HAIL TO THE PITCHER
The two Terryville lads roomed apart. Owen had already engaged his room
in Hale before Carle decided to accompany him to Seaton; the latter
found cheaper quarters in Carter. The difference in character between
the two boys appeared in the experiences of their first days in school.
Before the first Sunday Ned seemed to be on friendly terms with every
fellow in the entry. Rob, on the other hand, hardly knew the names of
the occupants of his own floor.
The most interesting of Owen's neighbors were Donald and Duncan Peck,
two lively specimens belonging to his own class and section, as
indistinguishable and mischievous a brace of twins as ever looked upon
the world as a happy hunting-ground, and on the inhabitants thereof as
fair game. The tales concerning the Pecks passed on by his room-mate
Simmons, Rob considered barefaced attempts to impose on his simplicity.
Later he found that many of them were true. Between the room which
he occupied and that of the twins lay, according to one informant, a
natural feud. At least such had prevailed the year before in the days
of Tompkins, Rob's predecessor. He was advised by Lindsay, the football
man who roomed opposite, to ignore this fact and avoid a continuance
of the custom; and the stories in circulation concerning the amenities
of Tompkins and the Pecks seemed to prove that the advice was both
kindly and sound. Beyond Lindsay came Payner, a little, saturnine,
black-haired, dark-visaged lower middler from the extreme Southwest;
and opposite Payner the two Moons. The other room on the floor was
tenanted by a dull-witted toiler named Smith. With Smith an unfeeling
Faculty had yoked Crossett, a volatile senior, who spent as little time
as possible in the society of his room-mate. Durand shared Lindsay's
quarters.
Payner was no ordinary individual. In recitation, Rob was informed,
he halted and stumbled, pretending to know what he evidently did not
know, and receiving corrections with an ungracious if not defiant air.
Outside he cultivated a morose and forbidding manner, and went his
solitary way as if he scorned society. Whether this unsociability was
due to homesickness or sensitiveness or a naturally ugly disposition,
Rob was for a considerable time in doubt. He was at first inclined
to charge it up against homesickness, feeling himself for a time the
forlornness of his exile from the home circle, and the burden of his
independence. At the end of a fortnight, however, when all trace of
discontent had vanished from Owen's mind, Payner remained as sour and
taciturn as ever. Rob next ascribed the fellow's conduct to shyness,
and put himself to some inconvenience to show himself friendly. All to
no purpose; Payner's only salutation was still a niggardly nod of the
head and a scowl. He then tried to make a call on pretence of borrowing
a book; Payner merely projected his head through the partly opened door
and remarked that he had no books to lend. Thus repeatedly discouraged,
Rob gave up his benevolent attempts in disgust; the fellow was too
disagreeable to waste a thought upon!
With Lindsay he got on much better, though as the football season
advanced the senior became more and more absorbed in the work of the
eleven, and had less time for incidental acquaintances. Lindsay's
visitors especially interested the newcomer; they were such important
characters in the school that he soon came to know them by sight,
though they, of course, had no interest in him. Among them were Ware,
the manager of the eleven, Hendry, a football player, and big, serious
Laughlin, the captain of the team, who appeared but occasionally in
the dormitory until near the end of the season, when the conferences
in Lindsay's room became frequent. Of the non-football players no
one seemed to Owen more wholly desirable as a friend than Poole, the
captain of the nine. He was a straight, dark, wiry fellow of average
height and weight, with an open face and an air of quiet confidence and
simple honesty and unaffected common sense combined visibly with energy
and principle. According to Lindsay, Poole possessed all the admirable
qualities except brilliancy. Being but a fair scholar and compelled
to work hard for whatever he learned, his classroom performances were
not extraordinary and he was not distinguished either as a speaker or
as a writer. At the first school meeting, however, Owen learned that
Poole's utterances, though lacking in finish, were listened to with
greater respect than those of almost any one else; and in all the
sub-surface carping and criticism, which is as prevalent in the school
world as elsewhere, Poole was more often spared than other conspicuous
characters.
"I hear you are a catcher," said the captain one morning, about a
fortnight after the opening of school.
"Yes, I've caught a little," replied Owen, modestly. "How did you find
that out?"
"Why, your friend Carle told me. He says he has pitched a good deal. Is
he good?"
"He's all right!" Owen made haste to say in the hopelessly vague, yet
emphatic phrase of the day. "He's the best pitcher of his age I've
ever seen! He's got speed, curves, and fine control. He's had a lot of
experience, too."
Poole's expressive face beamed with delight. A man who could really
pitch and had had good experience was just what he was on the lookout
for. In a moment, however, the radiance had passed away and a dubious
shade settled into its place. Terryville High School and the famous
Seaton Academy were two very different places. Poole had known other
much-vaunted performers on high school teams who had not "made good" on
the Seaton field. It was a question of standard of play.
"What kind of teams has he faced?" he asked, with doubt showing in both
countenance and voice.
Owen understood very well the suspicion that lay behind the question.
"Good ones, some of them, and some poor," he answered dryly, smothering
the sharp retort that sprang to his lips. "We played other nines
besides the high schools. Carle had as good coaching as any young
fellow can get. Mike McLennan of the ----'s has had him in hand for
several years."
