HASELTINE MAKES HIS CHOICE.
A year has elapsed, and once more Founders’ day has come round at
Utopia. The exercises of the graduating class and the prize-giving have
taken place in the morning, and now every one is digesting at leisure
the excellent collation provided shortly after noontime prior to
repairing to the quadrangle to witness the base-ball match which is to
conclude the day’s entertainment.
In one of the studies in Fullham dormitory sacred to the older classes
two boys are seated engaged in earnest conversation. The room, a
cosy little den, owes evidently much of its comfortable and somewhat
artistic appearance to the good taste of one of its owners, who, no
other than our old friend Jack, grown still more manly in figure and
with the same open countenance as when we saw him last, is discussing
with his chum Haseltine the untoward news which the latter has received
a day or two before of his father’s financial ruin. The blow has
fallen most unexpectedly on the poor fellow, and though the change in
his plans which the calamity must necessarily induce has given him but
small concern as compared with that which he has felt for his father’s
unhappiness, it is important now that he should think and talk about
what he is to do. He was to have gone to college, for which he has been
preparing himself with considerable industry during the past year, but
that is out of the question now. He has his way to make in the world,
and the only point to be considered is how he can best manage no longer
to be a burden on his family.
“The worst thing about it,” Haseltine continued, “is that I shan’t
see any more of you, Jack. I don’t care so much about the money on my
own account, but I should like to have spent four years with you at
Harvard.”
“It’ll spoil half my pleasure in being there to have you away,” said
Jack. “We must manage though somehow to keep up our friendship. We can
write to one another at least.”
“I hate letters,――that is, writing them. My spelling would shock you,
Jack. If I were a literary character like you, now, it might answer.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Hasy.”
“Who’d have thought three years ago that you’d have graduated third in
the class and taken a prize for a poetical translation from Ovid? If
only now I’d followed suit,” he observed somewhat sadly, “I might have
got the place of private tutor to some rich swell or other, married
my employer’s daughter, and rolled in my own carriage, while you
were still grinding at the university. As it is, I shall soon either
be breaking stones on the highway, or playing cash-boy in a retail
dry-goods store.”
“I dare say,” responded Jack, “the Doctor could get you some place
as tutor. A few months of hard work would give you the necessary
proficiency.”
“But I want to begin work to-morrow.”
There was a short silence, and then Jack said slowly, “Of course, Hasy,
I suppose you’ve thought of base-ball? You ought to have no difficulty
in getting a salaried position in some club, you know.”
“I dare say I could,” was the quiet answer. “How I should have jumped
at such a chance a few years ago!” continued the school captain,
tossing from hand to hand from force of habit the base-ball which he
held. He is in shirt and knickerbockers, ready for the game appointed
to take place in half an hour between the school nine and one of the
strongest professional teams in the country, which, on its way east,
has been induced to stop at Utopia. “I was a foolish boy then,――and
now, well, I’m foolish enough still, but I think I’ve learned something
in these six years.”
“Oh, Hasy, I’m so glad to hear you talk so. Do you know I lay awake all
last night thinking about you, for I was afraid that with your fondness
for the game you’d jump at the chance to become a professional. Forgive
me, old fellow, I did you injustice.”
“That’s all right, Jack. No wonder you thought so, I’m such a base-ball
crank. But I may have to jump at the chance notwithstanding. It may be
the best thing I can do. Fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars a year
is not to be met with every day in the week. It may be my duty to take
such a place if it is offered, Jack,” he said gravely.
“I think almost anything would be better as a profession than that.”
“I can see that it would. Whatever I used to think, I recognize that
to have to spend the best years of my life as a base-ball player would
be a terrible misfortune. This school and the Doctor have taught me
that there are more worthy ambitions than that, and though I haven’t
said much about it, I’ve looked forward to something better. However, I
mustn’t abuse base-ball, for it has been a good friend to me, Jack; and
I believe that it has done me a heap of benefit not only physically,
but in teaching me endurance and perseverance and the value of
discipline. I feel as if I could take hold first-rate from the start of
any business I entered, just because of my training at base-ball. And
if it comes to the worst,” he added, “I think I shall be able to make a
good professional.”
