CHAPTER XXVIGENEROUS HOSTS
An hour later and a jubilant, noisy crowd of students were seated about one of the large tables in the dining room of the Halford House, all bent upon doing justice to the best dinner that the modest hostelry could supply. The party lacked only one thing to complete its happiness—the presence of Tony Larcom.
“Where is Tony?” I asked.
“Gone to the telegraph office,” answered Ray. “He has about a dozen messages to send to Belmont. He will be back shortly.”
Ray had hardly ceased speaking when Tony entered. A round of cheers greeted him.
“Any news from Belmont?” we cried.
“Well, scarcely,” he answered, with a laugh as he seated himself. “I’ve just sent my telegrams. But I have news from the game over at Dean to-day.”
“I suppose, of course the Park men beat Dean all to pieces,” said Ray. “What was the score?”
“Twelve to four in favor of Park,” answered Tony. “That is somewhat different from our score with the Dean men.”
“Yes,” I answered, “but it is not so different from what our scoreoughtto have been, andwouldhave been had we played them to-day. We were badly handicapped.”
“And so were the Park men, it seems—at least for part of the game,” said Tony.
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Ray, looking quickly at Tony.
“My telegram said that Arnold was unwell, and did not pitch after the fourth inning.”
All conversation ceased in an instant. Arnold was by all odds the most skilful pitcher in the Berkshire League; and his record for the past two years had never been equaled in the history of the colleges. He was a tower of strength to the Park nine, and had won several notable victories for them by his masterly handling of the ball. Park College owed her success in baseball chiefly to Arnold’s steady nerve, good judgment, and skilful playing. He was not the captain of the nine, for, although the position had been offered him, he had declined in favor of Beard, the third baseman, on the ground that his work in the pitcher’s box would require all his attention; but he was really the controlling authority of the nine—the power behind the throne, so to speak.
The news Tony brought was therefore of the deepest interest to us, who recognized in Arnold our most formidable opponent. The same idea was undoubtedly in all our minds.
“Arnold unwell!” I exclaimed, giving utteranceto the common thought. “I wonder if he will be able to play Monday.”
“That I can’t say,” answered Tony. “The telegram was very brief, and gave me no clue as to the nature or extent of his sickness.”
“Suppose Arnold doesn’t pitch Monday,” said Percy Randall. “Oh, my! Won’t we have a picnic!”
“Well, you needn’t count on that at all,” answered Ray. “You will only be the loser for it. I know Park College of old, and I don’t take any stock in their ‘invalids.’ Two years ago we heard rumors from Berkeley some time before that three of their men were laid up. All the same, the next week out came those three ‘invalids,’ and played a rattling fine game, doing us up to the tune of 6–4. You remember that, Harry?”
“Indeed I do,” I responded, “for one of those ‘invalids’ knocked a home run on an outcurve of mine. Park College ‘invalids’ are dangerous men on the ball field.”
“Well,” said Tony, “I know their tricks, too, so I didn’t place much faith in that part of the message. There is little doubt but that Arnold will be on hand Monday, and keep up his record.”
As we left the dining room we were met in the hallway by Slade and Bennett, of the Halford nine. It was the first we had seen of them since the game. They were both as pleasant as possible, and evidently determined to let their disappointment over the resultsof the game in no way affect their behavior toward us.
“Well,” said Slade to me with a smile, “you deserve to be congratulated, for you played a strong game. We honestly thought we would win to-day, for we calculated on finding your nine weaker than usual. It was your game with the Dean men that made us feel so confident, and the results to-day took us pretty well by surprise. The fellows feel disappointed, of course, for it throws us entirely out of the race, but the game was fairly won, so there’s an end of it.”
“Our nine has greatly improved since the Dean game,” said Ray. “We have made several changes.”
“I should think so,” answered Bennett; “you played finely this afternoon, and I don’t think you have ever put a stronger nine on the field. I don’t feel ashamed of the defeat at all, for it was a mighty well fought game on both sides.”
“You gave us very generous treatment,” said Ray, “and we shall always remember it gratefully.”
“It was only a return of the courtesy we have always received at Belmont,” answered Slade. “We simply gave you a fair show. Everybody ought to have that. If we had received it at Berkeley, we might have been more successful. By the way, I suppose you have heard the news from Dean?”
“Yes,” said Ray. “It was only what I expected. Did you receive any word concerning Arnold?”
