should we be able to defeat them, we would feel largely compensated even for the loss of the championship. I shared Ray’s opinion that our chances of defeating Park College were very fair, for I felt confident that our team in its altered form, with Percy Randall on third base, would do fine work, and such rumors as had come from Berkeley had not reported very favorably on the Park nine.
I did not, however, rely too much on these rumors, for it had been a favorite dodge of the Park men to start reports of their condition, in order to deceive and mislead their opponents. Of the truth concerning their nine we could learn more after the following Wednesday, when the Park and the Halford teams played together. Ray Wendell determined to go over to see this game in order to obtain points that it might be to our advantage to know. I could not accompany him, for I had a recitation on that day,but Clinton Edwards agreed to go over, and upon his and Ray’s experienced judgment we could rely for a proper estimate of the abilities of our opponents.
Fred Harrison improved rapidly, but was compelled to carry his arm in a sling for some time, and was forbidden by the doctor to play ball again during the spring, so that Ray was relieved of all difficulty in disposing of him. Fred was heartily ashamed of himself, and for a long time after the game could not bear to speak of the matter. The fellows, knowing well how mortified and humiliated he was, were careful to treat him with as much consideration as possible, and no thoughtless or unkind word from them ever reminded him of that unfortunate day at Dean.
What brought mortification to Fred, however, made Percy Randall happy. The latter had been disappointed in missing a position on the nine in the first place, and the change which unexpectedly brought him a place delighted him.
The hope of improvement which Ray had expressed became confirmed in me the moment I saw Percy step out on the diamond Monday noon. He had received his notification during the morning, and came down to the grounds with a smiling face and an air of pride. It had certainly paid us to encourage him, for the way he took hold of balls, and the dash and vim with which he played, convinced me that we had nothing to fear from that quarter. As I watched him, I could only wonder that we had not seen the stuff that was in him before. As we anticipated, too,his spirit was contagious, and all the fellows played with a dash that was remarkable for a team who had just returned from a humiliating defeat.
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Tony Larcom, as he stood beside me while I was batting the ball to the various basemen. “Percy Randall is a regular tonic. If the fellows will keep in this form they can beat the earth. Good boy, Percy! That was a dandy,” he added, as our new third baseman made a dive towards short stop and captured a hard ground hit with one hand. I nodded in approbation to Ray, who wore a smile of confidence as he stood watching this play from second base.
At the close of our practice, Ray, Tony, and I walked back to the college together.
“Keep it up, boys,” said Tony, “and we will see that Crimson Banner yet.”
“Yes,” answered Ray, with a laugh, “I can see it Wednesday when I go over to Berkeley. It doesn’t cost anything to see it, but I fancy we may be able to capture it, too, if we can keep on in the way we have begun to-day. We are still a little unaccustomed to the change, but I think we will soon get used to it. The only thing I could wish for is more time to practice. Our game with Park College comes off next Saturday. That is just a week too soon for me. If we could have six days’ more practice, I shouldn’t be afraid to tackle the best college nine in the country.”
“Oh, it’s all right as it is,” answered Tony. “We’ll be in good condition by Saturday, don’t you fear.”
“I can tell better about our prospects after I see Wednesday’s game,” said Ray. “At any rate we will practice twice a day until Thursday, so we ought to be in good trim. Don’t forget to be on hand at five o’clock this afternoon,” he added as I left him.
It was a pleasant experience to Ray and myself to be walking freely upon the campus again and attending our lectures. We had neither of us lost ground, but were enabled to resume our places without suffering any disadvantage from our period of suspension. This was of course due entirely to the care with which we had attended to our studies while lodging in town; and the knowledge of this did much to conciliate Dr. Drayton, who greeted us both kindly, and even unbent so far as to express his sympathy with us in our defeat—or to put it in his highly dignified way, he “regretted that our efforts in the baseball field had not been so far attended with success.”
Professor Fuller I had not seen during Monday or Tuesday, but after visiting the post office Tuesday evening, I determined to take advantage of the next hour’s leisure and pay the professor a short call. As I turned from the main street into the lane which led to Professor Fuller’s house I heard a light footstep behind me, and turned quickly to see who it was. The sun had only just set, and the light was still sufficient for me to see it was Miss Nettie who was approaching,probably, like myself, returning from the post office. I stopped and greeted her.
“I am going your way,” I said. “May I accompany you?”
She nodded pleasantly.
“Are you going to see the ‘Old Governor’?” she asked with a smile.
“Yes,” I answered, laughing. “Do you call him by that name, too?”
“I might almost as well,” she said frankly. “It seems to suit father so well, and I think he likes it, too. He is at home—at least he was a half hour ago when I left him after supper. It was only this afternoon that we were talking about you and Mr. Wendell and the ball nine. In fact, I haven’t talked about anything else for the past two days.”
“We were in very hard luck,” I said.
“Indeed you were,” she said warmly. “I can’t get over it. I asked everybody I knew about it, and got all the accounts I could. You know it is very hard for me to get the news, having no brother to tell me, but I made up my mind I would know all about it, and I did. I was sure it couldn’t be your fault that the game was lost. I didn’t believe anybody could beat our nine. It was too bad about Mr. Harrison——”
“About Harrison?” I said quickly, wondering who could have told her the whole truth about Fred.
“Yes, about his being taken sick,” she answered.
“Oh, yes,” I said, somewhat relieved to find that theactual truth had not reached her. “Yes, it was too bad. It happened just at the wrong time for us.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she went on, “for I had counted on our winning that game. I am glad it didn’t take place here, for I couldn’t have stood the sight of it. I know I should have cried. I always do when I get terribly excited, and I make a perfect sight of myself.”
“Well, we appreciate your feelings, anyhow, Miss Nettie,” I answered with a laugh, “and I wish we had proved ourselves worthy of your sympathy.”
“Oh, you will do better next time, I’m sure; and I think I would rather see you beat Park College than get the championship.”
“That is the way I feel,” I said; “and if we can beat both Halford and Park Colleges we can still tie for championship, so all hope is not gone yet of reaching the Crimson Banner.”
We had now arrived at Professor Fuller’s house.
“If you will wait one moment I will see if father is in,” said Miss Nettie, hurrying into the house. In a short time she returned.
“I am very sorry,” she said. “Father is engaged with some one in the library. The door is closed, and I cannot tell who it is, but from the voice I think it must be one of the students. Won’t you wait? He may be at leisure shortly.”
“I have some work to do,” I answered, “so I’ll not wait. My errand was not urgent, so I can call again. I came merely for a brief social visit.”
“He will be sorry to miss you, I know,” said Miss Nettie, “and you must come again soon.”
“I will, thank you,” was my response. “Good night, Miss Nettie.”
“Good night,” she responded; “and tell Mr. Wendell that we are sorry the game came out so badly.”