GENEROUS HOSTS
An hour later and a jubilant, noisy crowd of students were seated
about one of the large tables in the dining room of the Halford
House, all bent upon doing justice to the best dinner that the modest
hostelry could supply. The party lacked only one thing to complete its
happiness――the presence of Tony Larcom.
“Where is Tony?” I asked.
“Gone to the telegraph office,” answered Ray. “He has about a dozen
messages to send to Belmont. He will be back shortly.”
Ray had hardly ceased speaking when Tony entered. A round of cheers
greeted him.
“Any news from Belmont?” we cried.
“Well, scarcely,” he answered, with a laugh as he seated himself. “I’ve
just sent my telegrams. But I have news from the game over at Dean
to-day.”
“I suppose, of course the Park men beat Dean all to pieces,” said Ray.
“What was the score?”
“Twelve to four in favor of Park,” answered Tony. “That is somewhat
different from our score with the Dean men.”
“Yes,” I answered, “but it is not so different from what our score
_ought_ to have been, and _would_ have been had we played them to-day.
We were badly handicapped.”
“And so were the Park men, it seems――at least for part of the game,”
said Tony.
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Ray, looking quickly at Tony.
“My telegram said that Arnold was unwell, and did not pitch after the
fourth inning.”
All conversation ceased in an instant. Arnold was by all odds the most
skilful pitcher in the Berkshire League; and his record for the past
two years had never been equaled in the history of the colleges. He
was a tower of strength to the Park nine, and had won several notable
victories for them by his masterly handling of the ball. Park College
owed her success in baseball chiefly to Arnold’s steady nerve, good
judgment, and skilful playing. He was not the captain of the nine, for,
although the position had been offered him, he had declined in favor of
Beard, the third baseman, on the ground that his work in the pitcher’s
box would require all his attention; but he was really the controlling
authority of the nine――the power behind the throne, so to speak.
The news Tony brought was therefore of the deepest interest to us, who
recognized in Arnold our most formidable opponent. The same idea was
undoubtedly in all our minds.
“Arnold unwell!” I exclaimed, giving utterance to the common thought.
“I wonder if he will be able to play Monday.”
“That I can’t say,” answered Tony. “The telegram was very brief, and
gave me no clue as to the nature or extent of his sickness.”
“Suppose Arnold doesn’t pitch Monday,” said Percy Randall. “Oh, my!
Won’t we have a picnic!”
“Well, you needn’t count on that at all,” answered Ray. “You will only
be the loser for it. I know Park College of old, and I don’t take any
stock in their ‘invalids.’ Two years ago we heard rumors from Berkeley
some time before that three of their men were laid up. All the same,
the next week out came those three ‘invalids,’ and played a rattling
fine game, doing us up to the tune of 6–4. You remember that, Harry?”
“Indeed I do,” I responded, “for one of those ‘invalids’ knocked a home
run on an outcurve of mine. Park College ‘invalids’ are dangerous men
on the ball field.”
“Well,” said Tony, “I know their tricks, too, so I didn’t place much
faith in that part of the message. There is little doubt but that
Arnold will be on hand Monday, and keep up his record.”
As we left the dining room we were met in the hallway by Slade and
Bennett, of the Halford nine. It was the first we had seen of them
since the game. They were both as pleasant as possible, and evidently
determined to let their disappointment over the results of the game in
no way affect their behavior toward us.
“Well,” said Slade to me with a smile, “you deserve to be congratulated,
for you played a strong game. We honestly thought we would win to-day,
for we calculated on finding your nine weaker than usual. It was your
game with the Dean men that made us feel so confident, and the results
to-day took us pretty well by surprise. The fellows feel disappointed,
of course, for it throws us entirely out of the race, but the game was
fairly won, so there’s an end of it.”
“Our nine has greatly improved since the Dean game,” said Ray. “We have
made several changes.”
“I should think so,” answered Bennett; “you played finely this
afternoon, and I don’t think you have ever put a stronger nine on the
field. I don’t feel ashamed of the defeat at all, for it was a mighty
well fought game on both sides.”
“You gave us very generous treatment,” said Ray, “and we shall always
remember it gratefully.”
“It was only a return of the courtesy we have always received at
Belmont,” answered Slade. “We simply gave you a fair show. Everybody
ought to have that. If we had received it at Berkeley, we might have
been more successful. By the way, I suppose you have heard the news
from Dean?”
