CANDIDATES FOR THE NINE
Rather hard luck for you, after listening to prosy descriptions of
Clif, Tom and Loring, to have Wattles come on the scene! But Wattles
may be disposed of more briefly. Wattles was about thirty, tall, rather
lacking in flesh, with pale brown eyes――a sort of parchment brown they
were――a long nose and a retiring chin. Wattles was English. That is to
say he had been born in England, and, although he had spent the last
ten years in this country and no longer owed allegiance to the King, he
was still――and always would be――English in everything save the right
to vote! Wattles acted as nurse, valet, companion, secretary and in
numerous other capacities for Loring. He was so eminently respectable
that Tom, when in his society, felt positively raffish. Wattles wore
black on all occasions and never appeared without his square-crowned
black derby. When he walked to church in the village on Sunday
morning he encased his capable hands in dark-gray gloves, carried his
prayerbook and hymnal and looked far more sacerdotal than the minister
himself. Tom frequently declared that Wattles was “a scream and a
bully sort.” As to that the reader may judge for himself later.
Wattles’ present return was to prepare Loring for study hour, and after
the visitors had hurried away to their respective rooms for their books
he proceeded methodically to his task. Loring was carefully lifted
from the arm chair in which he had been seated to the wheel chair.
Then Wattles selected the proper books from the table, together with a
scratch pad and a fountain pen, and laid them on a shelf that stretched
in front of Loring from one arm of the chair to the other. The rug was
laid across the boy’s knees and lightly tucked into place. After which,
with a final glance around, Wattles said: “Right, sir?”
“Right-o,” replied Loring, and Wattles laid hold of the handle-bar
across the back and propelled the chair through the door and along the
corridor to where, at the farther end, wide portals gave a glimpse
of the big hall. En route Loring said: “Wattles, I wish you’d look
around when you go back to the library and see what you can find about
baseball. There are probably some books there. Bring what you can, will
you?”
“Baseball, Mr. Loring. Right, sir.”
“Yes. I suppose you don’t know much about that game, do you, Wattles?”
“I am not, Mr. Loring, what you might call well informed on the
subject. I have, though, witnessed several contests of professional
baseball and observed it closely, and while there are numerous points――”
“I get you. Well, we’ll have to send for some books, I guess. You see,
Wattles, we’re going to play the game this spring.”
“We, sir?” asked Wattles with a trace of surprise.
“Oh, well, I mean Clif and Tom. You and I are going to look on, though,
and so it’s up to us to study the game thoroughly and get so we
understand the――the fine points, eh?”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Wattles. “A most interesting pastime, I’ve no
doubt, if one possesses a thorough knowledge of the intricacies.”
“Sure! Don’t forget those books from the library.”
Wattles looked almost pained as he pushed the chair to its customary
location at one side of the doorway and retired. Wattles never forgot.
Two days later candidates for the Wyndham School Baseball Team
assembled in the gymnasium. While the rest of the school was contained
under one roof, with East, Middle and West Halls forming three sides
of a quadrangle, the gymnasium, new and well appointed, was set at a
little distance behind East Hall, with which it was connected by a
covered walk. This afternoon, since it was raining with the dogged
persistence of February rains in the Connecticut hills, the roofed
passage was much in vogue. Clif and Tom made use of it, as, a little
later, did Loring and Wattles. The candidates gathered in the baseball
cage on the ground floor, a big, well-lighted inclosure in which almost
any feat of the game might be accomplished save the hitting of anything
better than a single. Since the furnishings of the cage were meager,
consisting as they did of three backless benches along one side, most
of the fellows who had responded to the call stood either inside the
cage or in the corridor that bordered it, and conversed with such sang
froid as their relations with the team warranted. New candidates spoke
in low tones, or not at all, while they viewed curiously and sometimes
enviously the veterans of last year’s nine. Loring didn’t arrive until
Mr. Connover had made his appearance and was addressing the assembled
throng. The partition between cage and corridor was a wall, well padded
on the inner side, to a height of three and a half feet. Above that
a strong wire netting continued to the high ceiling. By sitting very
erect in his wheel chair and stretching just a little Loring could see
over the wall. Having set the chair in an inconspicuous place near
one corner of the cage, Wattles removed his black derby, wiped the
sweat-band with an immaculate handkerchief, returned the hat to his
head and the handkerchief to a pocket and set himself to a grave and
intent study of the proceedings.
