“THE OLD WILL POWER”
They reached school well before Loring. He didn’t return until nearly
four, revealing that even a “Rolled Rice” can have tire troubles. After
greetings and a few questions had been exchanged, Loring asked: “Look
here, fellows, have you heard about Evans and Cox?”
Clif shook his head, while Tom said: “Sounds like a good ticket. I’ll
vote for ’em. Who are they?”
Loring, though, was too much in earnest to appreciate persiflage.
“Don’t you read the papers?” he demanded. “The _Times_ had it yesterday
morning.”
“Do you mean Stu Evans?” asked Clif.
“Yes! He and Cox; Harold Cox, isn’t it? They got banged up over on Long
Island Saturday afternoon. They were in Cox’s car, and a truck shoved
them out of the road, and they went down into a ditch. Evans broke a
couple of ribs, the paper said, and Cox got cut up sort of badly and
hurt an arm!”
“Gosh!” said Tom. “Cox is the fellow with the long neck and whitish
hair, isn’t he? Say, that’s too bad.”
“Have they come back?” asked Clif.
“Here? No, indeed. They were taken to a hospital and then to Cox’s
home. They won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least, I fancy.”
“Too bad,” said Tom again, but he said it more slowly, and an
expression of uneasiness came into his face.
“That surely ought to put you on second,” said Clif.
Tom nodded, but he looked troubled. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “I don’t
like it! I wasn’t keen about that will power business when we started
it, and after this I’m off it for life!”
“But, Great Scott――” began Clif.
“If it’s going to get fellows into trouble I’m through with it,”
declared Tom emphatically.
“But you don’t mean that you think _we_ had anything to do with it!”
gasped Loring.
“Sure, I do! Why not? Weren’t we all putting our minds on getting on
the team? You and Clif and me? Well, look what happens! Stu Evans gets
laid up so he can’t play! If that isn’t up to us and――and our ‘Work
and Will’ stuff, I’ll eat my hat! And that guy Cox was an outfielder,
wasn’t he? Huh?”
“I don’t know what he was,” replied Clif, frowning. “He never played
much, I guess. He was generally on the bench. Anyway, you can’t say
his accident helps me any! And, as for the other――”
“Sure, it helps you! You’ve got one less fellow to fight, haven’t you?
How do you know Tusks didn’t have Cox in mind for one of the outfield
jobs? No, sir, I’m through. There are some things――forces, or whatever
you want to call them――that we don’t understand, and it’s a mighty safe
thing to let them alone!”
“But, Tom, for the love of limes,” exclaimed Loring, “think a minute!
We didn’t put our minds on Evans and Cox. We were willing Mr. Wadleigh
to――”
“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Tom stoutly. “The thing got away from
us, I suppose. It didn’t stop at Tusks. It went on and slammed those
two fellows into a ditch. Why, heck, there’s no telling what it might
do next! First thing we knew there might be an influx, or whatever you
call it, of measles or――or typhoid or something and the whole blamed
batting-list would be nix!”
By degrees they argued him away from his conviction, but it required
time and eloquence, and even after they had succeeded it was evident
that Tom retained mental reservations and was only partly reconciled
with the psychology program. A few days later it was learned that
neither of the absent players had been seriously hurt, but the fact
remained that they were both lost to the second team for several
weeks. On Tuesday Tusks tried both Roe and Tom at second, and each
showed so poorly, Roe at fielding and Tom at batting, that there was
little to choose between them. When the second met the first Roe scored
two errors, one a fumble of an easy liner and the other a wild throw
over Scott’s head. For his part, Tom accepted five chances well but was
a miserable failure on his two trips to the plate.
The first team had met with two reverses during the recess, having been
beaten by Hoskins and Goodwin. The two remaining contests had been
won from Grayhold and Highland. So far, out of seven games, Wyndham
had won four and lost three. Coach Connover, none too well satisfied,
tried several new combinations in his infield during the week following
vacation and, on Thursday, drafted Frost from the second to strengthen
his pitching staff. The loss of Frosty left Mr. Wadleigh in something
of a hole, for he had left only Purdy and a third-rate twirler named
Ferry. Ferry usually played left field and confined his pitching to
serving them up to the net in practice. Since the second had three
games of her own scheduled for later on, Tusks began to look about
for new talent, while the members of his team set up a loud howl of
protest. None of them begrudged Frosty his good fortune, but they did
wish he might have been left to the second. A boy named Fawkes, who
had been pitching on one of the scrub nines, was given a try-out, but
he showed small promise and was soon released. After that Ferry was
taken in hand and groomed as an alternate for Billy Purdy. And Ferry,
to the surprise of all and sundry, responded remarkably to the call to
service. Relieved of the drudgery of pitching to the net every day, he
remembered two or three tricky curves with which he had started out
three years before to become a great twirler, brushed the cobwebs off
them and, with Purdy standing by with advice, managed to make something
of them. Ferry had no speed, but he had his curves and a fair degree of
control, and on the first occasion of meeting with the big team puzzled
the rival batsmen through three innings. The first got just four hits
in those chapters. In the fourth, though, Van Dyke met one of Ferry’s
curves and slammed it for three bases, and after that Ferry went from
bad to worse and gave way to Purdy in the fifth.
