A NEW PITCHER
Unaware of the expression on the face of Gus Kiggins, Walter said to
Dan as the latter joined the group, “Didn’t I tell you? You’re all
right, Dan.” Then, turning to his companions, he continued: “I always
keep my eyes open for the nine. You fellows seem to think the eleven is
the only team in school, but when I can find a pitcher for the nine,
such as I have in Dan Richards, I’m telling you that you’ll forget
there is such a game as football when you see what the baseball nine
will do for us.”
“There’s a better way yet,” said Gus, looking boldly at Walter as he
spoke.
“What’s that?”
“Hire two or three professionals,” sneered Gus.
“We don’t want them.”
“Might as well have them as to have ‘muckers.’” The face of Gus was
glowering, and his feeling was manifest to all.
“We have some muckers already,” retorted Walter hotly. He was angry at
the reflection upon his choice perhaps even more than at the slight
cast upon Dan. He glanced hastily at his roommate, and from Dan’s
unchanged manner he concluded that he either did not know what a mucker
was or did not apply the epithet to himself.
“Who’s a mucker?” demanded Gus as he stopped and faced Walter. “Do you
mean to tell me that I――――”
“I am not mentioning any names,” broke in Walter with a sneer. “When a
fellow is a mucker he doesn’t have to run around and wave a banner. It
is usually stamped on his face. If it isn’t, give him a chance to open
his mouth and he’ll do the rest.”
The boys laughed at Walter’s retort and as they looked at Gus it was
plain that their sympathies were not with him. Several glanced slyly at
Dan, but to all appearances he was the least-moved boy in the group.
“There isn’t a mucker in the Tait School,” said Gus savagely, “or at
least there hasn’t been up to to-day. Every fellow pays his way like a
man and he has something behind him too!”
“What do you mean?” asked Walter tauntingly, aroused still more by the
manifest sympathy of his companions. “How far back does a fellow have
to go not to be a mucker? Now, would you think that a fellow whose
father stuck pigs――――”
“Say that again,” broke in Gus, his face livid and his fist drawn back,
“and I’ll show you.”
“Yes,” taunted Walter, “that is the way some fellows take to show that
they are not muckers.”
It was common report in the school that the father of Gus Kiggins,
who now was a prosperous pork-packer, had begun his successful career
as one of the men employed by the establishment in which he now was a
partner. It was a well-known fact that he had been one of the “hands”
whose sole occupation was slaughtering hogs.
“I’ll leave it to the fellows――no, I’ll leave it to this fellow
himself,” shouted Gus, as he stopped and faced Dan, his companions also
stopping at the same time.
“Leave what to him?” demanded Ned.
“Whether what I say is true or not.”
“That you’re a mucker?” asked Walter with a sneer.
“No, sir. I’ll just ask him one or two questions, and if he answers
them, then I’ll never say another word if they’re not my way. If they
prove what I claim, then I’ll leave it with you fellows.”
“Oh, take a rest, Gus. Calm down,” said Hodge. “You talk too much.”
“Let him ask his questions,” said Dan quietly.
“He hasn’t any right to question you,” declared Smith. “He hasn’t any
more right than Hodge has or I have. No, nor than you have to ask him
questions.”
“Don’t stop him. I’ll answer two questions for him if he’ll let me ask
him two after he’s done with me,” said Dan.
“That’s fair. Go ahead, Gus,” said Hodge.
“All right,” said Gus, promptly turning to Dan. “My first question
is, Do you pay for your term-bills in the Tait School or does someone
else pay for them? I know it’s none of my business in one sense of the
word――――”
“Of course it’s none of your business!” broke in Walter. “No one but a
mucker would ever ask a question like that anyway!”
For a moment Gus glared at the speaker, but as Hodge and Smith
instantly stepped in front of him, no damage, at least physically, was
done. “You don’t have to answer such a fool question as that,” said
Hodge, turning to Dan.
“I don’t mind answering it,” said Dan, apparently unmoved. “I don’t
mind telling you that I don’t pay my bills here.”
“There! That’s just what I thought!” shouted Gus and he was quick to
mark the effect of Dan’s acknowledgment. It was manifest that the reply
of Dan had somewhat dampened the ardor of the boys. “Now, I’ve got just
one question more.”
“It’ll keep,” said Smith curtly.
“Let me hear it,” protested Dan.
