_The Game With Golden_
A flutter of golden banners, ribbons, flags and flowers grew to a wave
of gold as the team of Golden University raced out from a gateway
between the stands and scattered rapidly to their positions on the
playing field. The adherents of Golden, banked on the big stands to the
third-base side of the oval, arose and sent volley after volley of
cheers across the field to where the students and admirers of Cascade
sat. A return broadside of applause greeted the opening attack of the
greatest baseball battle of the year as the men and girls of Cascade
welcomed the visitors.
Five minutes later a tumult suddenly broke loose on the Cascade side of
the field. A ripple of applause, starting at one end of the stands grew
and spread, until suddenly five thousand of the lovers of Cascade arose,
and screamed their welcome to their team. Then, volley for volley, the
rival schools fired their cheers across the field at each other,
challenging to battle. The waves of blue on one side marked the sea of
blue banners, and the sunshine slanting upon the golden banners sent the
challenge back in heliographic flutters.
The long, rippling yell of Golden answered the booming, resonant war cry
of Cascade as the teams practiced. Down in front of each section cheer
masters, animated jumping-jacks, armed with flags and megaphones,
spurred the throat-weary ones to louder efforts, while the teams, tense
and silent, practiced with set lips.
In the throng just back of first base Larry Kirkland, miserable and
dejected, was sitting alone brooding over the injustice of his lot and
striving to hide the hot anger that was consuming him. During all the
applause and the cheering he had remained silent; nor had he joined in
the Cascade yell that greeted the diamond warriors when they ran onto
the field.
Kirkland had fresh reason for anger and resentment.
In the first bitterness of his disappointment he had made desperate
efforts to reach Major Lawrence by telegraph, to disprove the
accusations of professionalism and to secure reinstatement before the
game was played. In this he had been aided most actively by Paw
Lattiser, who had come to his rescue with advice and who had attempted
to cheer him in his disappointment. But Major Lawrence had gone East on
a long-deferred business trip and could not be located and, as a
crowning blow, he had taken Krag with him, so that after telegraphing
several times to Pearton, and sending messages to be forwarded, it
became evident that it would be impossible to reach Major Lawrence and
secure his evidence in time to compel the reinstatement of Larry
Kirkland prior to the game with Golden, and the effort had been
abandoned reluctantly. Although Larry did not know it, Paw Lattiser had
carried the case before the faculty, and urged strongly that justice be
done, but the faculty had declined to interfere in the matter or dictate
to the Athletic Board of Control.
This disappointment was a bitter blow to Larry Kirkland. He had staked
his hopes upon the game with Golden, and further, to be barred from that
contest meant the loss, for a year at least, of the coveted C—the honor
mark of Cascade and the Cross of Honor for college athletes. So bitter
had been his disappointment that he had refused to attend the game, in
spite of the urging of Katsura and of the others who had remained loyal
to him in his troubles. To his surprise, Larry discovered that he had
more friends in Cascade than he ever had imagined. Several of the
Seniors, who scarcely had spoken to him before, had come to him to
express their sympathy and their indignation and to pledge him their
assistance and two or three of the team who belonged, by former
alliance, to the Haxton-Baldwin crowd, had assured him that they
believed him innocent and that in their opinion it was a contemptible
trick to protest him at the last minute.
Larry had won further admiration by maintaining strict silence in regard
to his suspicions. To Katsura and Winans he had expressed his belief
that Harry Baldwin was behind the accusations, and Katsura gravely had
advised him not to mention his belief or make any charges until he had
the proof.
It was because of this that Larry, sitting in the stands, was raging
inwardly. At the last moment, as he heard the noise of the excited
students pressing toward the grounds, he had abandoned his idea of
remaining at the house and studying, and had hurriedly joined the
throng. After all, he argued, it was selfish to place his own interests
above those of the college. He would cheer as loyally, and “root” as
hard for Cascade as if he were playing.
It was while he walked toward the athletic field that he heard a thing
that revived all his anger and disappointment. Just ahead of him three
young fellows, bearing Golden flags, were hastening along, and talking
in rather loud tones.
“I don’t care,” said one of them, “Wallace had no right to bring those
charges. He has done the same thing he accuses this Cascade man of
doing”——
Wallace! Larry suddenly realized that the trio of Golden youths were
talking about him. The name Wallace aroused a memory. He could not think
for a moment in what connection he had heard the name. Then one of the
youths ahead said:
“Pshaw! They all do it. I’ll wager half the fellows on both teams have
taken money for playing.”
“It wasn’t so much his protesting this Kirkland,” responded the other,
“as the way he did it. Wallace said he found out a week ago that
Kirkland’s uncle was going away, and that he didn’t make the charges
until he was sure the old man couldn’t deny them. It seems this uncle,
or guardian, or whatever he is, is very rich and Wally was afraid he
might come down and deny it all.”
