DISAPPOINTMENTS
It was "Patterson, Patterson," all over the locker rooms while the ball
men were dressing, with frequent mention of Ames, who had especially
pleased the crowd, and an occasional word for Owen. The disappointment
caused by the poor work of the First glorified by contrast the success
of the Second. Rob had many questions to answer or evade. Wasn't he
surprised at the way Patterson showed up? Was the pitcher really as
good as he seemed? Could he hold his own against a strong nine? How was
it that nobody knew anything about him before to-day? Before he escaped
from the gymnasium Rob had replied to the same question a dozen times.
Patterson was a good man--he told the questioners--who might always be
trusted to give a good account of himself if he had a fair show. Rob
did not explain that a fair show involved a suggestive and resourceful
catcher, one who could guide and cheer the pitcher, as well as hold the
ball and throw to bases. That would have been tantamount to asserting
that Patterson's success had been due to his catcher, and Rob would
never have taken this attitude even in his secret thoughts. Patterson
certainly had the skill and the power; the difficulty was that he
didn't understand how to use them.
Outside the gymnasium Owen was hailed by Poole and Lyford.
"You fellows gave us a shock to-day," said Poole. "I didn't enjoy it
myself, but it's going to do us a lot of good. Lyford and I have talked
things over and have agreed that we've got to make a place for you on
the nine."
Rob's heart was fluttering with a delightful anticipation which was
reflected in his face. Were they really going to recognize the merit of
his work?
"Did you ever play in the outfield?" continued Poole.
From joyful expectation to hopelessness, Rob's plunge was sudden and
cruel. Only by a strong effort of will and by turning his head quickly
away could he prevent his face from betraying him.
"No, never. I've always caught or played first."
"Well, you see, we've got a good catcher in Borland, who's had lots
of experience and is a mighty steady man in a game; and with Weaver,
who played first last year, and big Ames, who showed up so well in the
game to-day, we're pretty well fixed for first basemen. So the only way
seems to be to work you in somewhere in the outfield--say at right--as
a regular thing; and then use you when necessary for substitute
catcher."
"You'd better take Rorbach," said Owen, almost sullenly. "He hits well
and is used to the job."
"We will, if he turns out to be better," returned Poole, with a smile,
"but we'll try you first anyway. We shall have to ask you to turn
Patterson over to Borland. If he gets on well with Patterson, we may
want you to see what you can do with O'Connell."
"If you could help him along as you did Patterson," said the coach,
"you might make a good deal of him."
Rob pressed his lips tight together, with a firmness that pursed them
out and left wrinkles in the corners. It was a habit of his when
angered, as some boys grow red, and others white, and still others gape
and glare. On this occasion his set lips served him well, for they kept
back the retort which in cooler moments he must have regretted. What
he did not say but wanted to was that it would be many moons before
any one would find him wasting himself on a mule like O'Connell, and
that he didn't propose to train pitchers for Borland to use. So he
said nothing, but merely nodded a rather ungracious adieu as the coach
and captain left him and went on down to the basement floor of the
gymnasium. On the way in, Poole remarked that Owen had a queer streak
in him, but was a good fellow all right; and the coach, that the boy
seemed rather sullen. It was too bad, for he was evidently a ball
player.
Rob stamped up to his room and flung himself down into his Morris
chair. There, stretched out, with his hands in his pockets and his
cap slipping down over his nose, he gave himself a prey to most
disagreeable reflections. So they were bound to make him play in the
outfield! He could do it, he supposed, as well as the next man, but it
was like taking a fellow who had always played quarter-back and setting
him to play end. He must learn an entirely new game, crowd out a better
man--Rorbach could field the position twice as well as he could--and
in the end probably do the poorest work of the lot. And to take away
Patterson, who had practised with him all winter and really owed to
his catcher his whole improvement as a pitcher, to take away Patterson
and give him to Borland, who had never done a thing for anybody, was
outrageous. Why couldn't Poole give him as fair a show as he did
Borland? Hadn't he caught just as good a game that afternoon? The
details of the record were still vivid in his memory: against Borland
one passed ball, two missed third strikes, one high throw to second;
for himself not an error, and two as good snaps to bases as he had ever
made in his life, even if that chump, McGuffy, didn't cover! Good work
evidently went for nothing in this place.
And then he fell to thinking of Patterson and his point of view. Would
Pat throw him over without a protest, as Carle had done, when the
chance came to pose as first string pitcher with last year's catcher to
back him? Not if he knew Patterson! Patterson knew where his strength
lay. Pat would be loyal to his catcher to the end. But this, after all,
wasn't the worst feature in the prospect. Supposing they should make
him pitch to Borland against his will, and Borland shouldn't know how
to manage him, and just at the time when encouragement and guidance
and right method were especially important, Pat should slump, would he
be able to recover his courage and speed and skill again? Rob had his
doubts. Pat needed careful nursing.
A knock at the door broke in on these dismal thoughts.
"Come in!" sang out the dejected one from the chair, without troubling
himself to remove his hands from his pockets or lift the cap from his
nose. It was Laughlin's big body that filled the doorway.
"Hello! Seen anything of Lindsay?"
Rob straightened up and brushed off his cap. "No, not since he left the
campus. He spoke to me after the game. Come in, won't you?"
