DISCOURAGEMENT
The sting of defeat lasted for some time with the students of the
Kingswood High. The friends of the Stars crowed loudly over their
victory; and Tom Clifton, whose boasting previous to the game had
annoyed so many, received a generous share of sarcastic flings.
The disquieting rumors which resulted from Mr. Barry's remarks hovered
over the school with unpleasant persistency.
"Honest, Bob, it wasn't fair of him to pitch into the crowd at the very
first crack of the bat," exclaimed Tom, morosely, in the gym a few days
later.
"Nobody seems to know just what he did say," chuckled Bob.
"Don't worry, Tom, old boy," said Dave. "Athletes should keep their
minds free from care."
"Wonder if I hadn't better go and see him?" mused Tom.
"Goodness, no!"
"Well, here's the latest."
"Wait till I get my note-book," cried Benny. "Three forty-five P.
M. 'The latest--as told by Mr. Clifton.' Go ahead, Tom."
Tom scowled fiercely.
"It isn't any laughing matter, son," he exclaimed, grimly. "You all
know what an eccentric old man Mr. Barry is----"
"But not so much as to make him unreasonable," suggested Coach Steele.
"Oh, I don't know. Listen."
The squad "listened," as did many lads who crowded the big room.
"He's an eccentric old creature," repeated Tom. He glanced sternly into
Benny's grinning face. "What do you think? I heard that one of the
fellows--one of our fellows, mind you--said the way we played ball was
enough to make Mr. Barry plant corn on his lot."
"Oh--oh!" gasped Benny Wilkins, faintly.
"Yes, it's so. I'd just like to find him and punch his head."
"That isn't enough to get excited about," laughed Bob Somers.
"You haven't heard the worst. Some chap with more tongue than brains
thought it was such a good joke he'd have to tell somebody else, and
Mr. Barry happened to hear what he said. And----"
"What happened?" demanded Benny, even more faintly than before.
"Mr. Barry got angry--told Professor Hopkins he hadn't thought of it
before, but if that was the way the school was talking he thought the
idea might be a good one. If I knew who said it in the first place I'd
punch him right here."
"Maybe some one could point him out," suggested "Crackers" Brown,
pleasantly. "How about it, Spearman?"
Benny Wilkins made a determined effort to look innocent and
unconcerned. It was a most distressing moment until he realized that
Spearman, although he guffawed loudly, had nothing to say.
A solemn grin played about the corners of Brown's mouth.
"I'll bet it was you, 'Crackers'!" cried Tom.
"Couldn't have been I," mumbled Brown, "because I have more brains
than tongue. I didn't do it. But if you want to scrap I'll accommodate
you right now."
"Never mind," said Benny, joining in a roar of mirth. "Wait until they
lose the next game."
"I'll get him yet," announced Tom, fiercely. "See here, manager"--he
turned toward Lou Mercer--"we play the Goose Hill fellows next
Saturday?"
"Correct!"
"If any more boys in the school think Mr. Barry's lot ought to be
turned into a corn field they'll change their opinion after that game."
"We'll see," said Owen Lawrence, shaking his head very knowingly.
"What we shall see," supplemented "Crackers."
"I think," mused Benny, "that I'll finish my article on the baseball
game. Goodness! Wouldn't it be awful if somebody should tell Mr. Barry
what Tom called him--an eccentric old creature?"
Study and practice kept the boys busy for the rest of the week.
The Goose Hill crowd had considerable reputation, although the Stars
had won a spirited contest from them by the score of five to three.
Goose Hill was situated on the outskirts of Kingswood, not far from
Wolf River. The inhabitants of the Hill, for the most part, worked in
the big mills which skirted the river for some distance. They were
rough but honest people, living in neat little houses which generally
stood in the midst of spacious yards. Many cultivated the ground, or
directed their attention to the raising of poultry. The Hill owed its
name to the fact that a majority of the bird fanciers chose geese as a
means of adding to their incomes.