“I’m sure you will, Hasy, if it comes to that. But something else will
be certain to turn up, see if it doesn’t.”
“It’ll have to turn up pretty soon, then, I’m afraid,” replied
Haseltine. “It’s time to go,” he continued, looking at his watch. “The
game’ll be called in fifteen minutes. It may be my last for a long
time,――at least as an amateur,――and I mean to give the Gray Stockings a
hard fight to win.”
The two friends proceed toward the quadrangle, where already a crowd
is collecting in anticipation of the match. The large stand for
spectators, which is one of the conveniences added to the grounds in
Haseltine’s day, is rapidly filling up, and just as the young captain
arrives upon the scene the Gray Stocking team show signs of emerging
from the tent erected for their comfort, where they have been dozing
since dinner. The sight of them is sufficient to restore Haseltine’s
spirits, and almost to make him feel that he would be very well
content after all to become one of them. They are strapping fellows
certainly, and the way they toss about the ball during the few minutes’
preliminary practice allowed them is very admirable.
And now from the main doorway of Granger Hall come out a large party
intent upon being present at the game, consisting of Dr. Meredith
and his masters, together with several patrons of the school and a
number of ladies, who troop across the field to seats reserved for
them behind the wire screen at the back of the catcher. The Gray
Stockings have won the toss and have sent the school to the bat. The
professionals, from their jocose demeanor, evidently regard the affair
in the light of a spree or picnic; and the pitcher grins convulsively
in stepping into the box, as though the idea of playing ball against a
parcel of boys struck him as a colossal jest.
The school nine looked like striplings certainly when compared with
their sturdy opponents, but they are in the very pink of practice
and condition, and have moreover eaten sparingly of the good things
provided at the collation, so as to be fit as possible for the match.
A breathless interest pervades the audience. A game against a real
professional team is something unknown in the annals of Utopia.
“Three out, side out,” calls the umpire, as the third striker on the
home nine knocks an easy grounder to short stop, who pops it gayly to
first base.
It is now the visitors’ turn at the bat, and all eyes are bent on
Haseltine as he plants himself firmly to deliver the first ball.
There has never been such a pitcher as he at Utopia. As compared with
his curves, the once famous pitching of the “Kid” is remembered as
second-rate. It has hopelessly baffled not only the pertinacious Stars,
but other still more formidable clubs. It remains to be seen what these
genuine ball-tossers will do with it.
“One strike!”
The captain of the Gray Stockings and one of the most prominent
sluggers on the nine has swiped at the first ball and missed it,
whereat his companions smile and one of them guys him with――
“Even money you strike out, Bill.”
There is a hush, and then the umpire calls――
“Two strikes!”
Applause proceeds from the benches and titters from the visiting team.
“Three strikes――out.”
The school is too much in earnest to regard the incident as ludicrous,
and the crowd cheers rapturously to see the vanquished slugger retire
from the plate; but one of the managers of the professional nine, who
happens to be traveling with them and is sitting just in front of
Jack, bursts out into loud guffaws of amusement, which are repeated
still more abundantly when the next striker misses the first two balls
and only saves himself from a similar fate by batting the third weakly
into the very hands of short stop, who has no difficulty in disposing
of him at first. The third man hits a foul tip which the catcher holds
on to cleverly, and the inning is over.
“That’s a great lad,” exclaims the manager, who is in a bee line with
the pitcher and so can judge of the delivery. “He can twirl the sphere
like a good one. Backus and Lawson out on strikes! That’s the best joke
of the season.” Whereupon he bursts out laughing again, so that his fat
sides shake with merriment.