“All I have to say,” said the third, “is that it wasn’t square. He
either ought to play or ought not—and it wasn’t right to make the
charges knowing he couldn’t prove or disprove them.”
As they passed out of hearing Larry Kirkland stood still, wondering and
pondering over the situation. He recalled Wallace vividly. He was the
tall pitcher who had been imported by Harry Baldwin to pitch for Rogue
River ranch team against Shasta View on the memorable occasion which had
served to embitter the feud of the Baldwin and Lawrence families. But
how had Wallace known that Major Lawrence was going East? Larry cudgeled
his brain for a solution of that mystery as he walked more slowly toward
the field.
Suddenly an idea sprang into his mind that drove his selfish thoughts
from him. Instead of going to his seat in the stand immediately he
hastened to the club house and advanced toward Coach Haxton.
“Why, hello, Kirkland,” said Haxton a little awkwardly. “Sorry you’re
not with us”——
“Thank you,” replied Larry chillingly. “But I dropped in to tell you
something, if you do not object to taking advice.”
“Glad to get it,” said the coach in more friendly tones. “We may need it
with the team broken up this way.”
“It’s this,” said Larry quickly, “I know this fellow Wallace who is
pitching for Golden. Batted against him once. He has a lot of speed and
a fast curve, but he is liable to be wild. Besides, if your players wait
and make him pitch hard he’ll tire himself out before the end. He hasn’t
the strength to keep up his speed and he gets wilder when he tires.”
“Thank you,” said Haxton. “I’ll remember it.”
“When he gets fussed up,” said Larry, “bunt toward him and he will fall
all over himself. I think you can beat him that way.”
“I say,” said Haxton with genuine friendliness, “it’s awfully decent of
you to try to help after—after—well, after what has happened.”
Larry had gone to his seat torn by conflicting emotions. He regretted
giving the advice, yet felt that he had done his duty. He found it hard
to hope that Cascade would win. But, before the second inning was
played, he had forgotten his own troubles and was cheering as loyally as
any over the plays. The third, fourth and fifth innings passed and still
neither team had been able to score. Golden’s batters were hitting
freely, but unluckily, and the splendid defensive work of Cascade was
holding them in check. It was evident that Haxton was following Larry’s
advice. The batters were waiting and forcing Wallace to pitch many balls
to each of them and it was evident to Larry that the strain was telling
upon him. In the sixth inning a base on balls and a sacrifice put Rodney
on second base and Harry Baldwin, hitting the first ball pitched to him,
drove home the first run and Cascade went wild. But in the seventh,
Arksall wavered, grew wild, and in trying to get the ball over the plate
was freely batted, and four Golden runners crossed the plate.
In this dilemma Haxton turned to Katsura. The little brown fellow
smiled, trotted out, pitched a few practice balls, and stepping to the
slab began floating his tantalizing slow twisters across the plate, and
the rally ended quickly. Larry applauded wildly as Katsura, still
smiling coolly, trotted back to the bench. He was not discouraged, for
he believed that Katsura, with his skill and cunning, would stop Golden
from scoring and he hoped that Cascade could score freely when Wallace,
worn down by the strain, weakened. He weakened in the eighth inning,
grew wild, and Cascade quickly tied the score. Two runners were on the
bases when Harry Baldwin, disobeying orders, struck out, and Larry felt
a pang of fierce joy at the discomfiture of his rival.
The ninth came with the crowd working itself to a high pitch of
excitement and the score tied. The first Golden batter retired, and the
next hit a slow, easy bounder to the shortstop, who, hastening
unnecessarily, threw the ball against the stands, allowing the runner to
reach third. The situation was dangerous. Haxton called the shortstop
and second baseman closer to the plate and played to cut off the runner.
Katsura, pitching as coolly as in practice, refused to permit the batter
to hit a good ball, and as a result gave him a base on balls, increasing
the chances of a double play.
The next batter drove a bounder straight at Harry Baldwin. The crowd
checked its cheer. Baldwin scooped the ball perfectly. He could throw to
the plate and shut off the runner there, or he could throw to second and
try for the double play that would end the inning. He paused an instant,
steadied himself and threw to first base. The moment he threw he started
trotting off the field, and, aroused suddenly by the roar of surprise
and anger from the Cascade followers, he stopped as if bewildered. He
had forgotten how many batters were out—and had permitted the runner to
score from third without an effort to stop him. A moment later a fly
ended the inning. Cascade rallied desperately in their ninth, but failed
to score. Larry Kirkland, dejected, yet inwardly glad that it was
Baldwin who had lost the game, joined the rush toward the exits.
Baldwin’s blunder had cost Cascade the game and the championship.