"If they hadn't gone and made Don captain last year," said Satterlee, 2d,
plaintively. "That's where the trouble is."
"How do you mean?" asked Tom Pierson, looking up in a puzzled way from the
hole he was digging in the turf in front of the school hall.
"Why," answered Satterlee, 2d, with a fine air of wisdom, "I mean that it
doesn't do for a fellow to have his brother captain. Don's been so afraid
of showing me favoritism all spring that he hasn't given me even a fair
chance. When I came out for the nine in March and tried for second he was
worried to death. "Look here, Kid," he said, "there's no use your wanting
to play on second because there's Henen and Talbot after it." "Well, how do
you know I can't play second as well as they?" says I. He was--was
horrified. That's it; a fellow can't understand how a member of his own
family can do anything as well as some one else. See what I mean?"
Tom Pierson nodded doubtfully.
"'You try for a place in the outfield,' said Don. 'But I don't want to play
in the outfield.' I told him. But it didn't make any difference. 'There's
three fellows for every infield position.' said Don, 'and I'm not going to
have the fellows accuse me of boosting my kid brother over their heads.'
Well, so I did as he said. Of course I didn't have any show. There was
Williams and Beeton and 'Chick' Meyer who could do a heap better than I
could. They'd played in the outfield ail their lives and I'd always been at
second--except one year that I caught when I was a kid. Well, maybe next
year I'll have a better show, for a whole lot of this year's team graduate
to-morrow. Wish I did."
"I don't," said Tom. "I like it here. I think Willard's the best school in
the country."
"So do I, of course," answered Satterlee, 2d. "But don't you want to get up
to college?"
"I'm in no hurry; you see, there's math; I'm not doing so badly at it now
since Bailey has been helping me, but I don't believe I could pass the
college exam in it."
"You and 'Old Crusty' seem awfully thick these days," mused the other.
"Wish he'd be as easy on me as he is on you. You were fishing together
yesterday, weren't you?"
Tom nodded. "Sixteen trout," he said promptly.
"Wish I'd been along," sighed Satterlee, 2d. "All I caught was flies during
practice. Then when they played the second I sat on the bench as usual and
looked on."
"But Don will put you in this afternoon, won't he?"
"I dare say he will; for the last inning maybe. What good's that? Nothing
ever happens to a chap in center field. And when a fellow's folks come to
visit him he naturally wants to--to show off a bit."
Tom nodded sympathetically.
"Hard lines," he said. "But why don't you ask your brother to give you a
fair show; put you in the sixth or something like that?"
"Because I won't. He doesn't think I can play baseball. I don't care. Only
I hope--I hope we get beaten!"
"No, you don't."
"How do you know?" asked the other morosely.
"Because you couldn't," Tom replied. "Is 'Curly' going to pitch?"
"No, Durham's agreed not to play any of her faculty. Willings is going to
pitch. I'll bet"--his face lost some of its gloom--"I'll bet it will be a
dandy game!"
"Who's going to win?" asked Tom anxiously.
"You can search me!" answered Satterlee, 2d, cheerfully. "Durham's lost
only two games this season, one to St. Eustace and one to us. And we've
lost only the first game with Durham. There you are, Tommy; you can figure
it out for yourself. But we won last year and it's safe to say Durham's
going to work like thunder to win this. What time is it?"
"Twenty minutes to twelve," answered Tom.
"Gee! I've got to find Don and go over to the station to meet the folks.
Want to come along? Dad and the mater would like to meet you; you see I've
said a good deal about you in my letters."
"Won't I be in the way?"
"Not a bit. In fact--" Satterlee, 2d, hesitated and grinned--"in fact, it
would make it more comfortable if you would come along. You see, Tom, Don
and I aren't very chummy just now; I--I gave him a piece of my mind last
night; and he threw the hairbrush at me." He rubbed the side of his head
reflectively. Tom laughed and sprang to his feet.