That afternoon Clif played a whole game through at center field. He
made one difficult catch, misjudged another rather badly and, toward
the end of the one-sided contest, heaved a fine throw from short center
to Jack Cooper in time to catch a runner at the plate and retire the
side. At bat Clif had no luck that day, knocking a short fly to third
baseman his first time up, striking out the next time and hitting into
a double the next. He would have come to bat again in the eighth, but
there were two away and Connell was on second and Tusks sent Pringle
in to pinch-hit. Clif somehow couldn’t feel very sorry when Pringle hit
at the first delivery and dropped a fly into the hands of Greene in
center field.
By that time――the spring term was eight days old――Tom was established
on second, for the present at least. Neither he nor the other members
of the Triumvirate really expected him to retain his position after
Evans’ return, although they pretended to, for Stu not only fielded
well but had a mighty good batting record besides. Tom’s batting was
still negligible; and that is speaking charitably. Once on base――and he
did have a lucky faculty for getting to first by one means or another
other than by hitting the ball safely――he was a fast runner and a
heady one, and the number of runs credited to him after a fortnight’s
steady playing was quite out of proportion to his total of hits. On
second base Tom played a snappy game, covering a good deal of ground
and throwing well. He even enveloped himself in brief glory on two
occasions, once by running well into right field for a Texas Leaguer
that looked impossible and once by a sliding stop of a hard liner which
he tossed over his head to Connell, covering the bag, and which Connell
sped to first for a double play. He made errors frequently, but, as
Loring pointed out, it was because he took so many chances.
Horner Academy was beaten, 4 to 2, in a well-played game, Ogden going
the whole length in the box, and on the following Saturday Tollington
High School was defeated in a contest requiring the services of Ogden,
Frost and Erlingby. Frosty made his first appearance with the big team
that afternoon and lasted only one and two-thirds innings, after going
to the relief of Ogden in the fifth. Frosty seemed to have nothing on
the ball, and he was hit to all corners of the field for two runs. Only
some smart fielding and the fact that several of the batters hit flies
to the outfield saved him from a worse fate. Sam Erlingby finished out
and held the rampaging visitors to five more hits and two more runs.
As Wyndham had started by stowing five runs away in her locker and had
accumulated an average of one more for every succeeding inning, she
escaped disaster, winning by 13 to 10.
If Tom’s position on the second nine was precarious, Clif’s was much
more so. In fact, Clif could hardly be said to have a position.
Ferry’s withdrawal from left field to pitcher’s box had resulted in
the transference of Marler from center to left and the trying of
various players in the middle garden. Burke, Deeker and Clif were
experimented with. Deeker was eliminated in short order, leaving
Burke and Clif to fight it out. There didn’t seem much choice. Burke
was as good a fielder as Clif; had played on the second last season
and in consequence was ahead in experience; was equally as certain
a hitter. Usually Coach Wadleigh started one and finished with the
other. Infrequently one of the rivals played a practice game through.
Clif, in spite of psychology, had a sneaking suspicion that Burke
would eventually land the position. Of course when the old will power
was working just right he could vision himself holding down the job
unchallenged, but the old will power had a mean habit of developing
engine trouble at times!
Shortly after the beginning of the new term Clif and Tom arrived at
Loring’s room one evening after supper to find another visitor ahead
of them. The host, rather proudly as it seemed, introduced them to Mr.
Cooper. Mr. Cooper appeared a trifle embarrassed as he shook hands, and
for the succeeding ten or fifteen minutes had very little to say. Clif,
recalling his father’s indorsement of Mr. Cooper, was very friendly.
Tom, however, perhaps because he had tired before this of Loring’s
frequent allusions to the gentleman, was less gracious. Without being
in the least impolite, he nevertheless managed to suggest that he
resented the presence of the outsider. Doubtless Mr. Cooper caught
the suggestion, for more than once Clif found him observing Tom with
studious intentness. Conversation limped for awhile. Even Tom was too
courteous to introduce or pursue a subject which the stranger could not
participate in or at least comprehend. Finally it was a chance word
of Loring’s that removed the restraint. Searching for a fresh line of
conversation, Loring asked: “How did psychology work to-day, Clif?”
Clif shook his head. That afternoon Burke had had rather the better of
it. Then he turned to Mr. Cooper to ask: “I wonder if you believe in
that stuff, sir?”
“Psychology?” said the man inquiringly.
Clif explained. “Yes, sir. Loring thinks you can get what you want by
setting your mind on it and willing it to――to happen. You know, sort
of out-thinking the other chap; making your will stronger than his
and――that sort of thing.”
“You ask if I believe in it? Why, yes, I do. After all, Mr. Bingham,
there’s nothing new in it, you know. History’s full of it.”
“Well,” pursued Clif, “now here’s a case, sir. Suppose you’ve got one
person set on doing a certain thing a certain way and you’ve got three
other fel――persons set on having him do it another way. Do you think
that the three can make the first fellow do it their way by――by mental
suggestion, or whatever you call it? I guess that’s sort of mixed-up,
the way I put it, but maybe you understand what I’m getting at.”
