A SCRUB GAME
Ned Slade, who stood near Jerry, heard what was said. He took a step
forward, but the tall lad put out a restraining hand. And, as Ned
looked at his chum, Jerry shook his head in negation.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Ned, when Frank had walked out
of hearing distance. “Why don’t you let me soak him a good one?”
“Because it would have been a bad one,” answered Jerry. “It would only
have made matters worse. I want to play on the varsity nine and so do
you and Bob, and----”
“Yes, and if we let this sneak Frank have his way we’ll never get on,”
interrupted Ned. “If you’d let me mix it up with him it would take some
of the starch and pig-headedness out of him, and he’d have to let us
play.”
“No,” and Jerry shook his head, “that would only make matters worse.
He’d be more set in his ways than ever. You leave it to me.”
“What are you going to do?” Bob wanted to know. “It doesn’t seem that
there’s anything to do.”
“All we can do for a while is to wait,” Jerry said. “You see Bart and
Bill, who used to be as much against us as Frank is, are friendly with
us now. And we’ve won over a good many others of Frank’s cronies. Not
that we ever did anything that they shouldn’t be friendly with us, but
it just happened so. It was all because Professor Snodgrass made the
mistake of telling too much about us in advance. I can see that. He
didn’t exactly boast of what we’d done, but it sounded so to some of
the boys, and we’ve got to live down that reputation.
“We’re doing it, too, and I wouldn’t have the dear old professor know,
for the world, what a pickle he innocently got us into. We’ll just
wait, and it will come around all right, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not!” exclaimed Ned, who was in an angry mood. “I’m for
giving Frank a good walloping, and bringing him to his senses.”
“How is it he has such a control where the varsity nine is concerned?”
asked Bob.
“Well, as I get the story,” said Jerry, “Frank put the nine on its
feet. When he came here Boxwood Hall wasn’t much of anywhere as regards
baseball. Now Frank is a good player--a crackerjack! I’ll give him
credit for that, pig-headed as he is. He’s a natural born player and
manager, and he took hold of the nine and pulled it out of the mud. He
helped with money, too, bought new uniforms and all that. Naturally, he
was made captain and manager, and, in a way, coach too.”
“Why didn’t they make him the whole team while they were about it?”
asked Ned, sarcastically.
“Well, I guess it did come pretty near amounting to that,” laughed
Jerry. “Anyhow, he demanded, so I heard, and was given the right to
say who should and should not play on the varsity. In his capacity as
captain and manager he retains that right. If he doesn’t want a fellow
to play, that fellow keeps on the scrub or sits on the bench.”
“And he doesn’t want us to play,” remarked Ned, bitterly.
“It doesn’t seem so,” agreed Jerry. “But we’ll wait.”
“It’s a funny state of affairs,” remarked Bob, “where one fellow can
run the whole varsity nine and say who shall and who sha’n’t play.”
“Yes, it is,” admitted the tall chum. “But in this case it has worked
out well, for Boxwood Hall won the championship last year, which it
never did before, and defeated the military academy two out of the
three games which are an annual feature. So that’s why the fellows let
Frank have his way. They knew he made the nine, and he’s making good
with it yet. It isn’t that we can play better than the fellows on it,
it’s just that I want to be on the varsity.”
“So do I!” chimed in Ned and Bob.
“And we’ve just got to wait until Frank either changes his mind, or
until we can show that we can play so much better than some of the
regulars that there’ll be a demand that we go in,” finished Jerry. “Now
let’s go for a ride and forget our troubles.”
Ned was still bitter against Frank, though, and did not see why the
three chums could not be put on the varsity.
As the three were riding off, Professor Snodgrass, equipped with his
net and specimen box, hailed them.
“My first butterfly hunt of the season!” he called to the boys. “I’m
after some _Argynnis cybele_ specimens, which appear with the first
violets.”
“Come with us,” said Jerry. “Do you want to go to any particular place?”
“No, only to the nearest patch of woods where violets may be found.
I haven’t any good specimens of the _Argynnis_, and I am anxious
to secure some,” the little scientist explained as he entered the
automobile.
“What does it look like?” asked Jerry. “We don’t want you to be making
stabs at colored leaves, which you’ll do if we let Bob do the looking.”
