CATCHER AND PITCHER
“Well, it wasn’t such a bad showing, was it?”
Joe Perkins tossed his purple cap adorned with a white E on to the
table and threw himself among the cushions of the window-seat in the
manner of one who has earned his rest. He was a jovial-looking fellow
of medium height, rather inclined toward stoutness. His hair was
undeniably red, and despite that his features were good, none would
have called him handsome. But his blue eyes were alert and his mouth
firm. He had the quick temper popularly believed to accompany red hair,
but it was well under control, and Joe’s usual appearance was one of
extreme good nature. He was popular, perhaps the most popular fellow
in college, and he knew it, and was not spoiled by the knowledge. His
friends believed in him and he believed in himself. Perhaps it was
the latter fact that made him such a wonderful leader. Ever since his
freshman year he had been among the foremost in all college affairs.
Last spring, after the disastrous 7--0 baseball game with Robinson,
the selection of Joe, whose catching had been a feature of the contest,
as captain, was unanimous and enthusiastic, and the supporters of the
Purple, mourning overwhelming defeat, felt their sorrow lightened by
the knowledge that Joe Perkins, in accepting the office, had pledged
himself to retrieve Erskine’s lost prestige on the diamond. The whole
college firmly believed that what Joe Perkins promised he would perform.
Joe’s companion was Tracy Gilberth. Like Joe, he was a senior
and a member of the nine. Unlike Joe, he did not impress one as
being particularly good-natured; nor did he resemble that youth in
appearance. He had straight dark hair and black eyes. His cheeks were
ruddy and his mouth straight and thin. He was of middle height and
weight, and pitched the best ball of any man in college. In age he
was a year Joe’s senior, being twenty-three. He had none of the other
man’s popularity, although he was not disliked. Acquaintances suspected
him of arrogance; in talking he had a tone that sounded patronizing
to those not used to it. His parents were immensely wealthy; rumor
credited his father with being a millionaire several times over. At all
events, Tracy had the most luxuriously furnished rooms at Erskine, and
spent more money than the rest of his class put together.
At the present moment he was sitting in Joe’s Morris chair with his
hands in his pockets and his golf-stockinged legs sprawled before him.
He replied to Joe’s question with a negligent nod that might have
meant either assent or denial. Joe took it to express the former, and
continued:
“A heap better than last year, anyhow. Thirty candidates at this time
of year means sixty when we get outdoors.”
“Yes, but it isn’t quantity that counts, Joe,” said Tracy. “Look at the
sort of greenies you had to-day. I’ll bet there isn’t a decent player
among them, outside of the few last-year men that were there. If I were
captain I’d rather have fifteen good players than fifty would-bes.”
“You’re an awful croaker, Tracy. For goodness’ sake, let me be
happy while I can. To-morrow I shall be quite ready to believe that
to-day’s bunch is merely a lot of hopeless idiots; but this evening I
am an optimist; I see phenomenal pitchers, star catchers, wonderful
first-basemen, in short, an aggregation of brilliant players destined
to wipe Robinson off the face of the earth. Leave me to my dreams, old
man.”
“All right; only when you wake up you’ll find you’ve fallen out of
bed,” answered Tracy. “Have you heard from Hanson?”
“Yes, he’s coming up Wednesday to look around.”
“I hope he’ll like what he sees,” said Tracy, grimly. “I suppose
you saw that fellow Weatherby there to-day? That chap must have the
sensibilities of a goat. Think of his having the cheek to show up in
the cage as a baseball candidate after what happened Friday! Why, if I
were he I wouldn’t have the courage to show my face outside of my room.
Not a fellow spoke to him to-day, but he didn’t seem to mind a bit.”
“I spoke to him,” said Joe.
“Oh, you had to!”
“And I think you’re mistaken about his not caring. He kept a pretty
stiff upper lip, but I have a hunch that he wasn’t happy.”
“Happy! I should say not. If he expects to be happy as long as he stays
at Erskine he’s going to be awfully fooled. The chap ought to be driven
out of college.”
“It’s an unfortunate affair,” answered Joe dispassionately, “and I
don’t pretend to understand it. But I must confess that I’m a bit sorry
for the chap. It may just be that there was some reason for his not
going in after that boy. Maybe he got rattled; you can’t tell.”
“Oh, poppycock! Maybe he was blind or asleep! Why didn’t he spunk up,
then, and say something? He just walked off with his head in the air,
as proud as you please, without a word. The plain fact of the matter is
that he’s a coward clean through.”
“Well--but if he is, why did he report to-day? Seems to me that took
something a good deal like courage. He knows plaguy well what the
college thinks of him. Great Scott, if I had been in his boots I’d no
more have thought of coming there among all those fellows----!”
“That’s what I say. He’s got just about the same sensibilities as a
billy-goat. I dare say he’s rather proud of himself. But don’t you
worry, Joe, you won’t be troubled with him long; we’ll soon show him
that the baseball team doesn’t want cowards. You leave him to us, old
man.”
