ORGANIZING THE NINE
Nobody was late for chapel next day—a most unusual occurrence. But the
news of the removal of the stone had early become known, and before
the first call for breakfast almost the entire school was out on the
campus, gazing at the work of the Smith boys and Whistle-Breeches.
“Say, that was a peach of a stunt all right,” was the general comment.
“Who did it?”
“Well, if we find out who of you Freshies did it, there’ll be something
_else_ doing,” was the angry retort of the Seniors, since, just before
leaving the stone, Cap had painted on it in hastily scrawled characters:
“COMPLIMENTS OF THE FRESHMEN.”
“Don’t you wish you knew?” demanded Pete, with a wink at his brothers.
“What would you do if you did know?” asked Bill.
“Make you fellows roll it back with your noses,” was the grim answer.
“How in the mischief did they do it?” some of the cooler-headed Seniors
wanted to know.
“Why the little beggars must have used a platform, on long poles to
carry it on,” decided one of the upper class. “Though how they got
away with it, and so quietly, is a mystery. How are we going to get it
back?”
“Have to hire a gang of men I guess,” said a companion dubiously.
The matter was spoken of by Dr. Burton at the morning exercises, and he
requested whoever had perpetrated the “alleged joke,” as he called it,
to make himself, or themselves, known. Of course no one confessed, nor
did the good doctor expect them to, but he had done his duty, and then
he hurried back to his study to resume work on translating some clay
tablets, of early Assyrian characters, a friend had sent him.
It was Professor Landmore who solved the problem, by telling his class
that day of a curious machine he had seen for applying the principle of
the lever, and he described the big two wheeled affair he had noticed
beside the road the previous evening. Then the secret was out, and the
Seniors learned how the trick had been worked. It was even rumored
that the Smith boys had had a hand in it, but nothing came of it, and
the upper classmen had to endure the taunts and stings of the Freshmen
until, by hiring some of the sewer contractor’s men, the stone was put
back in its old place.
But the joke created quite a stir, and our heroes were considered
“honor men” in the Freshman class, which had gained undying fame by so
simple a means, for it was many years before the story of the removal
of the Senior stone grew stale in the annals of Westfield.
But now matters were more or less settled down in the school, and our
three friends gave at least part of their time to study. Meanwhile
they had joined several Greek letter fraternities, and were having
their share of college life. They wanted to make the Varsity football
team, but failed, as there was an overabundance of material that fall.
However they did make the Freshman team, and proved themselves worthy
of the honor. But as I intend to tell of the prowess of the Smith boys
on the gridiron in a book to follow this, I will merely mention now
that Bill, Pete and Cap did more than their share of work in winning
the Freshman championship for the school, after many hard-fought
battles.
The final game on the gridiron had been played, and the Westfield
Varsity had won. Long hair was sacrificed to the barber’s shears, dirty
suits and leather pads were laid away, and nose guards and helmets put
upon the shelf until another fall. Then began a winter of more or less
discontent, according as the lads liked or disliked study. Our heroes
were about the average, neither better nor worse.
* * * * *
There was rather a more balmy feeling to the air than had been noticed
in some time. The snow had gone, and the grass that had been brown and
sear was beginning to take on a tinge of green. Cap Smith, mending
a rip in his big catching mitt looked out of the window, yawned and
stretched lazily.
“Too much study?” asked Bill.
“No, I think I’m getting the spring fever. How about you, Pete?”
“Same here. I’m tired of this measly Latin. Say, where is that new
mushroom bat I bought the other day?”
“I don’t know, unless Whistle-Breeches borrowed it to prop his window
up with. Jove! but it’s getting warm!”
“I like his nerve if he has,” and Pete made a hasty journey to the
room of the lad at the end of the corridor, returning with the stick in
question, and followed by the culprit himself.
“I didn’t know it was a _new_ bat,” said Whistle-Breeches in
extenuation. “Besides there won’t be any baseball for a month.”
“There won’t, eh?” retorted Bill. “I’ll bet they’ll have the cage up in
the gym this week.”