“Yes,” said Ray. “It was only what I expected. Did you receive any word
concerning Arnold?”
“No. What about him?”
“Our telegram stated he was unwell, and gave up pitching in the fourth
inning.”
“It couldn’t be of any importance,” rejoined Slade, “for the message I
received said nothing about it. Did he leave the field?”
“No,” answered Tony. “My telegram reads, ‘Arnold unwell in fourth
inning――changed places with Cross.’ Cross, you know, is their
substitute pitcher, and plays right field.”
“Then of course it doesn’t amount to much,” said Bennett. “The game was
no doubt virtually won in the first four innings, and so Arnold changed
positions in order to avoid all chances of straining his arm.”
“I suppose he was bent on taking things as easily as possible, and
saving up his strength for you next Monday,” added Slade with a smile.
“That is more like the real truth of the matter,” answered Ray. “Arnold
no doubt felt confident of the Dean game, and didn’t want to overwork
himself. I told the fellows not to put any faith in rumors of sickness.”
“What were you thinking of doing this evening?” asked Slade, looking at
his watch, and changing the subject.
“Nothing in particular,” answered Ray.
“Well, our dramatic club gives an amateur performance in the college
hall, and I came over here especially to invite you all to attend. Of
course it doesn’t amount to much as a dramatic treat, but we always
have lots of fun. What do you say?”
A chorus of assent greeted this proposition.
“Come on then,” said Slade. “I have complimentary tickets for the whole
crowd. The performance begins at eight o’clock, so there is no time to
lose.”
As we were going out one of the hallboys brought Tony Larcom a
telegram. Tony opened it, glanced over its contents, and then, with a
laugh, handed it to me.
The telegram was from Clinton Edwards, and ran as follows:
News just received. Hurrah for Belmont! Let the good work
go on. I will meet you at Berkeley on Monday and bring the
“baseball chorus” with me to yell for the champions.
“What is the ‘baseball chorus’?” asked Percy Randall, as the telegram
passed from one to another.
“Oh, it’s a gang of about forty fellows that Clinton has organized with
a view to making the utmost noise possible,” answered Tony. “He had
them over at Dean to cheer for us, but we didn’t give them a chance
that day. We’ll give them something more to do Monday, and we can trust
Clinton for all the support and encouragement we need. I would back his
little band against a whole grand stand full of Park men. If cheering
is to decide that game, we will stand a chance to win.”
The dramatic entertainment was highly enjoyable, and in every respect
a success. The actors acquitted themselves with the utmost credit; and
the many college gags and local hits that were interspersed throughout
the play gave much additional zest and enjoyment to the performance,
and kept the spectators in an almost continual roar of laughter.
Occasional responses from the audience, and impromptu rallies of wit
between the actors and some of their friends in front, formed a novel
and amusing feature.
Immediately after the play an informal reception took place, in which
we were the center of interest, and received every possible attention
and courtesy. The gentlemanly behavior on the part of the Halford
men was most highly appreciated by us, for it was quite evident that
they had fully expected to win the game, and prepared the evening’s
entertainment with a view to celebrating the victory. The fair and
generous treatment we had received on the ball ground, and the graceful
manner with which they took their defeat, aroused in us the sincerest
feelings of gratitude, and greatly strengthened the traditional feeling
of friendship that existed between Belmont and Halford.
And their attentions were unremitting during our brief visit of two
days.
“We will try to repay you for your kindness, when you come over to
Belmont next year,” I said to Slade.
“And we will try to acknowledge the compliment by beating you, as you
did us this year,” laughed Slade.
“If you want to do us a real favor,” said Bennett, “beat Park College
Monday. They have had that banner entirely too long, and I’d give a
good deal to see you win it.”
“What do you think of our chances?” asked Ray.
“Good; that is, if you play the game you did with us. Both Slade and I
are going over to Berkeley Monday afternoon, and we’ll lend our voices
to cheer you on.”
With such encouragement and good wishes we left Halford early Monday
morning.
“Do you know,” said Tony Larcom, as our train moved away from Halford,
“those fellows have treated us so nicely, that I feel half ashamed of
having beaten them?”
“Well, it does seem a poor sort of return for their kindness,” said
Dick Palmer; “and yet if we had lost the game I do not think that all
their attention could have quite reconciled me to it. We’ll strike a
marked contrast at Berkeley.”
“Yes; I don’t think that the Park men will embarrass us with their
attentions,” remarked Ray dryly.