"I guess not," replied the football man. And then, having verbally
declined, he contradicted himself by entering and planting his back
against the door. "I wanted to see him about that debate between the
Laurel Leaf and the Soule Society. You know we're on a committee to
arrange it. Tell him I tried to find him, won't you, when he comes in?"
"Yes, I usually see him after dinner."
"I went up to see your game for a little while this afternoon," went
on Laughlin, settling down into a stout arm-chair opposite Rob. "I
couldn't stay long, for I had a job; but I saw some good back-stop work
the little while I was there."
Rob waited expectant, his eyes on the floor. His pulse was beating a
trifle faster, while under the pleasing warmth that stole into his
heart the morbid depression had fled. Laughlin was not a baseball
authority, but he was a man looked up to and respected and followed not
more for his achievement as captain of a winning eleven than for the
strength of his personal character. His good opinion was in itself a
compliment, all the more desirable as he was known to be a close friend
of Poole.
"I thought both you and Borland caught well," continued Laughlin; "but
while I was there it seemed to me that you were having the best of it.
That throw of yours that Reddy was too slow for just took me. Why, the
ball looked as if it was shooting along a wire! And how quickly you got
it off, too! I don't see how you manage it."
"Oh, I don't always do as well as that," protested Owen, beaming with
delight, "though I'm usually fairly good at getting a man at second.
There's a knack in it, you know, and I've had considerable practice."
"Patterson is a kind of dark horse, isn't he? I hadn't heard anything
about him until lately."
"He's been working with me in the cage all winter," replied Rob, with
some complacency. "I knew he was good, but no one else seemed to get
on to him. He's improved a lot."
"Well, I hope he'll go right on improving. Perhaps it's you two who are
going to win the Hillbury game for us!"
Alas for the catcher's self-complacency! This grouping of Owen and
Patterson and the Hillbury game brought Rob suddenly back from the
delightful vision of what might have been to the reality of the
present. It wasn't to be Patterson and Owen now, but Patterson and
Borland. Owen was relegated to right field, and to catching O'Connell!
The sunlight suddenly disappeared from Rob's ingenuous face, and black
discouragement replaced it. Laughlin observed him with curiosity.
"Only it'll be Patterson and Borland in the Hillbury game," Rob said,
regaining his smile by main force. "Poole's going to have Patterson
pitch to Borland after this."
"How's that?" demanded Laughlin. And Rob explained with an explanation
which suggested a question, and the question in turn produced an
answer involving another question, and so there developed a chain of
questions and answers linked together like the mathematical series
Laughlin had been studying that week in his advanced algebra, but
unlike them in having a definite limit and result. This result was that
Rob threw aside his reserve and told the whole story of his ambition
and disappointment, from the first weeks of the fall when Carle forgot
him, through the months of independent cage work with Patterson, to the
disheartening issue of that afternoon's game.
"It isn't that I'm such a wonder," he concluded, "or that I want to
play whether I'm better than Borland or not; but I don't think it's
right for 'em to assume that I'm no good, and pay no attention to what
I do. And then to take Patterson away from me just when I've got him
into shape, when he wouldn't be worth a cent if I hadn't coached him
all winter--I call that dirty mean!"
Laughlin rose and went to the window, where he stood for a brief time
gazing across the way at the village urchins noisily romping before
their schoolhouse. Then he turned: "It does seem hard luck, but I've
found out that things usually turn out right if you're right yourself.
I, for one, was glad to hear that Carle had gone. He isn't the stuff
good men are made of. If he had stayed, he'd have played us some worse
trick. Poole doesn't think so, but Poole doesn't know such fellows as
well as I do. Another thing Poole doesn't know is that you're really a
better catcher than Borland. It's up to you to go straight ahead and
play your game as well as you can, and he'll see what you are before
the season's over. When he does see, he'll chuck Borland in a minute.
Poole is as straight a fellow as ever breathed, but he makes mistakes
like the rest of us. I know from my own experience as captain that it's
hard always to pick out the best man. There was Wolcott Lindsay last
fall playing on the second eleven up to two weeks of the Hillbury game;
and in the game, light as he was, he turned out the best guard on the
field. Take my advice: just hold on, play your best game all the time,
and keep your courage up."
They stood confronting each other--Laughlin, a square, powerful figure
with sincerity and earnestness apparent in every tone of his voice
and every line of his rugged face; Owen, with eyes aflame and cheeks
flushed, eagerly drinking in his visitor's words. It was appreciation
like this that he had been pining for; it gladdened him and at the same
time thrilled him through and through.
"There's another thing you can learn from Lindsay's experience," the
football man went on. "It pays to work up. The best athletes in the
school have almost always been those who had to make a place for
themselves. The fellows who come with reputations and condescend to
play usually slump early."
He held out his hand. "I must be going; well, good luck to you!"
"Thank you a lot," rejoined Owen, eagerly grasping the big, thick fist.
"You won't say anything to Poole about this, will you?"
"Of course not; you've got to work your own way out."
Laughlin was just reaching for the door-knob, when a scurry of feet was
heard from across the hall, and the door burst open to admit Simmons,
who rushed into the room in a flurry of excitement most unusual in the
quiet little student.