DISSENSIONS
Dejected and discouraged, but still bravely giving a cheer for their
victorious rivals, the Boxwood Hall team left the field. The military
rooters were singing their songs, but the blue and yellow pennants of
the defeated ones drooped sadly.
“They didn’t do a thing to us, did they?” said Bart, somewhat
cheerfully under the circumstances.
“Well, they mightn’t have done so much if you hadn’t muffed that long
fly,” snapped Frank, for Bart had done that.
“The sun----” he began.
“Same old excuse,” sneered the captain. “You’d better get a pair of
green goggles.”
“I didn’t think you were going to tell me to try for that steal,”
observed the lad who had been caught at second.
“You should have had your wits about you!” complained Frank, though
really it was his fault that the misplay had been made.
“We’ve got to do a whole lot better if we want the championship,” said
Jake Porter.
“Guess you’d better get another pitcher,” remarked Jim. “I couldn’t
seem to get ’em over to-day.”
“Well, I’ve seen you do better,” admitted Frank, with less bitterness
in his voice than he had used toward the others. “But you sure have got
to perk up, and so have the rest of us. We want the next two games, and
we’ve got to get ’em!”
“So say we all of us!” chanted Bart. “Say, Frank, why don’t you give
Jerry, Ned or Bob a show in the next game?” he asked. “They have been
doing some swell playing against the other scrub nines, and you know
what a tussle they gave us.”
“It might be a good idea to put them in a couple of games,” added Bill.
“I’m not saying anything against Jim,” he went on, “but Ned sure has a
swift ball.”
“Those fellows don’t play on the varsity while I’m captain,” said Frank
sullenly. “They’ve got too good an opinion of themselves now, and if
they played on the first team they’d think they owned the college. They
can’t come in!”
“That’s right!” cried some of Frank’s closest friends. “With their auto
and their boat they’ll think they’re too good for Boxwood after a bit.”
“They can play ball all right, and better than some of us,” declared a
centre fielder who had muffed a ball, letting in a run. “And when I say
that I include myself,” he admitted frankly. “I did rotten work to-day.”
“You’re right, you did!” snapped Frank. “And don’t let it happen again.”
“If I do, will you put in one of the three inseparables?” was the
question, for so Ned, Bob and Jerry were called at times.
“Not in a hundred years!” cried Frank.
“Oh, give ’em a chance!” pleaded some, including Bart and Bill.
“Don’t you do it! Too much swelled head!” insisted others.
From this discussion there came a dissension among some members of the
nine, as well as among the supporters of the team. The three chums were
made the subject of a not very pleasant discussion, and they begged
those who favored their playing to desist. But Bart and Bill led a
faction which insisted that our heroes be allowed to play.
But Frank was stubborn and refused to consider the matter.
“Our nine is all right as it is,” he said. “Just because we lost one
game to Kenwell doesn’t mean we’ll lose more. I’m not going to change
my mind. Those fellows can’t play on the varsity, and that settles
it,” and he banged his bat down hard on the floor of the auto-truck in
which the defeated team was returning.
The subject was dropped for the time being, and was not mentioned to
Frank again for several days by those favoring Jerry and his chums. But
those opposed to them, on no good grounds whatsoever, nagged Frank into
keeping firm in his determination.
The baseball season waxed. Because of the playing of Jerry, Ned and Bob
the scrub nine won game after game, succumbing only to teams much their
superior. They were doing much better than the varsity, which lost
a number of games to institutions it had beaten easily the previous
years. But there were still the two games with Kenwell, and by getting
both of these the reputation of Boxwood could be maintained.
“But the team is in a slump,” said Bart. “It’s in a slump, and Frank
knows it.”
“Only he’s too pig-headed to admit it,” agreed Bill Hamilton. “If he
would let those motor boys in even for a couple of easy games, it would
show what they can do and inspire confidence.”
“Yes, and it would give the regulars a rest,” went on Bart. “That is
what some of us need--a rest. We’re overtrained, and it’s showing.
Kenwell will walk away with us next time, you see.”
“I hope not, but I’m afraid so,” agreed Bill.
But when once more Frank’s closest friends ventured to plead with him
for the three chums he got so angry that they decided it was no use.
Thus matters stood about a week before the second game with the
military academy.
“Fellows, I’ve a feeling in my bones that something is going to
happen,” remarked Bob one afternoon, as he tossed aside the book he had
been trying to study, while Ned was plunking away at a banjo on which
he announced he was going to become an expert player.
“What is going to happen?” asked Jerry. “Are you going to bang Ned over
the head or put your foot through that perfectly rotten instrument he’s
torturing?”
“I’d like to see him try it!” exclaimed Ned, but he took the precaution
to retreat to his own room, for they were in Jerry’s, as usual.
“No, I rather like that music,” Bob said. “It is so soothing.”
“Soothing!” howled Jerry. “I’d rather live next to a boiler factory!
But if it isn’t that, Bob, what is it? Tell us, Mr. Endman, what am
gwine t’ happen?” and Jerry imitated a negro minstrel.
“Let’s have another feed happen,” suggested the stout lad. “It’s been
a long while since we’ve done anything but play ball. Let’s have a
spread.”
“And get caught again?” asked Ned. “Not for mine!”
“We won’t get caught,” said Bob. “We’ve been so noble and upright
lately that the proc won’t suspect us. And I don’t believe any one will
squeal now. We haven’t done anything worth mentioning since the picture
racket. By the way, Ned, have you found out who wrote the card that
gave us away?”
“No, but I’m on the track. I’ve eliminated all but two typewriters now.
It was written on either one of them. I’ve had specimens of writing
from every machine in the building but two.”
“And whose are those?” asked Jerry.
“Frank Watson’s and Proxy’s--or the one his clerk uses.”
“Great fish-cakes!” cried Bob. “You don’t suspect Proxy; do you?”
“Of course not. It may have been his clerk, but I don’t guess so. The
only other one is Frank, and I’ll get the goods on him yet!”
“Well, about the feed,” resumed Bob, “shall we have it?”
“Sure! Go ahead!” assented Jerry. “Things have been a bit dull of late.”
“Count me in,” added Ned.