“No. What about him?”
“Our telegram stated he was unwell, and gave up pitching in the fourth inning.”
“It couldn’t be of any importance,” rejoined Slade, “for the message I received said nothing about it. Did he leave the field?”
“No,” answered Tony. “My telegram reads, ‘Arnold unwell in fourth inning—changed places with Cross.’ Cross, you know, is their substitute pitcher, and plays right field.”
“Then of course it doesn’t amount to much,” said Bennett. “The game was no doubt virtually won in the first four innings, and so Arnold changed positions in order to avoid all chances of straining his arm.”
“I suppose he was bent on taking things as easily as possible, and saving up his strength for you next Monday,” added Slade with a smile.
“That is more like the real truth of the matter,” answered Ray. “Arnold no doubt felt confident of the Dean game, and didn’t want to overwork himself. I told the fellows not to put any faith in rumors of sickness.”
“What were you thinking of doing this evening?” asked Slade, looking at his watch, and changing the subject.
“Nothing in particular,” answered Ray.
“Well, our dramatic club gives an amateur performance in the college hall, and I came over here especially to invite you all to attend. Of course it doesn’t amount to much as a dramatic treat, but we always have lots of fun. What do you say?”
A chorus of assent greeted this proposition.
“Come on then,” said Slade. “I have complimentary tickets for the whole crowd. The performance begins at eight o’clock, so there is no time to lose.”
As we were going out one of the hallboys brought Tony Larcom a telegram. Tony opened it, glanced over its contents, and then, with a laugh, handed it to me.
The telegram was from Clinton Edwards, and ran as follows:
News just received. Hurrah for Belmont! Let the good work go on. I will meet you at Berkeley on Monday and bring the “baseball chorus” with me to yell for the champions.
News just received. Hurrah for Belmont! Let the good work go on. I will meet you at Berkeley on Monday and bring the “baseball chorus” with me to yell for the champions.
“What is the ‘baseball chorus’?” asked Percy Randall, as the telegram passed from one to another.
“Oh, it’s a gang of about forty fellows that Clinton has organized with a view to making the utmost noise possible,” answered Tony. “He had them over at Dean to cheer for us, but we didn’t give them a chance that day. We’ll give them something more to do Monday, and we can trust Clinton for all the support and encouragement we need. I would back his little band against a whole grand stand full of Park men. If cheering is to decide that game, we will stand a chance to win.”
The dramatic entertainment was highly enjoyable, and in every respect a success. The actors acquitted themselves with the utmost credit; and the many collegegags and local hits that were interspersed throughout the play gave much additional zest and enjoyment to the performance, and kept the spectators in an almost continual roar of laughter. Occasional responses from the audience, and impromptu rallies of wit between the actors and some of their friends in front, formed a novel and amusing feature.
Immediately after the play an informal reception took place, in which we were the center of interest, and received every possible attention and courtesy. The gentlemanly behavior on the part of the Halford men was most highly appreciated by us, for it was quite evident that they had fully expected to win the game, and prepared the evening’s entertainment with a view to celebrating the victory. The fair and generous treatment we had received on the ball ground, and the graceful manner with which they took their defeat, aroused in us the sincerest feelings of gratitude, and greatly strengthened the traditional feeling of friendship that existed between Belmont and Halford.
And their attentions were unremitting during our brief visit of two days.
“We will try to repay you for your kindness, when you come over to Belmont next year,” I said to Slade.
“And we will try to acknowledge the compliment by beating you, as you did us this year,” laughed Slade.
“If you want to do us a real favor,” said Bennett, “beat Park College Monday. They have had thatbanner entirely too long, and I’d give a good deal to see you win it.”
“What do you think of our chances?” asked Ray.
“Good; that is, if you play the game you did with us. Both Slade and I are going over to Berkeley Monday afternoon, and we’ll lend our voices to cheer you on.”
With such encouragement and good wishes we left Halford early Monday morning.
“Do you know,” said Tony Larcom, as our train moved away from Halford, “those fellows have treated us so nicely, that I feel half ashamed of having beaten them?”
“Well, it does seem a poor sort of return for their kindness,” said Dick Palmer; “and yet if we had lost the game I do not think that all their attention could have quite reconciled me to it. We’ll strike a marked contrast at Berkeley.”
“Yes; I don’t think that the Park men will embarrass us with their attentions,” remarked Ray dryly.