There were some odd and picturesque corners on the Hill decidedly
pleasing to those artistically inclined. Dave Brandon had often
wandered about, sketch-book in hand, and, in this way, met Mr. Stephen
Kimbole, proprietor of the general store which crowned the elevation.
No one within the confines of the Hill was ever heard to call him Mr.
Kimbole, however. To every man, woman and child he was "Uncle" Steve.
"Uncle" Steve, though a little, dried-up man of uncertain age, still
possessed plenty of life and energy.
From his porch one could look down upon the river and the busy mills
sending up clouds of smoke and steam. Not far from the base of the
hill, and some distance in from the river, a large stretch of turf
was given over to the mill workers for their sports. They had crack
football and baseball teams, and had won notable victories.
"Uncle" Steve seldom failed to attend the baseball games. He was
regarded as a crank on the subject. Few knew more about the fine points
of the game than the old storekeeper.
The thought of the Goose Hillers having a series of games with the
Kingswood High filled him with delight.
"I'll be there," he exclaimed to Dave Brandon the day before the game.
"I'd sooner lose a quarter's sales than miss it."
So, on the next afternoon, "Uncle" Steve was a prominent figure among
the great crowd which gathered to witness the contest. Most of the Nat
Wingate contingent seemed to be on hand.
On this occasion Nat's loyalty to the school made him a partisan of the
"Ramblers," as many still persisted in calling them. When the players
appeared on the scene a tremendous volley of shouts and blasts from
megaphones assailed their ears.
"Just listen to the mean bunch!" growled Tom Clifton. "You'd think they
were all on our side. I guess Nat is going to try and rattle us."
"Don't let him," counseled Benny Wilkins. "Oh, say, there's Mr. Rupert
Barry already."
"If I hear of any of our fellows saying mean things about the club this
afternoon they'll find me down on 'em like a ton of red-hot bricks."
Tom glared around sternly. "Think I know, now, who got off that silly
jabber about the corn field."
"Who?" asked Benny.
"Owen Lawrence."
"I--I don't think so," stammered Benny.
"What do you know about it?"
"I--I--that is--I just thought--er--er--that----"
"Oh, of course, nobody said it was Lawrence. But he looks mighty funny
every time I mention it."
Benny changed the subject.
"The Hillers look like a likely bunch," he exclaimed. "Who's that funny
little man over there with a white beard? Shouldn't think he'd trot out
to see a game of ball."
"You couldn't drive him away with one of Nat's megaphones," said Tom.
"It's 'Uncle' Steve Kimbole. Reckon he knows who stitched the first
ball and who broke the last bat."
The school nine, in their natty uniforms, were given a cordial greeting
as they marched toward home plate.
The big crowd witnessed a highly interesting game.
But two costly errors and a great batting rally of the Goose Hillers in
the eighth were the two principal reasons for the home team winning by
the score of seven to three.
On several occasions, under fire, both "Jack Frost" and Charlie Blake
showed signs of going to pieces. It was a mighty disgusted lot of boys
that finally boarded the Kingswood trolley.
Several scouts, who had been eager to pick up whatever crumbs of
information fell from the lips of Mr. Barry, were on the same car, as
anxious to supply the news as the others were to hear it.
"He was downright mad," announced Luke Phelps, who had the honor of
carrying three bats and three pairs of gloves.
Phelps waited so that this news could have all the bad effect possible.
"Anybody could see that," added a junior.
Not all the boys had been able to find seats, but Phelps, nowise
bashful in company, spoke loud enough for all to hear, as he continued:
"Yes--he said it certainly looked as if the corn would win the field.
He kicked about lack of judgment on several plays, and----"
"Said Somers needs stronger and heavier players," broke in another
junior, eagerly--"heard that with my own ears."
"You couldn't have heard it with anybody else's," growled Art Bowers.
"Say anything more?" came a query from the front end of the car.
"A whole lot of things," answered Phelps, with importance, "but I
can't think of any just now."
"Another sad, sad day," remarked "Crackers" Brown, solemnly.
"You chaps are talking like a bunch of quitters," howled Tom.
