CHAPTER XXION THE MOUND
Dud wondered—Jimmy wasn’t there to stop him!—what Mr. Sargent would say to him on Monday regarding that performance of his in the Lawrence Textile game. As a matter of fact, Mr. Sargent said absolutely nothing, either then or at any other time. There was very light practice that afternoon, most of it batting, and the fellows were dismissed early, many of them returning after changing to the practice diamond to watch the second team put away the Grafton High School nine. It wasn’t a vastly exciting affair, however, for the second, with Joe Kelly pitching, had things about its own way. Dud and Jimmy departed at the end of the seventh inning, leaving the home team five runs to the good, and spent a half-hour on the river in Nick Blake’s canoe. (Jimmy asked permission when they returned, and so that was all right!) Jimmy was troubled today and made Dud his confidant as they paddled slowly along under the drooping boughs. His trouble concerned Starling Meyer. But we’ll let Jimmy tell it in his own inimitable way.
“Someone,” said Jimmy morosely, “has told Star he could play baseball. Huh! That’s all right, too, but what’s the use of making me let go the second and then dumping me in just when the fun begins? How do I know I’ll be dumped? Well, I don’t, I suppose. But, listen, if that chap keeps on butting in where’ll I be? Ordway and Boynton and Parker are sure of the outfield places unless they break a leg or a neck or something. Well, sure, that’s O. K.; they’re better than I am. I know that. The only chance I get is when one of ’em is out of the game. One of ’em’s likely to be out now and then and so I get a whack. All right, say we. But here comes this—this Indian, Meyer, butting in and snooping around for the crumbs, too. That makes two of us; three, if you count Ben Myatt; and Pete’s likely to put Ben in center or right any chance he gets because Ben can bat like a whale! If Star Meyer’d mind his own business, which is playing hockey and running creation, I’d have a fair chance to get into one of the Mount Morris games, wouldn’t I? Sure, I would! Parker isn’t very spry on that game leg of his, and I’ve noticed that Boynton is looking sort of like a friend of mine looked before he went into a decline. And Hobo might fall out of his canoe any day and get drowned—if he’d only use it more. I must suggest it to him. He doesn’t get enough exercise. Why the dickens can’t Starkeep out of it? That’s what I want to know. Something told me away last winter that I’d have trouble with that galoot before the year was over!”
“I thought I was the one,” said Dud slyly.
Jimmy grunted. “So did I. Well, anyway, one good thing is that faculty hasn’t forbiddenmeto take a fall out of him!”
“But you can’t very well thrash a fellow for just playing ball, Jimmy!”
“I can beat him up for interfering with my affairs,” responded the other with dignity. “Bet you anything you like he will work around Guy Murtha and Guy’ll take him along to Corliss day after tomorrow.”
“I suppose Parker will be back by then,” suggested Dud.
“Parker? Oh, I dare say. But, listen, Dud, between you and me now, I don’t believe Parker stands awfully high with Pete. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t get back again; regularly, I mean. And if he doesn’t, why, maybe little Jimmy T. Logan will have a chance, eh? That is, if Meyer doesn’t persuade Guy that he’s a ball-player beforehand.”
“You’re hitting better than Star, aren’t you?”
“N—no, I don’t think so. Wish I were! Still, I get my base a heap oftener. I suppose shooting at hockey helps Star hit the ball. Say, do you know, Dud darling, I’m going to be sort of peeved anddisappointed if I don’t get into one of those Mount Morris games? I wasn’t awfully keen at first, as you know, but now that I’ve started I’d like to make good. Besides,” he added gloomily, “the family’ll be here for that second game and I’d feel like an awful chump if I had to swing my legs on the bench all the afternoon!”
“You’d be in good company,” said Dud.
“Meaning you?” asked the other, as he turned the canoe back toward home. “Oh, you’ll get your chance, Dud. Mount Morris has got some hitters, they say, and if she has neither Myatt nor Nate Leddy will last the games through. As for Brunswick, I guess he’s a goner for this year.”
“There’s Weston, though.”
“That’s so, too. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see Gus turn around and pitch a corking game some day soon. I guess the trouble with Gus is that he’s too temperamental. He and I are alike that way. If the weather isn’t just right or the moon’s in the wrong quarter or the tide’s too high or his shoe pinches him, Gus can’t pitch a little bit. But some day all the signs are going to be just right, and Gus will slip on a pair of old shoes, and he will go out there and make ’em eat out of his hand.” Jimmy paused. Then: “Maybe,” he added cautiously, “you can’t tell about Gus. Like me, he has the artistic temperament.”
“Well,” said Dud, after a long silence and as they swung the canoe into the Cove, “I hope you get into all the Mount Morris games, Jimmy, and do finely. And I hope,” he added wistfully, “that they let me pitch an inning or two in one of them. I—I’d like that.”
“And I,” responded Jimmy, “hope as how you gets your hope! Easy on! Let her run, sonny!”
It looked the next day as though Jimmy might be right about Gordon Parker, for although that youth was back for practice with his leg evidently as useful as ever, he did not get back into the outfield when the first and second lined up for the practice game. Instead, Boynton played in right, Jimmy in center and Ordway in left until the fifth inning, when Star Meyer took Jimmy’s place, much to that youth’s disgust. Leddy and Weston pitched that afternoon. Ben Myatt had been more affected by the heat on Saturday than he or anyone else had suspected at the time, and was said to be nursing himself for the next day’s game with Corliss College. Save for pitching to the batters in practice, neither Dud nor Brunswick did any work that afternoon. Dud watched the game from the bench and listened, during the last two innings, to Jimmy’s frank expressions of hurt feelings. Every time a fly ball went into center field Jimmy watched it hopefully.