“Yes, I understand, but I can’t say yes or no to it. You see, it
might depend on several things. First of all, I dare say, on whether
what the three wanted was something very much opposed to the one
man’s――er――inclinations, something that in the natural order of events
he wouldn’t consider doing. For instance, there are three of you
chaps. I might get out of this chair with the intention of walking to
the door and going back to the Inn. If you three willed that instead
of walking to the door I should crawl on my hands and knees you’d
doubtless lose out for the simple reason that I am not accustomed to
taking my departure in that fashion and would consider it――er――both
uncomfortable and lacking in dignity. In that case a contest of wills
would result in a victory for the minority.”
“Yes, I see that,” said Clif. “But suppose we just willed you to――let
me see――to drop your hat and pick it up on the way to the door?”
“The odds would be shorter,” replied Mr. Cooper, smiling. “I frequently
do drop my hat, or my stick, or my gloves. In that case the result
would probably depend on how strong your wills were. You might win if
only because I, not knowing what was up, wouldn’t actively oppose you.
Care to try it?”
“Heck,” said Tom, “you’d _know_, and of course we couldn’t do it!”
“Yet I might,” responded the other soberly. “I’ve seen several cases
where mental suggestion, for want of a better name, has seemingly done
strange things. I’ll tell you of one, if you like.”
“Yes, sir, please!” said Clif and Loring in chorus. Tom remained
silent, but he looked as interested as the others. Perhaps Mr. Cooper
had determined to overcome the slight antagonism still entertained by
Tom, for all along he had seemed to address himself to Tom rather than
to the others, and he continued to as he went on.
“This happened several years ago at a place called Canghall in the
north of Scotland. A lot of us were stationed there after the War. We
had a golf course of sorts near the garrison and played a good deal.
Our best man was a chap named Brosser, a Major. He could wallop any
of us, which wasn’t so bad, but he got himself eternally hated by
always reminding us of it. As a soldier he was a fine fellow, but as a
sportsman he was a rank outsider. If you took him on he not only beat
you hard but he kept bragging about it, before, during and after. I
guess he was the most thoroughly detested player who ever sank a putt.
It got so, finally, that no one would play with the swanker, and he had
to offer all sorts of handicaps and odds to get a game. Things went
on like that for a year or more. Then a few of us saw that something
had to be done. One of the mess knew a young chap named Bedford who
was then on leave of absence down in Kent. This Bedford, a subaltern,
was a good golfer, but just how good we didn’t know. Just the same, we
decided to have a try with him. Well, we wrote to him and told him the
lay and called on him in the name of all that was holy to come up for a
week and slay the dragon.
“He came, and I liked his looks from the first. Rather a wispy lad,
he was; long-limbed and awkward until you put a club in his hands.
Very modest, too, and not at all sure he could turn the trick for us,
but willing to try. It didn’t take more than five minutes to arrange
the match. The Major was tickled to death and went around telling
what he would do to the youngster. Bedford played the course two or
three times and then the match was on. The whole garrison turned out
to see it. I don’t suppose, unless it was his caddie, the Major had a
‘rooter’ in the crowd. But that didn’t bother him a bit. I fancy he
preferred things that way. Bedford didn’t get his stride until they’d
played four holes, and by that time the Major had him two down. Bedford
wasn’t in the Major’s class with the driver, but he was a wizard with
an iron, and not far behind the other on his putts. He got into his
swing after a while and at the end of nine holes he was even up. From
there on it was a ding-dong battle. They were both playing wonderfully
good golf. If the Major won one hole Bedford won the next, and so it
went to the fifteenth. Bedford won that. They halved the sixteenth.
The seventeenth was long but not hard if you kept in the fairway. Your
first shot laid you down in the narrows, as we called it. There was a
point of forest coming in on your right and some ugly ground on the
left, rocks and gorse. The Major had sailed through there a hundred
times without trouble, and we all knew it. But we hoped. Afterwards,
talking it over, we found that every last one of us had prayed that
the Major would slice into the woods. You see, the rough on the other
side wouldn’t have done so well. With luck you could wangle out of
there and be not much the worse for it. We’d all of us seen the Major
get in there with a bad lie and still reach the green in par. So we all
put our minds on the woods, and, since there wasn’t a sound when the
Major laid his brassie behind his ball, I fancy there was a deal of
mental suggestion going on. Bedford had shot clean and sweet over the
rise, and we knew he was all right. The Major looked a bit grim as he
prepared to swing, but he didn’t show any nerves. And then he hit.”
“Well――well――” stammered Clif eagerly when the narrator stopped, “what
happened, sir?”
“Why,” answered Mr. Cooper, smiling, “what could happen? There was only
one of the Major and a whole rabble of us. He sliced into the trees,
lost ball, stroke, hole and match, two down and one to play!”
“Great!” approved Clif.
“And do you really think, sir,” asked Loring, “that mental suggestion
did it?”
“You’ll have to decide that for yourself. That is, _I_ think so, but
the Major doesn’t. He says he took his eye off the ball!”