A TURN OF LUCK
I had not retraced my footsteps far when I heard Professor Fuller’s
gate open and close. Evidently the caller had taken his departure, and
from the manner in which he was following me, I felt confident he must
be one of the students. He was walking at about the same pace that I
was, keeping some fifty yards behind me. At the entrance to the college
grounds I paused long enough for him to come up.
It was Len Howard. He either did not see me, or did not want to notice
me, for he was going past me with his head bent toward the ground.
“Hullo, Howard,” I said.
He looked up quickly. His face was somewhat pale and worn; his
expression grave and thoughtful.
“Hullo, Elder,” he answered.
“You were Professor Fuller’s visitor, weren’t you?”
“Yes; I have just come from there. I am glad I went. The old governor
is very kind.”
“You haven’t been telling him――――”
“No, no,” answered Howard, interrupting me. “It was not necessary to
tell him everything. It would only have distressed him, and――and I
couldn’t have gone all over it again. I went to pay him the money I had
borrowed, and which Ray gave me this morning. I then merely told him
that I had got foolishly into debt, and asked his advice.”
“Have you disposed of those town men?” I inquired.
“Yes, and a terrible load it lifted off my mind. I have done a lot of
hard thinking during the past two days, more than I ever did in my life
before, and I have made resolutions that I shall never break.”
“I am sure of it, Howard,” I answered, “and I am very glad you got out
of your trouble so well.”
“What worries me most,” he continued, “is the debt I owe Ray Wendell.
As each of my debts is paid I feel this load grow heavier; and while it
is a great relief to be rid of these old accounts, I hate to think of
all I owe to Ray. I would give anything to be able to pay him promptly,
but I don’t know what to do. I am in very moderate circumstances, and
my debts amount to a large sum.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Howard,” I answered. “I know you will do your
best, and so does Ray. Pay him as you feel you can.”
“It was about this particularly that I wanted Professor Fuller’s
advice. I told him I was willing to do almost anything to secure the
money I needed, and he made a suggestion which I am going to follow
out, and which I hope will bring good results.”
“I sincerely hope so,” I answered, as we parted.
I was walking toward Colver Hall, thinking over this conversation, and
scarcely noticing my surroundings, when my foot suddenly tripped over
a large drain pipe which lay on the grass, and which I had not seen on
account of the darkness. I was thrown violently to the ground, my right
wrist doubling under me in such a way as to give it a severe wrench.
It pained me considerably for a few minutes, so on reaching my room I
bathed it freely with liniment until the pain subsided. Finding that it
gave me little more trouble, and, beyond some slight aching, seemed as
strong as usual, I experienced a feeling of relief at having escaped so
luckily, and soon ceased thinking about it.
But the next morning my wrist was brought to my attention again. I was
alarmed to find that it had swollen during the night, and was stiff
and unmanageable. As I could move it only slightly, and then with
considerable pain, the idea of using it for my regular exercise in
pitching was out of the question. This worried me, so hurrying over to
the doctor’s the first thing after breakfast, I submitted my wrist to
his examination.
The doctor felt of the injured spot carefully.
“Only a slight straining of the muscles and tendons,” he said. “It will
be all right in a week.”
“A week!” I exclaimed. “Why, I must pitch a game of ball this Saturday.”
The doctor shook his head.
“Well, you may be able to use it a little by that time if you rest it
until then, but I shouldn’t advise you to subject it to such violent
exercise. You probably cannot last out a whole game, and you would only
strain it worse, so that it would be laid up for several weeks. Now, if
you can wait a few days longer, you will have no trouble.”
“But I can’t,” I said in despair; “the game must take place Saturday,
and I _must_ pitch.”
“I wish I could give you more encouragement,” said the doctor. “You
take considerable risk in trying to pitch a whole game through so soon
after injuring it. I can recommend an excellent liniment, and perhaps
it may bring you into some sort of shape by Saturday, but I fear not.”
I took the doctor’s prescription, and went away very much discouraged
by his words. What were we to do? The nine had no substitute pitcher,
and depended solely upon me. If I found myself unable to play, all the
rest would feel the evil effects of the loss, and the result would
probably be another defeat――and this time by Park College! Oh, it was
too much! I set my teeth, and determined that I would pitch if it broke
my arm to do it.
I concluded to say nothing about the matter to any of the other fellows
except Ray, knowing that it would only have a discouraging effect
upon them; so when twelve o’clock came I went down to the grounds,
and occupied myself in coaching the others instead of pitching. This
appeared perfectly natural to the rest, for Ray had left on the noon
train for Berkeley to witness the Park-Halford game, and I had always
acted as captain in his absence.
At seven o’clock that evening Tony and I went down to the depot, and
met Ray and Clinton Edwards on their return from the game. They were
talking earnestly as they came towards us, and I fancied that they both
wore a hopeful expression of face.
“Who beat?” cried Tony, eager to learn the news.
“Oh, Park College, of course,” answered Edwards. “They nearly always do
on their own grounds.”