"I'm just stating facts."
"We're not discouraged, Brown," said Bob Somers. "The team hasn't shown
its true form yet."
"Of course it hasn't," asserted Roger Steele. "Just give us a chance,
boys. There was a little lack of team work in to-day's game, and"--he
smiled rather grimly--"some of the boys were a bit rattled by the noise
and excitement. They couldn't do themselves justice."
"I guess he means me."
Charlie Blake's foot touched the heel of his neighbor's shoe.
"Oh, I don't know," returned the other, encouragingly. He lowered his
voice. "When the fellows were most yelling their heads off, didn't
'Jack Frost' send three men to base on balls in succession?"
"Just as soon as the game is over I feel how much better I could have
played," sighed Charlie. "Honest fact--all that rooting does get on my
nerves."
"Just because you're not used to it."
"Nat Wingate's crowd certainly acted handsomely by you chaps," remarked
"Crackers." "Nat is just as solid for the good of the school as we are."
Suddenly the high, piping voice of the youngest junior rose clearly
above the clatter of tongues and the steady rumble and grind of wheels:
"Yes; it was the funniest sight I ever saw. He acted just like a kid;
yelled as loud as a pirate! And the queerest part of all was that he
seemed kind of chummy with Mr. Barry."
"I guess 'Uncle' Steve was figuring on selling him a bag of peanuts
after the game," said a sandy-haired sophomore.
"Heard him say he was coming over to see the next game between the
Stars and Ramblers," announced the first.
"Sure he didn't say slaughter?" asked "Crackers," gazing innocently
over the rim of his glasses.
The crowd was in a tumult.
"Put him off, conductor!" bawled Benny Wilkins. "He's been rude to the
nine."
"If things don't go better I'll be ruder yet," said "Crackers."
When the car swung into the depot the crowd seemed to melt away on the
instant, leaving the rather gloomy-looking members of the nine to make
their way to the gymnasium alone. Even Phelps seemed to consider it no
longer an honor to burden himself with bats, balls and other articles.
"I can't understand it," growled Tom Clifton. "Just think, Dave--seven
to three!"
"Oh ho! We can't win every time, Tom," returned Dave, dryly.
"Cut out any gloomy talk, fellows," advised Coach Steele, earnestly.
"Be good losers. Let each defeat make you only grit your teeth and
plunge in all the harder."
"That's the talk!" cried Blake, brightening up. "We'll do it."
As the days followed each other, Steele's earnest efforts served to put
new life and vigor into the team. The Somersites stuck manfully to the
nine. Any set of boys who could inaugurate a new era in the athletic
affairs of the High were not going to be deserted simply because they
had begun the season by losing a couple of games.
Even their ardor and enthusiasm, however, received a rude jolt when the
school nine and the Stars again clashed. The score, six to one, told
the story of an event which helped to make history for the High. Only
those who didn't favor Bob Somers and his crowd cared to talk about it.
They were willing to admit the nine had made some brilliant plays, but
pointed out the fact that these same brilliant plays were always on the
defensive. They said, too, that when Blake got rattled he was badly
rattled; and, according to the way "Crackers" summed up the situation,
when the bases were full "Jack Frost" was likely to fall down harder
than a chimney in a gale of wind.
"Sit tight and don't say a thing," advised Owen Lawrence. "The
school'll wake up in time."
Benny Wilkins' articles on the ball games did not find a place in the
"Reflector," but, possibly, they were read by nearly as many students
as though they had. Some glanced over their contents with roars of
laughter, while others waxed so highly wroth as to cause Benny to steer
a careful course in another direction when they approached.
Quickly following the game with the Stars came another against Goose
Hill, this time on the home grounds.
Another disheartening page was written in the history of the school's
athletics. The official score-card bore this entry:
"Goose Hill 8: Kingswood High 2."
On the day following Coach Roger Steele received a laconic letter which
read:
"DEAR SIR:
"Kindly call and see me this evening. Bring Robert Somers with you.
"Yours truly,
"RUPERT BARRY."