It would take too long to give the details of the great match, though
indeed there is not much to be recorded in the way of run-making on
either side. It is from first to last a pitcher’s contest, and though
the school can do nothing against the Gray Stocking battery, seven
goose-eggs represents the score of the visitors at the end of the
seventh inning. To the uproarious delight of all Utopia the heavy
hitters of the professional team come to grief one after another in
rapid succession, sometimes by striking out, and sometimes by knocking
easy balls into the field, which are without difficulty captured
by their opponents. No longer do the giants grin and turn derisive
hand-springs. An air of serious devotion to business has come over
them, and every nerve is being strained to save the game.
“Play ball――play ball,” their captain reiterates with increasing vigor.
But it is in vain that he beseeches or commands. Somehow or other
Haseltine’s curves are too subtle for the visitors and they go down
like nine-pins; and as in turn they sheepishly carry out their bats or
return to home plate, the manager’s derisive laughter adds a sting to
their disgust.
Meanwhile, among the friends of Utopia, the young pitcher is the
hero of the hour, and everybody is asking questions about him in the
intervals of the frantic applause which rewards his successes.
“A right-minded, ingenuous, capable boy,” responds Dr. Meredith, in
answer to a query of one of the patrons of the school sitting beside
him. “He has received sad news from home within the past few days,
I regret to state. His father who was reputed to be a very rich man
has failed,――disastrously though not dishonorably I am given to
understand,――and the son will not be able to go to college as he had
expected. There is a large family――seven beside this boy, I believe.”
“Is he a good scholar?” asks the gentleman after a moment.
“To tell the truth, he is not very fond of his books, though he has
done better at them during the last year. I think he would have been
able to pass the college examinations, but it is by no means certain.
He has plenty of ability though of the practical sort. I have often
been struck by the energy and executive talent he has shown in relation
to base-ball, which, by the way, almost amounts to a passion with him,”
says the Doctor, with a smile.
A shout of triumph interrupts their conversation. Another of the Gray
Stockings――the first striker of the eighth innings――having in base-ball
parlance fanned the air thrice in vain, flinging his bat angrily on the
ground, walks back to his seat.
“H-A-S-E-L-T-I-N-E! Haselti-n-n-ne!” chants the whole school.
The manager slaps his knee. “I must have that fellow,” he exclaims
admiringly.
Jack catches the remark. He has heard also what has passed between Dr.
Meredith and Mr. Holgate, the patron of the school, who are sitting on
the bench immediately behind him, and while he is reflecting on the
possible consequences of Haseltine’s prowess, he hears Mr. Holgate say:
“I happen to know of a chance for an active young man who isn’t afraid
of work, on a railroad far West in which I’m interested. I’m inclined
to think that as our base-ball friend has his way to make in the world
and is not cut out for a scholar, it would be the best thing for him if
I put him into the place, though if you say the word I’ll pay his way
through college.”
Jack’s heart gives a bound. He cannot help listening, and he awaits
eagerly the Doctor’s reply, scarcely knowing what he wishes it to be;
for deeply as he desires his friend’s companionship at Harvard, he is
able to appreciate the wisdom of Mr. Holgate’s reasoning.
“I think,” says Dr. Meredith slowly, “that you are right, on the whole.
Haseltine will make an excellent business man. The position on the
railroad will suit him best, everything considered.”
“It is a place in which he will have an opportunity to make himself
very useful, and if he does, promotion will be sure to follow,”
continues Mr. Holgate. “Holloa! that’s the first square base hit I’ve
seen to-day.”
It is not only a base hit, but a two bagger in fact, which comes just
in the nick of time to let in one of the Gray Stockings, who was on
second when Captain Backus batted the ball with a vim born of triple
humiliation. Twice before in the course of the game the visitors have
had men on bases, but the terrible battery of the school boys has shut
them out from a run. But now they are able to breathe more freely.
The succession of goose-eggs is interrupted and the game theirs, if
they can prevent Utopia from scoring. But the run has come only just
in time as two of the visitors are already out. Lawson, however, not
to be outdone by the Captain, follows with a terrible drive far over
the left field’s head, who is a no whit less clever fielder than Bobby
Crosby used to be, which brings him and Backus both home, and makes the
score three to nothing in favor of the Gray Stockings, which is all
they get. The school nine amid intense excitement then go to the bat,
and though they do their best to pound the ball they are whitewashed
in one, two, three order, which brings the game to a close, as of
course the Gray Stockings, being already ahead, do not need their ninth
inning. It has been a plucky fight, though, and one which Utopia will
remember with pride for years to come.