“What was the score?” I asked, as we turned back towards the college.
“Five to three,” answered Ray.
“Why, that was pretty close. Was it a good game?”
“Yes, fair; and the Park men only won by shouting Halford out of the
game. It was one of the meanest games, as far as Park College is
concerned, that I ever saw. I honestly believe the Halford men might
have beaten on neutral grounds, but the mob made such a racket that
they couldn’t help making a few errors, and those errors cost them the
game.”
“Then the teams were evenly matched?”
“Very, and for a while it was simply a toss up as to which would win.
Boys, Halford has a pretty good nine this year.”
“How about Park?”
“Not so good as usual――in most respects not a bit better than the
Halford team. If we can beat one of them we can beat the other.”
“And what do you think of our chances now?” I asked anxiously.
“Extremely good. I don’t think either of those nines are as good as the
team that we can put in the field Saturday.”
Saturday! I had almost forgotten about my wrist, and the word suddenly
brought back the recollection of my misfortune. I was reluctant to cast
any cloud over the hopeful spirits of my companions, but I knew it
had to come; so as soon as we reached Ray’s room I told him what had
happened. I tried not to exaggerate it, and repeated the doctor’s very
words, that they might know exactly what to expect. Their faces grew
very serious at once. Ray examined my wrist anxiously, then bit his lip
with annoyance.
“Well, in all my life,” he exclaimed, “I never ran up against such
a succession of unlucky circumstances. It certainly seems as if
everything was conspiring to destroy our chances.”
I tried to be as hopeful as possible.
“Perhaps it may improve in a day or so. I intend to exercise it, gently
at first, and then harder, so as to limber it up. I tell you one thing,
boys, I am going to play under any circumstances. All I fear is that my
wrist will be weak and injure my work.”
“Can’t we have the game postponed?” asked Tony.
“Certainly not,” answered Ray. “The Park men would never consent to it.
If they got any wind of the truth they would insist on having the game,
and one disabled man is not a sufficient excuse for postponement. They
would simply laugh at us for proposing such a thing.”
“Then I am going to pray for rain,” said Tony so solemnly that we could
not help laughing.
“Well, Harry, we must make the best of it,” said Ray. “Use your
liniment and exercise your wrist as much as you can without hurting it.
It may come out better than we think. I will get Raymond, the Freshman
pitcher, out to-morrow, so as to have him ready and in some sort of
condition by Saturday. Do the other fellows know about it?”
“No,” I answered.
“Well, they might better know to-morrow than later,” said Ray. “It
would only discourage them to tell them at the last moment. We must
make up our minds to accept the circumstances, and make as good a fight
as we can.”
During the next two days my wrist improved perceptibly, but far too
slowly for our plans; and as Friday night approached, I was compelled
to face the fact that I would be able to pitch but a very weak game the
next day.
Thursday and Friday had been days of anxiety and suspense to me,
constantly alternating, as I was, between hope and discouragement; and
when Friday evening came, and I found my wrist still stiff and weak,
I was almost ready to cry with vexation. To Ray’s inquiries I made as
encouraging responses as possible; but while I spoke of pitching the
next day, I knew in my heart that my efforts would prove scarcely more
than a dead weight on the rest of the team, and I feared the results
would only be disastrous. My hopes of our winning the championship,
or of even making a respectable record, seemed to have taken their
departure; and it was with sadly depressed spirits that I went to bed
Friday evening, and tried to get the long night’s rest which was needed
to refresh us for the next day’s struggle.
From a heavy dreamless sleep I was suddenly awakened by the sound of
someone hammering upon my door. I sat up in a dazed state, wondering
who could be disturbing me at such an hour. My curtains were drawn,
and I had no means of knowing what time it was, but I seemed to have
slept but a short while, and I fancied it could scarcely be more than
midnight. Meanwhile the hammering grew more vociferous, and I heard a
voice, which seemed familiar, shouting outside:
“Harry; Harry Elder! Get up and come here quick! I’ve got great news
for you.”
I sprang out of bed and hurried to the door. There in the hall stood
Tony Larcom, waving an umbrella excitedly over his head. From the
window in the entry the murky light of a cloudy day struggled in.
“What is the matter?” I asked in amazement, laughing at the ridiculous
sight he presented.
“Matter, my boy! Everything’s the matter! I was up at daybreak, and
hurried into my clothes to run over here and tell you the good news.
We are saved――we are saved, old fellow!”
“Saved? Why, what do you mean?” I exclaimed, still more mystified.
“Rain! rain!” he shouted, waving his umbrella again. “Our luck has
turned. It is raining pitchforks! No game to-day.”
I rushed to the window, hardly daring to believe his words. One
glance was enough, and then I gave a whoop of joy. The sky was darkly
overcast, and the rain was falling softly but steadily――not in a
shower, that might pass away in a few hours, but with the heavy,
businesslike downpour of a regular easterly storm.
“Didn’t I say that I was going to pray for rain?” said Tony
complacently, taking the credit of it all to himself.