Poole caught his breath, and his eyes danced with joy. A pitcher
coached by the famous professional whose name appeared as often in
the newspapers, if not as honorably, as that of President Eliot or a
member of the cabinet! Here was a find indeed! But suddenly a horrible
suspicion laid hold of him. He seized Owen by the arm and swung him
round so as to bring his face close to his own. "Tell me straight
now," he demanded with an earnestness that was almost stern, and
looking squarely into Owen's eyes. "I want the truth right now and all
the truth. Is his record clear? Has he ever been paid for pitching,
directly or indirectly, or been hired by hotels to play summer ball, or
been given expense money in a lump so that he could clear a margin--or
done anything of the sort? If he's got anything in his record against
him, or if he's the least bit crooked or shady, I want to know it
before I tackle him. We can't have any questionable men on our teams."
Rob's first impulse was to be angry, his second to laugh aloud; but
Poole's earnestness was contagious, and his own second thoughts assured
him that the captain's suspicion was natural and his object wholly
praiseworthy. Rob had seen something of the malodorous borderland that
lies between amateur and professional. McLennan's vulgarity he could
put up with, because of McLennan's marvellous skill in his business.
But the third-rater and the semi-professional, who represents a fair
laborer or mechanic eternally spoiled to make a poor ball player,
and in whom is the essence of all that is lowest and most evil in
athletic associations, he viewed with unwavering contempt. So it was
with cordiality and inward approval that he looked directly back into
Poole's dark, fiercely shining eyes and answered confidently:
"His record's as clear as yours. He's had chances to play for money and
refused them. McLennan advised him to keep clear of it until he was
through school."
Poole dropped his arm. "I'm mighty glad to hear that. Of course we
shall have to look him up, but what you say reassures me. You used to
catch him, didn't you?"
"Yes, usually," replied Owen.
"We've got a good catcher now," said the captain, "but we want good men
for other positions. Did you ever play in the infield?"
"Not much," answered Owen.
"Well, you must come out and try for the nine anyway," concluded the
captain, turning away. "There'll be chance enough for any one who knows
the game and can hit the ball."
Owen had an attack of homesickness after that interview which he found
some difficulty in shaking off. The Terryville battery had always
been Carle and Owen. The Seaton battery was to be Carle and somebody
else! It was only a pitcher that Poole wanted; it evidently had not
even occurred to him to raise the question whether the new man could
possibly be better than the Seaton catcher. And Carle,--well, Carle
was friendly, of course, and wished him well, but Carle could hardly
be depended on to glorify his old catcher at his own expense. Carle
would surely be on the popular side, whatever that was, and would think
pretty much as those in authority thought.
"Try for the infield!" thought Owen to himself, angrily. "What
experience have I ever had in the infield? Here I've been playing
behind the bat ever since I was old enough to hold a ball, and they
tell me to try the infield! I'm willing to try for anything, of
course, or play anywhere they want me, or not play at all; and if
they've got a better catcher than I am, I'm glad of it, but they might
at least say they'd give me a show in the position I'm used to! Well,
it's months to the season anyway. I suppose I came here to study and
not to play ball, so what's the use of worrying? Father would probably
rather have me out of it altogether."
With these inconsequent and not altogether comforting reflections Rob
Owen took down his books.
Poole and Borland, the catcher, soon had Carle out for a trial. The
pitcher took ten minutes to warm up, but by the end of that time he
was throwing all kinds of fast and slow balls as Borland demanded, and
putting them over according to the catcher's suggestions. Poole could
hardly moderate the expression of his joy into reasonably temperate
approval.
"I'm not used to Borland," said Carle, as if to excuse his performance,
as he pulled on his sweater and the trio started down toward the
gymnasium. "Owen has always caught me."
"How is Owen--good?" asked the captain.
"Pretty fair," said Carle, yielding to the temptation to enhance his
own glory by depreciating his mate. "We always worked well together. I
presume I shall do as well with Borland."
"I hope so," said Borland.
And Poole said nothing, but he told Lindsay and Laughlin that night in
secret that he had found the pitcher who was going to win for them the
Hillbury game. Whereat Lindsay and Laughlin congratulated him heartily
and turned again to the problem of guard defensive play on an end run
which they had been eagerly discussing. Seaton brooks but one great
athletic interest at a time.
The football season drew toward its end. As the eagerness of the school
warmed to fever heat, Rob had new lessons as to school enthusiasm, and
old ambitions sprang into new life. As he stood on the benches at the
Hillbury game,--for he stood far more than he sat,--and cheered himself
hoarse over the deeds of his heroes, these ambitions grew stronger
and more definite. He laid his tired head on the pillow after the
evening's celebration with all the separate impressions of the day
focussed in one deep, absorbing longing. What Laughlin and Lindsay and
Durand and Hendry and the rest had done that day for their schoolmates
on the football field, that he would like to share in accomplishing on
the diamond. "Any place, anywhere," he muttered, as his eyes closed,
"just a fair chance to show what I can do!" And he dropped off to sleep
with the words still on his lips.
[Illustration: School Dormitories]