"All right," he said. "I'll go, if just to keep you two from fighting.
We'll have to hurry, though; you don't want to forget that dinner's half an
hour earlier to-day."
"Guess you never knew me to forget dinner time, did you?" asked Satterlee,
2d, with a laugh.
Three hours later the two boys sat nursing their knees on the terrace above
the playground. Behind them in camp chairs sat Mr. and Mrs. Satterlee. To
right and left stretched a line of spectators, the boys of Willard's and of
Durham surrounded by their friends and relatives. Tomorrow was graduation
day at the school and mothers and fathers and sisters and elder
brothers--many of the latter "old boys"--were present in numbers. At the
foot of the terrace, near first base, a red and white striped awning had
been erected and from beneath its shade the principal, Doctor Willard,
together with the members of the faculty and their guests, sat and watched
the deciding game of the series. The red of Willard's was predominant, but
here and there a dash of blue, the color of the rival academy, was to be
seen. On a bench over near third base a line of blue-stockinged players
awaited their turns at bat, for it was the last half of the third inning
and Willard's was in the field. Behind the spectators arose the ivy-draped
front of the school hall and above them a row of elms cast grateful shade.
Before them, a quarter of a mile distant, the broad bosom of the river
flashed and sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. But few had eyes for that,
for Durham had two men on bases with two out and one of her heavy hitters
was at bat. Thus far there had been no scoring and now there was a
breathless silence as Willings put the first ball over the plate.
"Strike!" droned the umpire, and a little knot of boys on the bank waved
red banners and cheered delightedly. Then ball and bat came together and
the runner was speeding toward first. But the hit had been weak and long
before he reached the bag the ball was snuggling in Donald Satterlee's
mitten, and up on the terrace the Willardians breathed their relief. The
nines changed sides.
"That's Fearing, our catcher, going to bat, sir," said Satterlee, 2d,
looking around at his father. Mr. Satterlee nodded and transferred his
wandering attention to the youth in question. Mr. Satterlee knew very
little about the game and was finding it difficult to display the proper
amount of interest. Mrs. Satterlee, however, smiled enthusiastically at
everything and everybody and succeeded in conveying the impression that she
was breathlessly interested in events.
"Er--is he going to hit the ball?" asked Mr. Satterlee in a heroic endeavor
to rise to the requirements of the occasion.
"He's going to try," answered his youngest son with a smile. "But he isn't
going to succeed, I guess," he muttered a minute later. For the catcher had
two strikes called on him and was still at the plate. Then all doubt was
removed. He tossed aside his bat and turned back to the bench.
"And who is that boy?" asked Mrs. Satterlee.
"That's Cook," answered Tom. "He plays over there, you know; he's
shortstop."
"Of course," murmured the lady. "I knew I had seen him."
Cook reached first, more by good luck than good playing, and the Willard
supporters found their voices again. Then came Brown, third base-man, and
was thrown out at first after having advanced Cook to second.
"Here comes Don," announced his younger brother with a trace of envy in his
tones.
"I do hope he'll hit the ball!" cried his mother.
"Oh, he'll hit it all right," answered Satterlee, 2d, "only maybe he won't
hit it hard enough."
Nor did he. Durham's third baseman gathered in the short fly that the
batsman sent up and so ended the inning.
"Something's going to happen now, I'll bet," said Tom. "Carpenter's up."
"He didn't do much last time," objected Satterlee, 2d, "even if he is such
a wonder. Willings struck him out dead easy."
