A BITTER DOSE.
When the freshman team arrived in New Haven that night, Dick Merriwell
was the only one who appeared at the station to meet them.
A sorry, downcast-looking bunch they were as they left the train,
carrying their bat bags and satchels. Blessed Jones had a face nearly a
yard long. Jack Spratt looked as if he had shed tears and had a reserve
supply on tap and ready for delivery. Rob Claxton carried his head high,
but could not disguise the fact that he was very much disgusted. The
round face of Bouncer Bigelow wore a moonish expression of mingled
regret and shame. Brad Buckhart looked ugly enough to eat railroad
spikes. Even Tommy Tucker seemed upset and downcast.
Of them all, however, Sam Kates appeared to be the most wretched. He
lingered behind, being the last one to reach the platform, and showed an
inclination to slip away from the others if he could do so without being
detected.
Although they saw Dick waiting for them, the most of the boys declined
to meet his inquisitive eyes. Truly, it was with no small difficulty
that Merriwell repressed a rising inclination to shout with laughter. In
spite of himself, a faint smile crept over his face, and this he tried
to conceal by covering his lips with his hand. Buckhart had observed it,
however, and he stopped at Dick’s side, glaring at his friend as he
muttered:
“If you laugh, you certain take your life in your hand, partner. You’ll
have the whole blamed bunch on your back like a lot of catamounts. They
are sure the ugliest crowd I ever traveled with. We’ve had three scraps
on the way here, and if you’ll take a look at Otis Fitch, you’ll
discover that he’s wearing a handsome black eye. He made some
uncomplimentary remark about Spratt’s fielding, and Spratt punched him.”
“Well, you must have had a hot time,” observed Dick.
“Hot sure is no name for it. Don’t ask any questions now. Wait till we
get under cover. I want to sneak in by the back way. Think of being
walloped by a lot of high-school kids. Waugh!”
Never had the Texan expressed greater disgust than he threw into that
final exclamation. Swinging on his heel, he strode away, regardless of
Merriwell.
Failing to accept Brad’s warning, Dick took Jones by the arm and began
to question him.
“A wise head containeth a silent tongue,” muttered the disgruntled
captain of the freshman team.
“But he that seeketh diligently after wisdom shall obtain it,” reminded
Dick.
“And he that is devoured by much inquisitiveness causeth disturbance,”
retorted Blessed. “Let us seek the shelter of our roof tree before we
prattle of our disgrace.”
“Evidently you all take it sorely to heart,” said Merriwell. “I never
saw such a cut-up looking bunch of ball players.”
“Cut up? If I’d let them scrap on the train, they’d be worse cut up than
they are now. Dick, I’m afraid harmony on the team is a thing of the
past. This has been a fatal day. And they all blame Robinson and me for
letting you stay behind. Don’t talk of it now.”
That was all he could get out of Jones until they were in their room.
With his door open, Buckhart could be heard prowling about in the
adjoining room, but he seemed quite willing to let Blessed explain how
the thing had happened.
According to Jones, it was a case of overconfidence by Umpty-ten,
followed by the rattles when Highbridge fell on Kates and batted him out
of the box.
“Who filled Sam’s place?” inquired Dick.
“Oh, Spratt helped the suffering along,” groaned Blessed. “He’s been
wanting to show what he could do on the slab, and I gave him a chance.
Every one of those kids got a bingle off him. So help me, Joshua, it was
an unspeakable relief when the game finally dragged to an end!”
Buckhart stuck his head in at the door.
“When Highland can do us up,” he said, “we’ll make a fine showing
against those Manhattan College sons of Erin. If those husky Irishmen
don’t eat us up Wednesday, it will certain be a miracle. You hear me
murmur!”
“Dick will pitch that game,” said Jones.
“And he’ll have a fine team behind him,” said the Texan. “Unless some
one pours oil on the troubled waters, I don’t believe we’ll get out more
than half the team next week.”
“Well, you were to blame for a good deal of the trouble,” declared
Jones. “You told Kates he was bum, you reviled Spratt, you derided
Bigelow, and Claxton was about the only man you didn’t insult. I suppose
you realized you’d have a fight on your hands if you said much to him.”
“It was enough to make anybody sit up on his haunches and howl like a
wolf,” said the Texan, as he stepped through the doorway. “I won’t get
over it in a month.”
“Oh, forget it! forget it!” piped a voice, as Tommy Tucker pushed open
the door and peered in. “Still chewing it over? What’s the use? Say,
Dick, have you heard the story about the powdered sugar? Haven’t heard
it? Well, it’s fine.”
Bang!—a shoe flew past Tucker and struck the half-open door, which was
knocked against the nose of Bouncer Bigelow, who had just started to
peer into the room.
“Oh, wow!” cried the fat boy, grabbing his nasal organ with both hands.
“Be careless, will you? What are you trying to do, anyhow?”
“Shoe fly, don’t bother me!” cried Tucker. “Come in quick and close the
door. These people seem violent. We may have to sit on them, and you’re
the proper size and weight for that job.”
“Wonder you didn’t make my nose bleed,” grunted Bigelow, as he came in
and leaned against the closed door. “What is it, another fight?
Jerusalem! there hasn’t been a thing doing but fights ever since the
middle of that game. Never saw such a scrappy crowd. But, say, there
were a lot of pretty girls out to the game. They enjoyed it immensely
seeing Highland rub it into us. They kept squealing their class cheer
and waving their flags until I was afraid they would all have spasms. I
can’t seem to get the sound of that yell out of my ears. It was a sort
of a hiky-yi! ye-yo! yow! wow! wow! Even when they were yelling their
loudest they were pretty. I tell you, fellows, the fair sex is
beautiful.”
“That’s natural,” said Dick.
“Not always,” grinned Tucker. “Sometimes it’s artificial.”
“But really,” said Bouncer, “I can’t understand girls. I don’t believe
any fellow ever does. Somehow, they seem to understand us better than we
do them.”
“That began with the first woman created,” said Tommy. “See how well old
Mother Eve understood old Father Adam.”
“That was because she was on the inside at the beginning,” said Dick.
“Somebody loan me a brick, please,” begged Tucker. “I’ll give it to
Merriwell—good and hard!”
“You seem to have recovered from your recent depression,” said Dick.
“Oh, he doesn’t know enough to remain depressed long,” sneered Bigelow.
“He told me he was coming in to punch Buckhart for insulting him. I came
to save his life if he tried it.”
“We’ll have to assemble the braves and smoke the pipe of peace,” said
Dick.
“How can you show such unseemly merriment?” snarled Jones. “I believe
you’re pleased because we were beaten.”
“You’ve got another guess coming,” said Dick. “But there’s no use crying
over spilled milk.”
“‘Doth not wisdom cry and understanding put forth her voice?’” mocked
Blessed. “I think we’d better call the team together and choose a new
captain.”
“Choose a new captain?” exclaimed Merriwell, in surprise.
“Sure. I couldn’t seem to do anything with that crazy bunch after Kates
went to pieces. The more I talked to them, the worse they played. They
wouldn’t pay any attention to my orders, yet the wise in heart will
receive commandments, but prating fools shall fall.”
“Weren’t you too harsh in your manner of reproving them?” asked Dick.
“Whoso loveth instruction loveth knowledge, but he that hateth reproof
is brutish.”
“I’m afraid you all lost your heads,” said Dick. “It may do the team
some good.”
“How can that be?”
“A team that can’t take defeat isn’t fit to win victories. An occasional
failure acts like tonic on an ambitious person. Let’s call this a good
dose of tonic for the team.”
“Call it that if you like,” muttered Brad. “It tasted bitter enough,
anyhow.”