“I won’t ask you who pays your bills,” continued Gus, “but I will ask
you this: Now, honestly, wasn’t it because you’re a good pitcher that
this unknown benefactor of yours offered to pay your way through the
Tait School?”
“Don’t answer his question, Dan!” spoke up Walter hastily.
Ignoring the protest Dan looked straight into the face of his accuser
and said: “I shall have to say both yes and no. I’ll own up that
if I hadn’t been a――if some people hadn’t thought I could pitch a
little――probably I wouldn’t be here now. But I know too, that that
isn’t the only reason why――――”
“That’s all I want,” interrupted Gus triumphantly. “You own up that you
don’t pay your own way, and you can’t deny that someone has offered
to send you because you think you can pitch a little. That’s all I
claimed. I haven’t anything against you, you understand, but I rather
guess that Doctor Sprague won’t stand for such things. The Tait School
has too good a name to spoil it now by hiring m――professionals,” he
hastily interrupted himself.
The boys glanced slyly at Dan, but he was silent. His face flushed and
it was plain that the brutal words had cut deeply, although he tried
not to show it. Turning sharply, Hodge said:
“Richards, did you ever get money for playing ball?”
“Not a cent!” spoke up Walter hastily.
“Let him answer for himself,” said Gus.
“No, I never was paid for a game,” answered Dan quietly.
“That settles it,” declared Smith.
“No, it doesn’t settle it,” almost shouted Walter. “I’ll tell you
fellows just how it was――――”
“Please don’t,” interrupted Dan.
“I’m going to tell,” persisted Walter, ignoring his roommate’s words.
“I’ll tell you just how it was. Dan lives on a farm that is next to
my grandfather’s at Rodman. I’ve known him ever since we both were
kids. Four years ago his father died, and Dan and his brother Tom have
been running the farm ever since. Of course, a fellow that runs a farm
nowadays doesn’t get the chance to make as much money as some men do,
but Dan and Tom have managed to live and get a little ahead too. They
knew there was some money to be made――――”
“On a farm?” broke in Gus with a sneer.
“Yes, sir; on a farm!” retorted Walter hotly.
“I’d like to know what they raised,” sneered Gus.
“I’ll tell you――they raised hogs!” said Walter. “You ought to know that
hogs pay if there’s anyone in the school that knows it.”
A shout arose from the boys, but Gus only glowered at Walter. In a
moment the latter continued: “Dan decided this summer that he would
take the little money he had made and saved by raising hogs and doing
other little jobs, like rowing for the men that wanted to go fishing on
Six Town Pond, and go to school. He had about decided that he would go
to the normal school, for he’d have a chance there to work and pay for
part of his board, and there wasn’t any tuition to pay for anyway. My
father heard of Dan’s plan and he told him that if he would room with
me and do me good he would send him to the Tait School. Now, the way I
look at it, it’s Dan who is doing the favor――――”
“Of course he is!” broke in Hodge warmly. “It was mighty good of him to
come, I think. I guess if he hadn’t shown that he had that ‘fade-away’
ball Gus wouldn’t have kicked. It’s too bad, Gussie,” he added with a
laugh, as he turned to his companion. “You’re a near-pitcher anyway,
and that’s something, you know.”
“Why didn’t you go out and hire some professional to take Ned’s place
as catcher?” demanded the angry Gus.
“Oh, Ned’s all right. He’ll learn how to hold the new pitcher when he
has had a little more practice.” Hodge looked at Ned, who had been
thoughtfully silent throughout the quarrel, and laughed as he spoke.
“I don’t believe in it!” declared Gus, “and I’ll bet you that Doctor
Sprague won’t either, when he finds out about it.”
“Run and tell him now, Gussie,” suggested Smith.
“I’m no telltale.”
“All right, then,” said Smith. “If Doctor Sprague doesn’t hear of it,
we’ll believe you.”
“He’ll know without my telling him.”
“Oh, no he won’t, Gussie boy.”
“Yes, he will,” said Dan quietly.
“Who’ll tell him?”
“I shall.”
“You!” exclaimed Gus.
“Yes,” replied Dan. “I don’t want to play on the nine if there is any
question about my right.”
“You’re all right,” said Hodge. “All you have to do is to saw wood.”
“I guess he can do that,” sneered Gus.
“He can, if he can do it as well as he can pitch――or stick hogs!”
retorted Walter.