Carpenter, who played third base for the visitors, was a tall, light-haired
youth with a reputation for batting prowess. In the first game of the
series between the two schools Carpenter's hitting had been the deciding
feature. Three one-baggers, a two-bagger, and a home-run had been credited
to him when the game was over, and it was the home-run, smashed out with a
man on third in the eighth inning, which had defeated Willard's. In the
second game, played a fortnight ago, Carpenter had been noticeably out of
form, which fact had not a little to do with Willard's victory. To-day the
long-limbed gentleman, despite his retirement on the occasion of his first
meeting with Willings, was in fine fettle, and scarcely had Satterlee, 2d,
concluded his remark when there was a sharp _crack_ and the white sphere
was skimming second baseman's head. It was a clean, well-placed hit, and
even the wearers of the blue had to applaud a little. Carpenter's long legs
twinkled around the bases and he was safe at third before the ball had
returned to the infield. Then things began to happen. As though the spell
had been broken by the third baseman's three-bagger, the following
Durhamites found the ball, man after man, and ere the inning was at an end,
the score book told a different tale. On Durham's page stood four tallies;
Willard's was still empty. And Willard's supporters began to look uneasy.
Then there was no more scoring until the sixth inning, when a single by
Donald Satterlee brought in Cook who had been taking big risks on second
and who reached the plate a fraction of a second ahead of the ball.
Willard's got the bases full that inning and for a time it seemed that they
would tie the score, but Beeton popped a fly into shortstop's hands and
their hopes were dashed.
Durham started their half of the sixth with Carpenter up and that
dependable youth slammed out a two-base hit at once. The flaunters of the
red groaned dismally. Then the Durham pitcher fouled out and the next man
advanced Carpenter but was put out at first. Willard's breathed easier and
took hope. Over on third base Carpenter was poised, ready to speed home as
fast as his long legs would carry him. Willings, who had so far pitched a
remarkable game, suddenly went "into the air." Perhaps it was the coaching
back of third, perhaps it was Carpenter's disconcerting rushes and
hand-clapping. At all events, the Durham first baseman, who was a
cool-headed youth, waited politely and patiently and so won the privilege
of trotting to first on four balls. Fearing, Willard's catcher, walked down
to Willings, and the two held a whispered conversation. They didn't lay any
plots, for all Fearing wanted to do was to steady the pitcher.
Then came a strike on the next batsman, and the Willardians cheered
hopefully. Two balls followed, and Carpenter danced about delightedly at
third and the two coaches hurled taunting words at the pitcher. The man on
first was taking a long lead, pretty certain that Willings would not dare
to throw lest Carpenter score. But Willings believed in doing the
unexpected. Unfortunately, although he turned like a flash and shot the
ball to Satterlee, the throw was wide. The captain touched it with his
outstretched fingers but it went by. The runner sped toward second and
Carpenter raced home. But Beeton, right-fielder, had been wide-awake. As
Willings turned he ran in to back up Satterlee, found the ball on a low
bounce and, on the run, sent it to the plate so swiftly that Fearing was
able to catch Carpenter a yard away from it. The Durham third baseman
picked himself up, muttering his opinion of the proceedings and looking
very cross. But what he said wasn't distinguishable, for up on the terrace
the red flags were waving wildly and the boys of Willard's were shouting
themselves hoarse.
When, in the beginning of the seventh inning, Durham took the field and
Willings went to bat, Captain Don Satterlee came up the bank and threw
himself on the grass by his father's side. He looked rather worried and
very warm.
"Well, my boy," said Mr. Satterlee, "I guess you're in for a licking this
time, eh?"
"I'm afraid so," was the morose reply. "We can't seem to find their pitcher
for a cent." He turned to his brother. "I'll put you in for the ninth, if
you like," he said.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself," answered the other. "You've got along without
me so far and I guess you can finish."
"Well, you needn't be so huffy," answered the elder. "You can play or not,
just as you like. But you don't have to be ugly about it."
"I'm not," muttered Satterlee, 2d.
"Sounds mighty like it. Want to play?"
The other hesitated, swallowed once or twice and kicked the turf with his
heel.
"Of course he wants to play, Don," said Tom Pierson. "Give him a chance,
like a good chap."