Mr. Connover said nothing particularly new nor inspiring. He dwelt
rather strongly on the fact that the candidates were due for a
fortnight or so of somewhat drudging drill and suggested that any
who wanted to withdraw had best do so before the squad reassembled.
“If,” proceeded the coach, “I find you here to-morrow I shall expect
you to stick for the duration. Last year we were fortunate enough to
get outdoors on the twentieth of March. This year it may be later, or
earlier. There’s no way of telling. But it’s safe to say that you’ve
got a good three weeks of indoor work ahead of you, and any of you who
can’t stomach that had better quit to-day.”
Mr. Connover was not a large man, nor was he particularly impressive
in any way as viewed this afternoon. He had donned an old suit of blue
serge and a pair of stained white sneakers. “Steve” in charge of a
physics class and “Steve” speaking to a bunch of baseball candidates
were different persons. With the single exception of “Lovey” McKnight,
chemistry instructor, Mr. Connover was the youngest member of the
faculty, being twenty-nine. He had coached the baseball teams for two
years before this and had turned out at least average good teams. The
fact that only one of them had managed to secure the best two out of
three games with Wolcott was no reflection on the coach.
“We have arranged a schedule for this spring that is two games longer
than last year’s,” Mr. Connover was saying now. “It’s a mighty good
schedule, and Manager Longwell and his assistants deserve praise for
working it up.” There was a faint, repressed cheer, and “Bi” Longwell,
hugging a large pad of paper to him on a bench, grinned. “We’re down
to meet some good teams, fellows, and we’ve simply got to play real
ball right from the start if we’re to make a decent showing by the end
of the season. Of course, it’s the Wolcott series we’re after, but we
aren’t going to throw any games away before we get to the big ones. I’d
like to see this spring a Wyndham team that will take three-fourths
of its games. We’ve got twenty-two scheduled. Probably four at least
won’t be played, because of weather conditions. I want this team to end
the season with fourteen victories, and if it doesn’t I’m going to be
disappointed in it.
“We’ve got a lot of good material left over from last year to build
on, and we’ve got a fine captain.” There was a real cheer this time.
“Captain Leland is going to say a few words to you presently, and I
want you to give him strict attention. And we’ve got, I am sure, a
fine lot of new material to build with. So there’s no reason why we
shouldn’t get off to a running start and find our stride early. One
thing I must caution you about, fellows, and I say this earnestly.
Don’t think because you’re busy with baseball that you can neglect your
studies. The surest way to prove to me that you aren’t deserving of a
position on the team is to let down in class. If you do that you can’t
be depended on to finish out the season, and there’s no use wasting
time now on fellows who aren’t going to last and who won’t be on hand
when they’re needed most. Now, fellows, Captain Leland.”
Leland, already standing, wrapped his hands more tightly in the hem of
an old gray sweat-shirt and faced the forty-odd boys while the chorus
of “A-a-ay!” died away. He was plainly embarrassed, but “Hurry”――he
had been christened Horace――wasn’t the sort to allow embarrassment to
keep him from doing what he had to do. Nor even to make him hesitate.
He began speaking before the shout of recognition and approval had
quite ceased, and Loring, listening and watching from beyond the wire
screening, lost the first few words.
“――A few things I’d like to tell you about what we intend to do this
year. Coach Connover has spoken of the schedule and said that it’s
good. And it is. But it’s hard, too. We’ve got teams like Toll’s and
Broadmoor this year to buck against, and they’re good. And plenty
of hard teams that we’ve played before: Murray, Hoskins, Horner,
Cupples. We’re playing two games with Horner, and two with Highland and
Freeburg. And maybe only two with Wolcott, if we fight hard!”
That called for applause and it was forthcoming. Hurry didn’t look at
first glance like a captain of baseball, or, for that matter, any
sort of a captain. He was of medium height, rather thin, with very
light-brown hair and a somewhat colorless complexion. Rather a wisp
of a chap as athletes go. But a moment’s observation corrected first
judgment. His steel-blue eyes were keen, his mouth was determined and
his countenance as a whole was, save when he smiled that infrequent
and oddly crooked smile of his, seriously intent. His movements were
abrupt, and when he started away his head always dropped until his chin
nearly rested on his chest. Some one had once said that Hurry did that
to decrease resistance to the wind! As a matter of fact, he was of the
nervous, quick-thinking and quick-acting type, a fellow who went into a
thing with, as the expression is, “all four feet,” and the lowered head
merely indicated that Hurry, having started for some other place, was
earnestly concentrating on how to get there as speedily as possible and
what to do when he arrived.