As Jack was about to mingle with the crowd with the view of being the
first to hug Haseltine, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard the
Doctor’s voice exclaiming, “Hall, I should like to introduce you to Mr.
Holgate, who was one of our founders, you know.”
Jack shook hands with the pleasant-featured gentleman, who said kindly:
“I saw you, Hall, if I am not mistaken, among those who received prizes
this morning, as well as in the winning crew yesterday afternoon.”
Our hero blushed with honest confusion. He was prouder of having won
the prize for a metrical translation from the classics, however, than
of having led the Atalantas to victory, for there had been no Tom
Bonsall this year to dispute it with him, and every one knew in advance
what the result would be. It had always been a source of keen regret
to Jack that Tom’s arm was so lame after the famous single-scull match
that he had been obliged to stay out of the eight-oared race. He would
have liked to have had one more struggle with his old rival just to
prove beyond the shadow of a doubt who was the better man. But now
Tom was in college, and there was no one left to dispute with him the
supremacy of the lake, for the Doctor had openly confessed his own
inferiority.
“It was a fine game, sir, wasn’t it?” Jack said, with enthusiasm, as
the three turned at the sound of the cheers which the Utopians were
bestowing upon the victors. “Haseltine outdid himself.”
“Hall and Haseltine are great cronies,” observed the Doctor to Mr.
Holgate.
“Your friend seems a fine fellow,” said the gentleman.
“He’s a splendid fellow, indeed, sir,” answered Jack.
The Gray Stockings returned the cheers of the home nine and were
preparing to get into the vehicle which was to take them to the
train, when Jack, who had been looking through the crowd in search of
Haseltine, caught sight of him and the base-ball manager in earnest
consultation. There was an expression in his friend’s face that told
Jack even at this distance that the young pitcher was fascinated by
what was being said to him. Immediately Jack clambered down from the
stand and hastened toward them. As he came up to them the manager was
shaking hands with Haseltine, and Jack heard him say just before he
stepped into the omnibus:
“Think it over and write me. The offer stands open as long as you like.”
After the omnibus had driven off followed by the acclamations of the
school, Jack threw his arms ecstatically around his chum and cried,
“You did wonders, old fellow. It was glorious!”
Haseltine made no response at first, and Jack noticed that his eyes
were full of tears.
“Jack,” he said at length,――“he has offered me the position of change
pitcher on their nine at a salary of two thousand dollars. It’s a big
honor for so young a fellow,” he added, with an air of pardonable pride.
“But you didn’t accept, did you?” asked our hero excitedly.
“No; I told him I’d think it over.”
“Hurrah!” cried Jack.
“What do you mean?”
“No matter. Wait, that’s all. There’s better news for you than that,
and you’ll think so too when you hear it.”
Footsteps close at hand caused the boys to turn, and Haseltine’s hand
was cordially grasped by Dr. Meredith.
“You out-Haseltined Haseltine, to-day, Mr. Pitcher,” the master said,
then drawing him aside out of the hearing of Jack and Mr. Holgate, he
informed him of the offer made by that gentleman, which I am sure you
will all be glad to hear he accepted.
Five minutes later the head master and the two boys are walking slowly
over the quadrangle toward Granger Hall, where they are to take
tea with the Doctor,――their last tea at Utopia. As they reach the
threshold, Jack stops and looks back for a moment over the playground
where so many of his happiest hours have been passed, and says simply,――
“We shall miss the dear old school, shan’t we, Hasy?”
“Indeed we shall, Jack.”
“And the school will miss _you_, my dear boys,” answers the Doctor,
laying a hand on a shoulder of each of them. “It needs the example of
just such boys as you――East and West. God bless you both, and give you
strength to devote your manhood to manly deeds!”
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.