"Well, I've offered him a chance, haven't I?" asked Don ungraciously. "I
guess it doesn't make much difference who plays this game." He scowled at
Willings who had been thrown out easily at first and was now discouragedly
walking back to the bench. "You can take Williams's place when the ninth
begins," he added, turning to his brother. The latter nodded silently. A
slightly built, sandy-haired man, with bright blue eyes and a look of
authority, approached the group and Don, with a muttered apology, joined
him.
"That's our coach," explained Tom to Mrs. Satterlee. "He's instructor in
Greek and German, and he's a peach! The fellows call him 'Curly' on account
of his hair. He pitched for us last year and he won the game, too! I guess
he and Don are trying to find some way out of the hole they're in. If
anyone can do it he can, can't he?"
Thus appealed to, Satterlee, 2d, came out of his reverie.
"Yes, I guess so. I wish he was pitching, that's all I wish! I'll bet
Carpenter wouldn't make any more of those hits of his!"
Willard's third out came and once more the teams changed places. The sun
was getting low and the shadows on the terrace were lengthening. Durham
started out with a batting streak and almost before anyone knew it the
bases were full with but one out. Then, just when things were at their
gloomiest, a short hit to second baseman resulted in a double play, and
once more Willard's found cause for delight and acclaim.
The eighth inning opened with Don Satterlee at bat. Luck seemed for a
moment to have made up its mind to favor the home team. An in-shoot caught
the batsman on the thigh and he limped to first. Meyer--"Chick" Meyer, as
Tom triumphantly explained--sent him to second and gained first for
himself, owing to an error. Then came an out. Beeton followed with a
scratch hit just back of shortstop and the bases were full. Up on the
terrace the cheering was continuous. Williams was struck out. Then came
Willings with a short hit past third and Don scored. And the bases were
still full. But the next man flied out to left fielder and the cheering
died away. But 2 to 4 was better than 1 to 4, and the supporters of the
home team derived what comfort they could from the fact.
In the last of the eighth, the doughty Carpenter started things going by
taking first on balls. It was apparent that "Willings had given it to him"
rather than risk a long hit. The next man was less fortunate and was thrown
out after a neat sacrifice which put Carpenter on second. Then a pop-fly
was muffed by Willings and there were men on first and second. But after
that Willings, as though to atone for an inexcusable error, settled down to
work and struck out the next two Durhamites, and the red flags were
suddenly crazy.
Satterlee, 2d, peeled off his sweater and trotted down to the bench. The
ninth inning opened inauspiciously for the home nine. Willard's shortstop
fell victim to the rival pitcher's curves and third baseman took his place.
With two strikes called on him he found something he liked and let go at
it. When the tumult was over he was sitting on second base. Don Satterlee
stepped up to the plate and the cheerers demanded a home-run. But the best
the red's captain could do was a clean drive into right field that was good
for one base for himself and a tally for the man on second. That made the
score 3 to 4. It seemed that at last fortune was to favor the red. The
cheering went on and on. Meyer sent the captain to second but was thrown
out at first. Another tally would tie the score, but the players who were
coming to bat were the weakest hitters, and Willard's hopes began to
dwindle. But one can never tell what will happen in baseball, and when
Fearing lined out a swift ball over second baseman's head and Don Satterlee
romped home, the wearers of the red shrieked in mingled delight and
surprise. The score was tied. But there was more to come. Beeton waited,
refusing all sorts of tempting bait, and during that waiting Fearing stole
second. With three balls and two strikes called on him, Beeton let the next
one go by, and----
"Four balls!" decided the umpire.
Satterlee, 2d, felt rather limp when he faced the pitcher. His heart was
pounding somewhere up near his mouth and it made him feel uncomfortable.
Down on second Fearing was watching him anxiously. On first Beeton was
dancing back and forth, while behind him Brother Don coaching hoarsely and
throwing doubtful glances in the direction of the plate.
"He thinks I can't hit," thought Satterlee, 2d, bitterly. "He's telling
himself that if he'd left Williams in we might have tallied again."
