_The Plan Succeeds_
Lattiser’s prediction proved true. On the first day of practice, after
Haxton had spent two hours studying the candidates, he boldly posted a
notice on the bulletin board, naming the fourteen players he had
selected as members of the Varsity squad. Eight were veterans of the
team of the preceding season; one was Jacobs, a youth who had tried for
the team and who had been carried as a substitute; one was Wares, a new
man who came highly recommended from a preparatory school, and the
others were the rebels—Larry Kirkland, Trumbull, Winans and Katsura.
Even Larry was surprised to find that all four of them had been
selected; and he was relieved, for secretly he had feared that Haxton,
who was known to hold prejudice against the Japanese, would surrender on
all other points and bar Katsura.
The announcement of the team make-up broke the opposition to Haxton and
his methods. As Lattiser had shrewdly guessed, Haxton had selected, as
regulars, the very men upon whom the “knockers” based their charges of
unfairness, and left them nothing upon which to base their charges.
There was an enthusiastic movement among the lower classmen, who thought
they could play well, to organize a team to play the regulars, but they
were defeated in a farcical game and, true to their promise, they ceased
criticising and became loyal adherents of the Varsity. Sentiment in the
school had been unified, and the college spirit of Cascade revived. Only
one sore spot remained—and that was the enmity between Larry Kirkland
and Harry Baldwin.
“If only we played different positions,” Larry lamented to Winans. “It
seems as if I always have to fight that fellow. One or the other of us
has to be third baseman of this team.”
“He has declared he wouldn’t play on a team with you,” remarked Winans.
“I guess he’ll have to make good.”
Another surprise resulted, however. Haxton was too shrewd a judge of
players not to see that he had found an excellent infielder in Kirkland,
and much as he disliked the youth, who had been a stumbling block in his
path, he could not afford to overlook such material, especially as
Larry’s fielding and base-running in practice games had attracted the
admiring attention of some of the upper classmen who knew the game. He
hesitated to offend Baldwin, yet, as the practice games proceeded, it
became evident to all on the field that Larry was much the better at
third base, and the superior to Baldwin in all-around playing. On the
eve of the game with St. Mary’s, the first of the important games with
rival teams of rival institutions, Haxton announced the line-up of the
team, placing Baldwin at third, Kirkland at short, and, even more
surprising, sending Winans in as catcher and placing Torney, the regular
Varsity catcher, a veteran of three seasons, at first base. The move
undoubtedly strengthened the team as a whole, but Larry Kirkland knew
Haxton had compromised with his own judgment in keeping Baldwin on
third, and that he either should have been sent to third himself or
placed on the bench. He was disappointed that Trumbull had not been
chosen, but the enthusiasm of the big outfielder over the choice of two
of his friends as regulars was so honest that it was recompense.
The game with St. Mary’s proved a desperate one. For seven innings the
two teams, evenly matched, battled for supremacy, with the score tied,
each team having scored once. Larry saw several opportunities wasted,
but, remembering the advice of Krag, he maintained silence, and made no
comments upon the failure of his fellows to take advantage of openings.
He realized for the first time that he knew more of the generalship of
the game than did Haxton, who plainly was limited in his knowledge of
baseball strategy. Krag’s lectures, and his own experience with the
Shasta View team, had taught him a great deal about the inside game that
was unknown to the college boys.
With the score 1 to 1 in the first half of the eighth, the first batter
for St. Mary’s drove a long two-base hit out to left field. Larry
expected the next batter to sacrifice, and had crept forward a few paces
to be in readiness in case the ball should be bunted toward him, when
the batter slashed fiercely at the ball and drove it on the ground
between Baldwin and Larry. It was Baldwin’s ball, although the chance
was difficult, and as Baldwin was caught standing flat-footed, Larry
leaped sideways and made a desperate effort to head off the hit. He
reached the ball back at the edge of the grass, outside the base lines,
and in such a position that to recover, turn and throw to first base in
time was an impossibility. Like a flash he thought of another play and
without looking he scooped the ball and threw it underhand to third
base. The runner coming from second had hesitated as Larry tore across
the base line in pursuit of the ball, and he was all of fifteen feet
from the bag when Larry threw. The play was unexpected and brilliantly
executed. If Baldwin caught the ball and touched the runner it meant
that St. Mary’s hopes were dashed and that Cascade was saved temporarily
from a dangerous position. But Baldwin did not catch the ball. Larry’s
warning shout aroused him just in time to enable him to dodge, the ball
flashed past his head, went to the grand stand and while the St. Mary’s
adherents screamed their applause, one runner scored and another reached
second base. Before the inning ended he, too, crossed the plate and the
score was 3 to 1 in favor of the visitors.
Larry, hot and exasperated, returned to the bench. He was determined not
to speak of the misplay that had resulted so disastrously, but when he
reached the bench he found Haxton and Baldwin in a heated argument.
“Why don’t you keep your eyes open?” Haxton demanded. “If you had been
keeping your eye on the ball it wouldn’t have happened.”
“That —— —— simply tried to show me up,” snarled Baldwin. “He knew
the play was to first, and he threw to third because he saw I wasn’t
watching.”
“It was the only way he could have played it,” retorted Haxton,
exasperated. “Don’t try to shift the blame. You were asleep and now
you’re trying to lay it on someone else.”
“I won’t play on a team with a mucker like that,” cried Baldwin, furious
with anger. “He’s been trying to get my job ever since he came here and
I won’t stand it.”
“All right—all right,” responded the now furious manager. “McAtee, you
play short next inning and we’ll put Kirkland on third.”
Baldwin, stunned by the unexpected acceptance of his challenge, started
to whine.
“Oh, say, Dick,” he pleaded, “I was mad—I didn’t mean it. Don’t put me
out of the game—my girl is in the stand.”
“You must have been watching her instead of the ball,” snapped Haxton,
too furious to relent.
Baldwin sprang to his feet, as if to strike the manager, and at that
instant little Katsura, with a catlike move, seized his arm, gave it a
quick twist, and Baldwin, half sobbing with pain, sank down, whimpering
and holding his arm.
Suddenly he turned upon Larry Kirkland, cursing and half sobbing.
“You did this,” he said. “It’s all your fault. You’ve been trying to
make trouble for me ever since you came here—but I’ll get even with
you—I’ll”——
Larry had leaped to his feet, but Winans dragged him back, and Baldwin,
still swearing and threatening, left the field.
During all the scene Larry Kirkland had not spoken a word. Indeed,
Baldwin’s frantic outburst had been so unexpected that none of the
players had recovered from their astonishment sufficiently to join the
dispute. Larry turned to the coach.
“I’m sorry this happened, Mr. Haxton,” he said. “I tried to make the
play”——
“I know it,” snapped Haxton. “Cartright, you get up there and try to get
those two runs back.” He glanced along the bench a moment. “Trumbull,”
he snapped, “you’ll hit for Arksall. We’ve got to get those runs back.”
But although they rallied and strove desperately to overcome the
disadvantage, they were beaten, 3 to 2.