OUR RECEPTION AT BERKELEY
Whatever shadow of doubt may have remained in our minds concerning
Arnold, was speedily dissipated on our arrival at Berkeley. No one came
to meet us at the depot; but when we reached the Wyman Hotel, we found
Arnold and Beard awaiting us there.
“How are you, Mr. Arnold?” said Ray, greeting him. “I received word
that you were unwell.”
“I unwell? Who said so?” asked Arnold.
“The telegram from Dean brought us that report,” answered Ray.
“Oh, I understand now what you mean. I was well enough, but I didn’t
feel like pitching the whole game through, so I changed places with
Cross and took a rest.”
This answer as well as the tone in which he spoke indicated clearly
enough that Arnold had been merely saving himself for Monday’s game.
“Are all your men here?” asked Beard.
“Yes,” answered Ray.
“Then we shall look for you at the grounds shortly before two o’clock,”
said Beard, as if about to take his leave.
“One moment,” said Tony; “the ball grounds are some distance away. Have
any arrangements been made for carriages to take us out?”
“The hotel has its regular omnibus. If you speak to the clerk at the
desk I think you will find it has been held awaiting your orders,” said
Beard. He and Arnold then walked coolly away.
It had always been the custom at Belmont, as well as at Halford,
for the home team to supply the visiting players with carriage
accommodation. We had hardly looked for this attention from the Park
men, but Beard’s tone of indifference was exasperating nevertheless.
Tony could not repress a half audible exclamation of annoyance as he
hurried off to make the necessary arrangements.
After our lunch we met in one of the hotel parlors and held a short,
informal meeting.
“Now, boys,” began Ray, “I haven’t much to add to what I’ve said many
times before, but I want to repeat one or two things. You know I told
you that there was no particular point of weakness in the Park nine of
which we could take advantage. They have an all round good team, and
we must strain every nerve to win. I firmly believe we can do it, but
we must play right up to the mark all the time. We must play for every
point as if it were the deciding point of the game; we must meet them,
therefore, on their own ground, and not yield an inch. We must push our
chances hard, and keep up an aggressive policy ourselves. Their strong
point is Arnold. If we can hit his pitching good and hard, and all the
time, we will make out all right. I am confident we can, but we must be
careful when at the bat, for he is an excellent pitcher, and if any of
us display any weakness he will be sure to detect it and take advantage
of it. As I told you Saturday, hit hard and low.”
While we were still discussing the game, Tony put his head into the
room.
“Hurry on with your suits,” he said. “The omnibus will be at the door
in about fifteen minutes.”
We were soon ready to start.
“I wonder what is the matter with Clinton Edwards,” said Tony, looking
at his watch. “He should have been here before this.”
“We must have Clinton and his gang to support us,” said Dick Palmer.
“It would take some of the starch out of me to be victimized by a grand
stand full of Park men, and not have a single backer.”
“Oh, I’ll make all the noise you want if it becomes necessary,” said
Tony. He looked somewhat uneasy, however, and whispered to me, “I hope
Clinton hasn’t missed the train. His backing would do us a world of
good.”
The omnibus now drew up to the piazza where we were standing. We waited
a long time, but Clinton Edwards and his companions failed to put in an
appearance, so we were compelled to drive off without them.
“The loss is all their own,” said Ray cheerfully. “They will miss
seeing us win a fine game, that is all.”
In baseball there is a considerable moral influence in being well
backed by friends. We had expected warm support from Clinton Edwards
and his crowd, and the sudden blotting out of this expectation could
not but react somewhat upon our spirits. It did not, of course,
discourage us, for as Percy Randall put it, “We were not afraid of
the biggest mob Park College could get together,” but it affected our
feelings notwithstanding.
“Listen to that!” exclaimed Tony, as we neared the field and heard the
sounds of cheering. “The crowd clamors for our blood.”
“Well, they will get it――and boiling hot, too,” said Percy Randall. “If
anything, it rather braces me to tackle this mob all alone.”
“Come, fellows,” said Ray, as we drove into the grounds. “Step out
lively now, and show the stuff that’s in you.”
We descended from the omnibus, and in a compact group, approached
the grand stand amidst an almost perfect silence on the part of the
spectators. The Park men were already on the diamond, and practising
with a vim that betokened a determined and confident spirit.
I had half hoped to find Clinton Edwards and his party on the field,
thinking that they might perhaps have gone directly there from the
depot. Not a Belmont man was to be seen, however, so I resigned all
hope of backers, and made up my mind that we must fight the battle
alone.
We remained seated on a bench at the side of the field, until Ray, who
was standing near the home plate in conversation with Beard, turned and
beckoned to us. The Park players were leaving the field, and it was our
turn to practise.
Throwing off our coats, we ran out, and set to work in fine shape.
That the crowd was watching us was quite evident from a number of ill
mannered remarks that I could overhear from my place near the backstop;
but, beyond this, the spectators showed no appreciation of our efforts
whatever.
“All things considered, if we can play well enough to keep their mouths
shut I shall be satisfied,” I said to Dick Palmer.
At this moment Ray left Beard, and came quickly toward us.
“We are in luck to start with,” he said. “We have won the toss.”
A few minutes later the umpire came upon the field, carrying in his
hand the new ball with which the game was to be played.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Ray.
“Then get your men in position.”
We took our places, and the ball was tossed to me. No batter had
stepped up, so I looked inquiringly toward the bench where the Park men
were seated. Then, as Arnold, their first batter, rose and picked up
his bat, a student stepped out in front of the grand stand, and waving
his cane, cried, “I propose three cheers for the nine. Now, fellows,
give it to them.”
A roar of cheers burst from the crowd.
“Another one,” cried the leader, and again came the cheers.
“One more round,” and a third time the crowd responded.
This evidently had been expected by the Park nine, for Arnold stood
as if awaiting it; and it was quite as evident to me that it was
simply the beginning of a concerted action on the part of the crowd to
demoralize us by shouting.
Before the sound had died away we heard another cheer far away outside
the field. We looked at one another in surprise. Was it an echo? No,
for again it sounded, and this time nearer and clearer. Suddenly the
truth flashed upon me. I turned quickly toward the entrance to the
grounds. There was a thick cloud of dust in the road outside, and a
rumble of heavy wheels; then the carriage gates burst open, and into
the field rolled three large omnibuses gayly decked out with the
beautiful blue banners of Belmont. Down the smooth roadway that skirted
the diamond cantered the teams, while from the omnibuses burst roar
after roar of cheers.
As the vehicles took up a position on the opposite side of the field
from the mass of the Park crowd, the well known form of Clinton Edwards
emerged from the inside of one of the omnibuses. Climbing on top, he
shouted, “Now, boys, blow on your lungs.”
A terrific roar ensued. Then, having vindicated himself, Clinton
Edwards sat down, and awaited the opening of the game. This novel
response to the grand stand had a telling and dramatic effect. The
crowd could scarcely have been more surprised had a bombshell fallen
in front of them. For a moment they were completely staggered, and the
whole effect of their cheering was destroyed.
Whether Clinton Edwards had premeditated the surprise or not, his
entrance could not have been more timely. Its effect upon us was
magnetic, and our spirits rose mightily as the old familiar Belmont
cheer rang out. Ray Wendell waved his hand to Clinton Edwards, while I,
seeing that Arnold had taken his place at the home plate, grasped the
ball, and made ready.
“Play!” cried the umpire, and the game began.