Satterlee, 2d, smarting under his brother's contempt, felt his nerves
steady and when the second delivery came he was able to judge it and let it
go by. That made a ball and a strike. Then came another ball. They had told
him to wait for a good one, and he was going to do it. And presently the
good one came. The pitcher had put himself in a hole; there were three
balls against him and only one strike. So now he sent a swift straight one
for a corner of the plate and Satterlee, 2d, watched it come and then swung
to meet it. And in another moment he was streaking for his base, while out
back of shortstop the left fielder was running in as fast as he might. And
while he ran Fearing and Beeton were flying around the bases. The ball came
to earth, was gathered up on its first bound and sped toward the plate. But
it reached the catcher too late, for Fearing and Beeton had tallied. And
down at second a small youth was picking himself out of the dust. But
Satterlee never got any farther, for the next man struck out. No one seemed
to care, however, except Satterlee, for the score had changed to 6-4, and
the 6 was Willard's!
But there was still a half inning to play and Durham had not lost hope. Her
center fielder opened up with a hit and a moment later stole second. Then
came a mishap. Willings struck the batsman and, although Fearing claimed
that the batsman had not tried to avoid the ball, he was given his base.
Things looked bad. There on second and first were Durham runners and here,
stepping up to the plate with his bat grasped firmly in his hands, was
Carpenter, and there was none out. A two-base hit would surely tie the
score, while one of the home-runs of which Carpenter was believed to be
capable--such a one as he made in the first game of the series--would send
Willard's into mourning.
The terrace was almost deserted, for the spectators were lined along the
path to first base and beyond. Don was crying encouragement to his players,
but from the way in which he moved restively about it could be seen that he
was far from easy in his mind. As for Satterlee, 2d--well, he was out in
center field, hoping for a chance to aid in warding off the defeat that
seemed inevitable, but fearing that his usefulness was over. Willings
turned and motioned the fielders back, and in obedience Satterlee, 2d,
crept farther out toward the edge of the field. But presently, when a ball
had been delivered to the batsman, Satterlee, 2d, quite unconsciously,
moved eagerly, anxiously in again, step by step. Then came a strike and
Carpenter tapped the plate with the end of his bat and waited calmly.
Another ball. Then a second strike. And for a brief moment Willard's
shouted hoarsely. And then----
Then there was a sharp sound of bat meeting ball and Carpenter was on his
way to first. The ball was a low fly to short center field and it was
evident that it would land just a little way back of second base. Neither
Carpenter nor the runners on first and second dreamed for a moment that it
could be caught. The latter players raced for home as fast as their legs
would take them.
Meanwhile in from center sped Satterlee, 2d. He could run hard when he
tried and that's what he did now. He was almost too late--but not quite.
His hands found the ball a bare six inches above the turf. Coming fast as
he was he had crossed second base before he could pull himself up.
From all sides came wild shouts, instructions, commands, entreaties, a
confused medley of sounds. But Satterlee, 2d, needed no coaching. The
runner from second had crossed the plate and the one from first was
rounding third at a desperate pace, head down and arms and legs twinkling
through the dust of his flight. Now each turned and raced frantically back,
dismay written on their perspiring faces. But Satterlee, 2d, like an
immovable Fate, stood in the path. The runner from first slowed down
indecisively, feinted to the left and tried to slip by on the other side.
But the small youth with the ball was ready for him and had tagged him
before he had passed. Then Satterlee, 2d, stepped nimbly to second base,
tapped it with his foot a moment before the other runner hurled himself
upon it, tossed the ball nonchalantly toward the pitcher's box and walked
toward the bench. The game was over.
But he never reached the bench that day. On the way around the field he
caught once a fleeting vision of Brother Don's red, grinning countenance
beaming commendation, and once a glimpse of the smiling faces of his father
and mother. He strove to wave a hand toward the latter, but as it almost
cost him his position on the shoulders of the shrieking fellows beneath, he
gave it up. Social amenities might wait; at present he was tasting the joys
of a victorious Caesar.