“I heard something about it,” admitted Cap. “Mr. Windam, the coach,
said he’d soon be on the lookout for candidates.”
“Think we have any show?” asked Pete eagerly.
“I guess so. We had a good record from home.”
“That doesn’t count so much here,” was the opinion of Whistle-Breeches.
“I’d like to make the nine, but I’m afraid I won’t.”
“Where do you play?” asked Cap, sizing up his chum with a professional
eye.
“Right field.”
“Then you bat some?”
“I did a little better than two eighty-nine last year,” was the modest
answer.
“Then you ought to get in all right. Now I want to catch, and Bill
wants to pitch,” went on Cap, “and—”
“And I’d like to fill it at short,” interrupted Pete.
“And that’s the trouble,” came from Bill. “It would look too much like
a family affair if we were all on the nine.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Whistle-Breeches. “If they want good players—”
“They’ll take us,” declared Cap with a laugh. “Well, even if we can’t
make the Varsity, we’ll have some games. I wish the ground would dry up
a bit, so we could get out and have some practice.”
Bill leaned forward and looked from the window, which gave a view of a
path leading to the gymnasium. On a post not far away from the building
was a bulletin board, and at that moment Forbes Graydon, captain of the
Varsity nine, was tacking something up on it.
“Wonder what that is?” asked Bill idly.
“Let’s go look,” proposed Pete. “Come on, Whistle-Breeches.”
They hurried down, and after a hasty reading of the placard waved their
hands to Cap and Bill, who soon joined them, together with a throng of
other students.
For the notice gave announcement that all who wished to try for the
baseball team were to report in the Gymnasium that afternoon, when
matters pertaining to the organization of the nine would be talked over.
“Shall we go, fellows?” asked Cap.
“Go? You couldn’t keep me back if you hitched me to the Seniors’
meteorite,” declared Bill with energy.
“Going to try for it, Bondy?” asked Whistle-Breeches of their wealthy
neighbor at Bill’s end of the corridor.
“Me? No. Baseball is such a rough and dirty game. But I shall cheer for
our team, and back it with my money, of course. Do you think we have a
chance to win the championship? I’d like to wager something on it.”
“Oh, you and your money!” growled Whistle-Breeches as he turned away in
disgust. “We play ball at Westfield for the _game_—not for _bets_!”
“Ah—really!” exclaimed James Guilder in supercilious tones as he wiped
his glasses with his silk handkerchief.
There was a big crowd in the gymnasium that afternoon, when Mr. Windam,
who occupied the platform with Captain Graydon and J. Evans Green, the
manager, banged his gavel for order.
“You all know why we are here, so there is no use wasting time going
over that,” said Mr. Windam. “There are several vacancies on the
Varsity nine, and we shall be glad to have new candidates announce
themselves. You new men will all be given a fair try-out, and those who
do not make the team will become substitutes.
“I might add, though you probably all know it, that we won the pennant
last year by only a narrow margin. It is going to be hard to keep it
this year, for I understand Tuckerton College, our most formidable
rival, has an exceptionally strong team, and they are after our scalps.”
“Well, they won’t get ’em!” Voice from the throng.
“Not if we can help it,” went on the coach. “Only I want to warn
you that we expect top-notch playing from every member of the team.
Financially we are in good shape, and just as soon as the candidates
can be picked out we’ll begin work in the cage. This week, if possible.
“Now, Mr. Green, Captain Graydon and myself will take your names if you
will come forward.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Cap Smith, with a look at his
two brothers, arose and walked toward the platform. There was a murmur
in the throng as Pete and Bill followed, and as Whistle-Breeches got
up.
“The whole Smith family!” called a voice, and there was a snicker of
mirth.
“Well, maybe we’ll be glad of more of the Smith boys before the season
is over,” said Mr. Windam good-naturedly. “Now boys, your names, and
the positions you’d like to have.”
The organization of the Westfield nine was under way, and as Cap and
his brothers noted the number of candidates they began to fear that
their chance of all being together on the team was a slim one.