MARSHALLTON _versus_ GUILFORD
Bill for once laid aside everything but his studies to give his
attention to the game with Guilford Academy, the last athletic contest
of the school year. It was played at Guilford, where the grounds were
fenced in and tickets of invitation given. As manager of the visiting
team, Bill had his quota to distribute in and outside of the Tech. With
his characteristic thoroughness he saw that no one was slighted who was
at all worthy, rich or poor. This was not so liberally managed at the
Guilford end.
The grand stand was pretty well filled, but Bill had reserved some good
seats and to these he conducted the Farrells and their niece, stopping
to tell them that Gus was pitching and that they must root for
Marshallton, which of course they did. After this, with some tickets
left over, Bill went outside and skirted the grounds, finding a dozen
youngsters hunting holes in the fence, and to these he gave his
remaining tickets. Not so long ago, he had been just such a youngster
himself, and he had an abounding sympathy for those who possessed the
keenest capacity for enjoyment, but were excluded without just reason.
The game was typical of such contests between schools of the kind in all
except the performance of Gus in the box. That youth, always smiling,
never self-conscious enough even to acknowledge the plaudits meant for
him, not only pitched with professional skill, but in his every movement
showed a grace which demanded attention.
From the first inning the result was a foregone conclusion. The home
team held the visitors to no runs and went to bat with the utmost
confidence, only to be retired, one, two, three, on strikes. They shut
the visitors out again, and two of them got on bases to remain there and
die. They let Siebold come home on Wilde's fly and errors and were again
fanned.
They repeated this, with little Kerry at bat and only one of them made a
hit, the ball lodging in the pitcher's extended hand. They fought hard
and retired the Techs for three more innings, meeting the same fate
themselves. Then their pitcher weakened and the team went to pieces,
with three men on bases, and Wilde let them all come home on a long
grounder, but himself died on second, with two others out on strikes.
They went to pieces again when Sadler knocked a fly over the fence and
made a home run, or rather a home walk, and they again were retired in
rapid succession. Score, six to nothing, and the Marshallton crowd,
including the dignified president of Tech, the instructors to a man, the
Farrells and a lot of other sympathizers yelled their throats sore, a
bunch of fans going for Gus, hoisting him on high and marching around
with him, singing a school chantey:
"He's the stuff,
He treats 'em rough,
He gives 'em easily more than enough.
He's awful tough
He is no bluff,
He made 'em look like a powder puff.
He's fast and quick,
They couldn't handle ball or stick.
He's winning Dick,
They got his kick,
They think they're slaughtered with a brick!"
And so on for half a dozen or so silly verses of the kind, Gus,
meanwhile, suffering both physically and mentally, for being thus tossed
about is by no means comfortable, and his modesty was such as to make
him want to run and hide.
And then the gang went for Bill, but Doctor Field protected him and they
expended their enthusiasm on Captain Siebold, Sadler and little Kerry,
the catcher. After which Guilford asked for a return match, but the term
was nearly ended and that must go over until next year.
"I wish," said Bill to Doctor Field, as they journeyed homeward, "that
Tony Sabaste could have been here to see this game."