“No, you don’t, Tracy; you leave him to me. I’m bossing this outfit,
and I’m quite capable of getting rid of any one I don’t want. The
fellow says he can play ball, and it’s fellows who can play ball that
I’m after, and not life-saving heroes.”
Tracy stared across at his friend in disgust.
“Well, I can tell you one thing, Joe, and that is that you’ll find that
there will be lots of fellows who simply won’t go on to the team if you
keep Weatherby; and one of ’em’s me!”
“Nonsense,” answered the other, quite undisturbed. “Your precious
morals aren’t going to be hurt by playing on the same acre of green
grass as Weatherby. Nor by sitting at the same table with him, for that
matter. At any rate, don’t get excited yet; it’s a fair guess that
Weatherby doesn’t know enough about the game to make the team. But
as long as he’s trying for it I won’t have him bullied.” Joe sat up
suddenly and punched a purple and white cushion viciously. “I tell you
candidly, old man, I’m going to turn out a winning team this spring,
and just as long as a fellow plays good ball and does as he’s told, I
don’t give a continental if he’s ostracized by the whole State! I gave
my solemn word to Tom Higgins last year, after the game, that I’d win
from Robinson, and I’m going to keep that promise!”
“I’ll never forget old Tom that day. The poor duffer was crying like a
baby all the way back to the yard. ‘You’ll be captain, Joe,’ he said,
‘and you’ve got to promise to wipe this out. You’ve got to give me
your word of honor, Joe.’ ‘I’ll do everything that I can, Tom,’ said
I. And we shook hands on it. ‘If you don’t beat them next year, Joe,’
he blubbered, ‘I’ll come back here and I’ll lick you until you can’t
stand. I swear I will!’ And he would, too,” laughed Joe.
“That’s all well enough,” answered Tracy, “but you don’t want to go too
far, Joe; the fellows won’t stand everything even from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s lots of ’em now who think you’ve made a mistake in
choosing Hanson for coach; you know that. They say that Hanson lost
everything when he was captain three years ago, and that year before
last, when he coached, we lost again. They think you should have got a
coach who had something to show. And now if you insist on putting it on
to the fellows with this coward, Weatherby, you’ll have to look out for
squalls.”
“Good stuff!” Joe’s blue eyes sparkled, and his mouth set itself
straightly. “I’m open to all the squalls that come my way. I like
squalls. And when they’ve blown over the other chaps may be surprised
to find that they’re a considerable distance from the scene of
operations. Oh, no, my boy, you can’t scare me by talking that way! I
know what the fellows said--some of them, that is--about my selecting
Hanson, and I don’t give a continental. Hanson is all right. When
he was captain here he had the poorest lot of players that any man
ever had to contend with; anybody who was in college will tell you
that. They couldn’t field and they couldn’t bat; the only thing they
could do was kick; they kicked about the schedule, and they kicked
about the amount of work they had to do, and they kicked about the
training-table. Nobody on earth could have won with that team. As for
year before last, Hanson coached and we didn’t win, I know. We didn’t
win last year, for that matter, but nobody lays the blame on the coach.
Hanson is all right. He knows the game all through; he’s a gentleman,
and he gives every minute of his time to the team. The best judge of
whether what I say is true is ‘Baldy’ Simson. You go and ask ‘Baldy,’
and if he doesn’t tell you the same thing I’ll eat my hat. And when you
hear a trainer say that a coach is all right, there’s something in it.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know much about it myself! I’m only saying what the
fellows in general think, Joe.”
“I know; there’s no harm done. Only, if there are any squalls, Tracy,
you take your friends and get into a cellar somewhere until they’ve
blown over,” said Joe suggestively.
“Oh, I’m not scared!” Tracy replied, laughing uneasily. “I’ll stand by
you.”
“All right,” answered Joe gravely. “That’ll be safest.”
There came a knock at the door, and Joe shouted, “Come in!” When
he saw who his caller was he arose from the window-seat and stepped
forward.
“How are you, Weatherby? Want to see me?”
“Yes, if you have a minute to spare.” Jack looked calmly at the
occupant of the Morris chair, and Joe understood.
“Certainly,” he answered. “Sit down.” Then, “I don’t like to put you
out, old man,” he said, turning to Tracy, who had so far made no move
toward withdrawing, “but I guess I’ll have to ask you to excuse me a
moment.”
“That’s all right,” replied Tracy, lazily pulling himself out of his
seat and staring insolently at the newcomer. “I’m a bit particular,
anyway.” He lounged to the door, carefully avoiding contact with Jack.
“See you in the morning,” he added. “So long.”
When the door had closed, Joe glanced at the caller, instinctively
framing an apology for the insult. But Jack’s countenance gave no
indication that he had even heard it. Joe marveled and pointed to a
chair.
“Sit down, won’t you?” he asked politely.
The other shook his head.
“No, thanks. What I’ve got to say will take but a minute,” he answered
calmly.