THE BASEBALL TEAM
The rest of the winter passed rapidly, and Fred, with the load off his
mind, pitched into all the winter sports, making up royally for all he
had missed in the dark days when he was under suspicion.
He and Teddy had gone home for the Christmas holidays, taking with them
Bill Garwood and Lester Lee, to whom they had become warmly attached.
Mr. and Mrs. Rushton had outdone themselves to give them a good time,
and Martha, her black face shining, had made the table fairly groan with
the good things she heaped upon it for her "lambs" and their friends.
The days had slipped away like magic. The visitors had had the time of
their lives, and both Bill and Lester had insisted that the boys should
come to see them in the summer vacation. They had a partial promise to
this effect, but the matter was left for final decision later on.
Uncle Aaron had not been in Oldtown at the time, for which the boys were
profoundly thankful. They could easily do without him any time, but now,
with the watch and papers still missing, they cared less than ever to
see him.
Nothing had been heard of the stolen watch, nor had the papers turned
up, and every day that passed made it less likely that they ever would.
"Those papers!" sighed Teddy. "And that watch! Oh, if I'd only nabbed
that tramp when I saw him!"
"Cheer up, old scout," said Bill. "While there's life, there's hope."
"Yes," agreed Fred, "but there isn't much nourishment in hope."
The Rushton boys returned to Rally Hall, refreshed and rested, ready for
hard work as well as for fun and frolic. The going of Andy Shanks had
removed a disturbing element from the school, and the second term was
much more pleasant than the first had been.
And now, they were right on the verge of spring. The ice had
disappeared, the athletic field was drying out and getting into shape,
and the thoughts of all were turning toward baseball practice.
Slim Haley was in the midst of one of his stories, when Fred, with a bat
in his hand, burst into the dormitory one Saturday morning.
"Come along, fellows," he called out. "Come out and get some practice.
What do you mean by staying indoors a morning like this?"
"Just a minute, Fred," answered Bill Garwood, for the rest. "Slim has
got to get this story out of his system."
"As I was saying when this low-brow came in to interrupt me," said Slim,
looking severely at Fred, "this cat was a very smart cat. And a plucky
one too, by ginger. There was no rat so big that he was afraid to tackle
it. And the way he went for snakes was a caution."
"Snakes!" exclaimed Lester Lee incredulously.
"That's what I said, 'snakes,'" said Slim firmly. "There used to be a
lot of rattlesnakes in that neighborhood, and the cat would go out
hunting for one every morning.
"When he found a rattler, he would creep up to him, and the snake,
seeing him, would throw itself into a coil to strike. The cat would hold
up a paw and the snake would strike at it. But the cat was too quick and
would dodge the stroke. Then, before the snake could coil up again, the
cat would have it by the neck. He used to drag them home and stretch
them out in the dooryard, so as to show his folks how smart he was."
"Some cat!" murmured Melvin.
"Yes," assented Slim, "and he was a good-hearted cat too. Some folks say
that a cat thinks only of himself, but do you know what that cat did?
"One day, the baby of the house had lost his rattle and was crying. The
cat sat looking at him for a minute. Then he went out in the yard, bit
the rattles off a dead snake and brought it in and laid it down near the
baby. You see----"
But what Slim saw just at that moment was a pillow coming toward his
head. He dodged with an agility born of long practice; and the laughing
crowd went out with Fred into the bright April morning.
They scattered out on the diamond, on which Big Sluper and his
assistants had been busy for some days past, and which was already in
condition for a game. The turf was smooth and springy, the base paths
had been rolled until they were perfectly level, and the foul lines
stretched away toward left and right field.
"Won't we have some bully times here this spring?" exulted Fred.
"Bet your life we will!" assented Teddy, turning a handspring. "And I'm
going to play shortstop and don't you forget it!"
"Don't be too sure of that," Fred cautioned him. "It'll be nip and tuck
between you and Shorty Ward for the position. And Shorty's a pretty
nifty player."
"I know he is," admitted Teddy. "But I'm going to make a fight for it."
"There's Ned Wayland and Professor Raymond over there now, sizing the
fellows up," said Fred. "They're from Missouri and will have to be
shown. Get out there and I'll knock you some hot grounders."
Ned Wayland was the captain of the team. He played pitcher and had made
a splendid record in the box the year before. He had a good fast ball
and a puzzling assortment of curves. Contrary to the usual run of
pitchers, he was also a heavy batter, and could usually be relied on to
"come across" when a hit was needed.
Most of last year's team had returned to the school, so that a fairly
good nine was assured from the start. But there were also a lot of
promising youngsters among the newcomers, who, in Professor Raymond's
judgment, would "bear close watching."
He and Ned were standing a little to one side of the diamond, looking
over the old material and the "new blood," as they cavorted like so many
colts about the base lines. The boys knew that they were under
inspection, and they played with snap and vim, each hoping that he would
be chosen for some coveted position on the team.
"Pretty good stuff to choose from, don't you think, Professor?" remarked
Ned.
"Unusually so, it seems to me," replied the other, as his keen eye
followed a great pick-up and swift throw to first by Teddy. "Unless all
signs fail, we ought to have a cracking good team this year."
"We need to have if we're going to beat out Mount Vernon," said Wayland.
"I hear that they're going great guns in practice."
"We're all right in the outfield," mused the professor. "Duncan at
right, Hawley in centre and Melton at left are all good fielders, and
they're heavy hitters, too."
"We could make our infield stronger than it is, though. I don't think
that----"
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Wayland. "Look at that!"