“I can tell a butterfly as well as you!” retorted the stout youth.
“The _Argynnis cybele_,” said Professor Snodgrass, “is sometimes called
the great spangled Fritillary. In color it is a sort of light brownish
yellow, with brown and yellow spots, and the under sides of the wings
are heavily silvered. The caterpillars hibernate as soon as hatched,
and live that way all winter. In the spring they feed up, and turn into
butterflies about the time the first violets appear. I hope we shall
get some to-day.”
“We’ll help you look,” Ned promised.
Arriving at the patch of woods, they all got out of the automobile and
began searching.
“Here are some violets,” called Jerry after a while.
“Then perhaps there may be a butterfly near them,” the professor
answered, hastening over toward the tall lad. “Yes, there’s one!” he
cried, his trained eyes seeing it before any of the others. “Wait now
until he lights, and I’ll have him!”
The professor stood with poised net. One foot went into a puddle of
water, but he did not seem to mind that. Then, with a sweep of his net
he captured the beautiful specimen, and soon transferred it to his
cyanide bottle.
“Excellent! Excellent!” murmured Professor Snodgrass. “I would not have
missed this for anything. But I--er--something seems to be the matter,”
he went on in puzzled tones.
“The matter? Where?” asked Ned.
“With one of my feet. It seems so cold. Can it be frost bitten?” and he
looked down at the ground. The boys did too, and broke out into peals
of laughter. For the professor was still standing with one foot in
the puddle of cold water, a fact to which he had been oblivious while
engaged in capturing and putting away the butterfly.
“You ought to wear rubber boots,” Jerry said. “Shall we take you back
to get a dry shoe?”
“No, it isn’t as cold as it was at first, and I want to get another
specimen.”
He had good luck, for he secured two more, and then consented to be
driven back to the cottage.
“Same old professor,” remarked Jerry.
“That’s what,” agreed Bob.
Baseball practice went on for several days, and the varsity was getting
in good shape, while the scrub, or second team, under the captaincy of
Tom Bacon, was making shifts and changes, trying to get the best lads
fitted to the right positions.
There was no trouble about Ned, Bob and Jerry making the scrub. They
played good ball, and Ned was picked for pitcher, while Jerry was on
first and Bob at shortstop.
“First varsity-scrub game of the season to-morrow,” was the announcement
on the gymnasium board one afternoon.
“And we’ll see if we can’t do ’em up!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ll show Frank
Watson that he isn’t such a much.”
“We’ll beat ’em if we can,” agreed Jerry.
The two nines ran out on the diamond which had been put in fine shape.
A crowd of students swarmed out to watch the first practice game of the
season and to get a line on the work of the varsity.
“Play hard now, fellows!”
“Soak ’em in, Ned!”
“Don’t fan out varsity!”
“Watch for double steals, Jerry!”
Thus called the student spectators.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, after the warm-up practice. The scrubs
were to bat first, and Gene Flarity was up.
The game commenced. It was not remarkable for brilliant playing on
either side, but Ned, Bob and Jerry, determined to show their mettle,
worked so hard, and Ned and Jerry teamed it to such good advantage that
the score was soon tied, which had not happened to the varsity in a
long while.
“And here’s where we beat ’em!” exclaimed Ned, when the ninth inning
came, and he was at bat. Ned made a good hit. It was safe for two bags,
and when Chet Randell duplicated, after one man fanned out, Ned came in
with the winning run. That is, it would be if he could hold the varsity
hitless.
And he did. He struck out the first man, while the second singled and
was caught napping at first.
“Come on now, boys, we want to get this game!” cried Frank. He was at
bat, and with two out, there was but a slim chance. But Frank was a
pinch hitter, and he faced Ned with a sneer.
“You won’t win the game!” thought Ned, bitterly.
He sent in a swift ball, and it looked as though it was going to hit
Frank, who moved back just a trifle.
“Strike!” howled the umpire.
“I’ve got your number all right,” exulted Ned.
Frank hit the next one, but it was a foul which the catcher made
desperate efforts to get.
“And you’re out!” Ned whispered to himself, as he sent in a beautiful
curve, which completely fooled the batter.
“You’re out!” echoed the umpire.