“Hope he muffs it! Hope he mu—— Isn’t that rotten luck? Anyway, that’s a bum throw-in! If I couldn’t do better than that—sometimes—I wouldn’t try to get an honest man’s job away from him. Say, you’re next, Churchill. Knock a long one into center, will you? Put it about fifty feet over Meyer’s head, like a good fellow!”
But in spite of Jimmy’s hopes and criticisms Star played a good enough game in center and managed to get a rather lucky hit the only time he went to bat. Jimmy tried to bribe Manager Barnes to score it as an error for the second team shortstop, but failed.
There was an early and rather hurried dinner for the players the next day and the team, eighteen strong, bowled away to the station shortly after one o’clock. Much to his surprise, Dud made one of four pitchers to accompany it, and Jimmy, too, was of the number. Jimmy’s satisfaction, however, was somewhat spoiled by the presence of Star Meyer. Parker was left behind. So, too, was Ben Myatt, still suffering from what the school physician had diagnosed as “a touch of heat.” Ben was instructed to keep out of the hot sunlight and, when playing, wear a fold of paper inside his cap. Mr. Sargent, however, had no intention of allowing Ben to pitch again until he was so far recovered as not to require that paper. The first of the series with Mount Morris would be played on Saturday, just three dayslater, and so Ben had been instructed to stay right at home and be very, very good to himself. Leddy, Weston, Brunswick and Dud would undoubtedly manage between them to dispose of Corliss, for Corliss, although called a college, was little more than a preparatory school and was not considered dangerous.
Corliss lay an hour and forty minutes away by railroad, although the actual distance was about thirty-eight miles. The team had to change at Needham Junction first and, later on, at North Taunton, and in consequence was somewhat weary when it finally disembarked from the trolley car that had brought it from the Corliss Station to the nearest point to the school. They paraded up a tree-shaded street, past some yellow-brick building that looked uncomfortably hot and glary today, and eventually reached the field, a very ambitious affair, inclosed with a brick wall and containing a permanent stand of concrete and a picturesque building of the same material roofed with red tiles. The fellows secretly admired that field, but they pretended to consider it too dressy and made a good deal of fun of the commodious and well-appointed building into which they were shown. There they had a room all to themselves and three shower baths as well. By the time they had changed to playing togs the stand was well sprinkled with spectators and a welcomingcheer greeted them as they took the field for practice. Only some dozen and a half Graftonians had accompanied the nine, for examinations held many at school and others were too poor to pay for the trip. But the handful of patriotic youths gathered themselves into a small but devoted group in a corner of the big stand and from the first appearance of the Scarlet-and-Gray on the diamond to the end of the contest made enough noise for thrice their number.
All four pitchers were set to warm up while the fielders practiced. Will Brunswick, by this time reconciled to his fate, went through the motions in a mechanical fashion, but the other three set to work hard, each hoping to get the call. After the Corliss players, a rather hefty lot of blue-stockinged and blue-sleeved youths, had taken the field and completed their warming up, Mr. Sargent had a consultation with Guy Murtha and Pete Gordon. Dud pretended no interest as he sat on the bench between Hugh Ordway and Neil Ayer, but secretly he was a very anxious boy. Manager Barnes was getting the batting order now from the coach and Dud, while answering a remark of Hugh’s, strained his ears to hear.
“Blake, Winslow, Ordway, Murtha, Ayer, Boynton, Meyer”—Dud felt sorry for Jimmy then—“Gordon and—I’ll give you the pitcher later.” Mr.Sargent nodded to Nick Blake. “Start it up,” he said.
Nick went to bat while Mr. Sargent arose and, after watching the work of the opposing pitcher, a broad-shouldered and rather slow-moving fellow named Walters, for a few moments, moved along and spoke to Nate Leddy. Dud’s gaze followed, although he tried not to let it. The coach and Leddy spoke for several moments, their eyes all the while on the Corliss twirler. At last Mr. Sargent nodded and Leddy settled back in his seat, turning to his companion on the left, Boynton, and making a remark that brought, as Dud saw, a look of surprise to the face of the right fielder. Mr. Sargent remained behind the bench, watching Nick Blake trying to find something useful to him amongst the slow, wide curves that the blue-legged pitcher was offering. Nick finally slammed one across the diamond, but was an easy out, shortstop to first.
Bert Winslow raised a long fly to left field and likewise retired and Hugh Ordway, after fouling off a couple, was badly fooled on a drop and fanned. As the players arose from the bench to trot into the field Dud, who had forgotten the coach for the moment, felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Baker, I’m going to let you start,” said Mr. Sargent. “You’ve pitched to Brooks a good deal,haven’t you? Would you rather have him handle you than Gordon?”
“He knows my stuff pretty well, sir,” stammered Dud. “But it’s just as you say, sir.”
The coach called to Ed Brooks. “You catch Baker, Brooks,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do, my boy. Study your batters and watch the bases. Barnes, put Brooks down for Gordon and Baker last. All right now, you two. Show what you can do.”
Dud started for the mound, drawing on his glove, but Brooks overtook him on the way. “Say, Dud, don’t let’s slip up on signals, eh?” he said anxiously. “If you don’t get ’em sing out. And if you use that side-arm pitch signal beforehand, will you? I’m always afraid of that getting by me. Lift your cap in front and I’ll know, see? All right, Dud!”