CHAPTER XIV
THE TRY-OUT
ThatBill was delighted to find his former skill had not deserted him goes without saying. It was tempered a bit by the fact that he had to wear glasses, but that could not be helped.
“I wonder how Mr. Windam will take to ’em?” he asked his brothers as they walked back to school together.
“He won’t care as long as you can pitch the way you did this afternoon,” declared Cap.
“I wonder what Graydon will say?”
“I don’t see how he can say anything,” came from Whistle-Breeches. “Any captain wants the best pitcher he can get.”
“And as for J. Evans Green, he’s the kind of a manager who wants to see games won, and keep possession of the pennant,” declared Pete. “There won’t be any kicking about the glasses, Bill. He’d let you wear hoop-skirts if it made you play better.”
But there was objection to Bill when he appeared for practice wearing the odd goggles, though it did not come from coach, captain or manager. It was first voiced by Bondy Guilder, and some of his cronies.
“Why don’t you play a lot of men with crutches, and their arms in bandages?” asked the rich youth with a sneer.
“I would if they could do better than some fellows I knowwho seem to think a ball will bat itself and catch itself,” declared the captain with energy, for there had been a slump in practice that day.
It even extended to Mersfeld the crack pitcher who issued passes to a number of men and was hit more times than he liked to count.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded the coach half savagely as the scrub pulled over three runs in succession, and Mersfeld walked another man to first. “Are you dreaming that this is a tennis match, or don’t you want to play?”
“Of course I want to play!” was the reply, “only I can’t be at top-notch all the while.”
“You’ve got to!” was the curt decision. “If you don’t do better than this in the final try-out you’ll be a substitute instead of a regular.”
“And I suppose ‘Foureyes’ Smith will have my place?” suggested Mersfeld with a sneer.
“It’ll go to the man who does the best work—four eyes or eight eyes—rest assured of that. Now put some ginger into your pitching, if you can!”
Stung by the words of the coach Mersfeld did a little better, and the Varsity saved the game by a narrow margin. But there were many whispers around the school and in the gymnasium that day there were strange rumors of a shake-up in the team, rumors of the strong nines which the Tuckerton Sandrim and Haydon schools had ready to put on the diamond to battle for the pennant in the interscholastic league.
The opening of the season was not far off. Day by day the practice on the Westfield diamond grew harder and moreexacting. Bill had gotten back all his former skill, and the little rest seemed to have done him good, for his speed increased, and his curving ability was considered remarkable by his friends. He had gotten used to the glasses which he only wore when in the box, and he hardly noticed them at all.
Mersfeld, too, had taken a brace, and was doing good work, whereat coach and captain were glad.
“I guess he’ll make out,” said Graydon one night when he and Mr. Windam were talking over matters. “But I’m glad we have Smith to fall back on.”
“So am I. Smith may be first pitcher yet. When have you arranged for the try-out game?”
“Day after to-morrow. We’ll play Mersfeld four innings on the Varsity and then give Smith a show. That will be the test.”
There was so much interest in the try-out that almost as big a crowd assembled on the diamond to witness it as usually was present at a match game. Bill was a trifle nervous for he realized what he was up against, and as for Mersfeld, that pitcher went about with a confident smile on his face.
“Are you going to make it?” his friends asked him.
“Of course I am,” he assured them. “I’ll pitch against Tuckerton all right Saturday.”
For the first league game was to take place then, and it was unofficially announced that the players who made the best records in this, the final try-out would have the honor of representing Westfield on the diamond at the opening of the season.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and Bill watched hisrival take his place in the box. How he longed to be there himself! But he knew his turn would come, and he felt in his pocket to see if his precious glasses were safe. Without them he would be lost, and he wished now that he had had two pairs made for emergencies. He decided he would try to locate the traveling astronomer and get another set.
The game opened up with a snap, and this was maintained right along. Everyone was doing his best, for it was no small honor that was at stake. There was no denying that Mersfeld did well for the first three innings. There was only one hit off him, and in the fourth he struck out two men in quick succession.
Then, whether it was a slump, whether he went stale, or whether it was nervousness due to the fact that he was under close observation did not manifest itself, but the fact remains that, after getting two men out, he grew wild, passed one of the poorest batters, was hit for a three bagger by the next, and when another got up, and knocked a home run, there was pandemonium among the members of the scrub nine.
“What’s got into Mersfeld?” was the general inquiry.
Nobody knew, and when the fifth inning opened, with Bill in the box, there was intense excitement. Bill adjusted his glasses and got ready to pitch.
“Now watch Foureyes put ’em over!” sneered Bondy Guilder.
“That’ll do!” called Mr. Windam sharply. “This isn’t a match game, and there’s no need of rattling one of our own men. Save your sarcasm, Guilder, for Tuckerton!”
Bondy muttered something under his breath, andwalked over to talk to Mersfeld, who was darkly regarding his rival from the coaching line.
Bill was a bit nervous but as Cap had been sent in to catch the pitcher grew confident as he saw the friendly face of his brother, and caught the well-known signal for an out shoot.
Bill nodded in confirmation, drew back his arm, hesitated a moment, wondered for one wild second whether he was still himself, and could see to make the curve, and then—he threw.
“Strike one!” howled the umpire, and then Bill knew that hewashimself, and a fierce joy welled up in his heart. He caught the ball Cap tossed back to him, and sent it stinging in again.
“Strike two!” was the reassuring call, and the batter pounded the plate in desperation, for he had not before moved his stick.
He swung viciously at the next one, and—missed it clean.
“That’s the boy!”
“Go at ’em!”
“Put some more over like that!”
“Give the next one a teaser!”
Thus Bill’s friends encouraged him.
The try-out game went on, growing more fierce as each player struggled to make a record. Bill was a marvel with the ball. But one hit was registered off him during the five innings that he pitched. After the contest there was a consultation among the captain, manager and coach and it was announced to the anxiously waiting ones that Bill Smith would pitch the first five inningsof the opening game with Tuckerton, with Mersfeld as second pitcher, while Cap Smith would catch for his brother, and Dean Denby for Mersfeld.
“I told you that’s how it would be!” cried Whistle-Breeches clapping Bill on the back with such heartiness that the pitcher’s glasses nearly flew off.
“Boy, I’m proud of you!” spoke Cap fervently.
Mersfeld said nothing but there was a bitter feeling in his heart.
“An upstart Freshman!” he muttered as he passed by Bondy Guilder.
“That’s what,” agreed the rich youth, “and I’d like to see him taken down a peg. Do you know how it can be done?”
“No,” replied the rival pitcher.
“Come here and I’ll tell you,” suggested Bondy, and the two walked across the diamond arm-in-arm, talking earnestly, and the talk boded no good for Bill Smith.