“We’ve got thirteen home games and nine away, and some of the visits
are going to keep us busy! But that doesn’t matter. I mean it isn’t
going to matter if we just make up our minds to one thing; to be the
best baseball team that ever trained on the Wyndham field. Coach has
talked sense about――I mean――well, he always talks sense, of course――”
Hurry’s one-sided grin appeared momentarily, while the audience
laughed――“but he said a mouthful when he spoke about keeping in right
with faculty. I’ve been here three years, fellows, and I’ve seen teams
hurt more than once because some poor prune who should have known
better got in wrong at the Office and wasn’t there when he was needed.
Coach says we don’t want fellows with us who won’t study and keep their
end up in class, and that goes for me, too.
“About this indoor stuff, now. Well, it won’t hurt you a bit, and I’d
hate to see any of you duck just because there’ll be a couple of weeks
of calisthenics. You won’t have to work any harder than Mr. Babcock
makes you work in gym class. And it’s necessary, too. I don’t want to
see any of you fellows quit without getting a fair try-out. Some of you
will quit later, because there’s only two teams to fill, but you leave
that to Coach Connover. He’ll tell you quick enough when he’s through
with you! Well, I guess that’s everything,” ended Hurry as the audience
chuckled in appreciation of the dry jest. “Just stick as long as you’re
needed, fellows; and do your best for the Team and the School. I know
your best will be good enough!”
Somewhat to the surprise of the candidates, Mr. Connover announced that
nothing more was required of them that day. “Be sure to give your names
to the Manager before you go,” he added. “And that means all of you,
old or new. To-morrow we’ll meet on the floor at four-thirty.”
Returning to West Hall, Tom remarked: “I wonder how Leland and I will
get on together around second. You know, Clif, second baseman and
shortstop have simply got to work together smoothly, and that guy
doesn’t look like a fellow who would take kindly to advice.”
“From you?” jeered Clif. “I should hope not! Anyway, you and Hurry
Leland aren’t likely to see much of each other. He’s on the first, you
know.”
“Meaning that I’ll only make the second, eh?”
“Meaning you’ll be plaguy lucky if you make the bench! Say, I was sort
of looking around back there,” continued Clif as he followed Tom into
Number 34, “and I’ll bet there were twenty last year fellows on hand.”
“What of it?” asked Tom, plumping himself into a chair.
“What of it? Well, what chance have a couple of dunderheads like you
and me got, I’d like to know.”
“Dunderhead yourself,” responded Tom, unruffled. “Dunderhead, me no
dunderhead, young feller. Listen. I’m an experienced ball player. I was
even a captain once.”
“Who else was on the team?” laughed Clif. “Your old nurse?”
“Well, of course, that was some time ago; when I was a mere lad of
twelve. Just the same we weren’t so rotten. We had a pitcher who could
strike out fellows weighing twenty pounds less than he did!”
“What’s weight got to do with it?” asked Clif, puzzled.
“I’m just telling you.” Tom chuckled. “We used to call him ‘Skel’;
short for Skeleton, you know. He was about ten years old, I guess, and
when he came on the field you couldn’t tell for sure whether he was
walking forwards or backwards. He was the same all round. And round is
just the word, too!”
“And what did you play on the ‘Morristown Giants’?”
“Wrong. We were the ‘Red Sox.’ I played catcher sometimes, and
sometimes I played third base and sometimes――”
“You picked up bats. I know. Well, all that’s mighty interesting, Tom,
but I can’t just see it helping you much in the present crisis. Of
course you might tell it to Steve, but he’s sort of hard-boiled and――”
“No, sir,” interrupted Tom determinedly, “I won’t attempt to influence
him. I propose to win the honor of playing second base by working up
from the ranks, like the rest of you.”
“Very high-minded,” said Clif approvingly. “And, speaking of ranks,
I’ll bet you’ll be ranker than any.”
“Say, joking aside, Clif, we _have_ got rather a cheek to try for that
team and hope to get anywhere. I didn’t see more than five or six other
third class fellows there.”
“Glad you acknowledge it. Still, it isn’t going to do us any harm to
make a stab at it. We might cop something. You, anyway. You’ve played
more than I have.”
“Well, heck, nothing venture, you know. Cheer up, old timer. You never
can tell. One of us may be saving the day yet with a timely clout.
Speaking of timely clouts, when I captained the old Red Sox――”
“Brakes!” said Clif rudely.