JOE IS PESSIMISTIC
“Have you seen the editorial in the Purple?” asked King.
Joe Perkins, who had pushed his book away as the other entered his
study, swung around in his chair and shook his head.
“About the mass-meeting?” he asked. “No, I haven’t seen the paper yet.
What does it say?”
Gregory King leaned over the table until the inky-smelling sheets of
the college weekly were under the green glass shade of the student-lamp.
“Listen, then, benighted one! ‘It is to be hoped that every student who
can possibly do so will attend the mass-meeting to be held on Wednesday
evening next in Grace Hall for the purpose of raising money for the
expenses of the University baseball team. A victory over Robinson this
spring decisive enough to obliterate----’”
“Hear! hear!” cried Joe.
“Yes, elegant word, isn’t it?” grinned the other. “‘To obliterate the
stigma of last year’s defeat is what every friend of the college hopes
for and expects. But unless enough money is placed at the disposal
of the management, to meet the expenses of the team, such a victory
can not be secured. The nine has never been self-supporting and every
spring it has started in with a deficit of from fifty to a hundred and
fifty dollars, which has been paid by the Athletic Committee from the
general fund. Heretofore the Committee has, besides making good the
deficit, paid over to the baseball management sufficient money to carry
the team through the first half of the season. This spring, however,
the Committee is unable to do this. The football receipts last fall
were scarcely more than half as large as usual, while the expenses were
much greater. As a result, the sum at the disposal of the baseball
team, the track team, and the crew is extremely small, and the former
has received as its share the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars
only--a sum not nearly sufficient to carry it through the first half of
the season.
“‘It becomes necessary, therefore, to secure funds from some other
source. Subscriptions have been invited from the alumni, but the result
of this step is uncertain. A popular subscription is necessary and will
be asked at the meeting on Wednesday. The amount required to insure
the success of the nine is not large, and it is the duty of the student
body to see that it is raised before the meeting is adjourned. Manager
Patterson will make a statement of the association’s condition, and
there will be addresses by Dean Levatt, Professor Nast, Coach Hanson,
Captain Perkins, A. Z. Tidball, ’04, and others. It is to be hoped that
the meeting will be attended by every member of the university.’”
“Not bad,” commented Joe. “But whether Patterson has made a mistake by
stating frankly that the meeting is called to secure money remains to
be seen.”
“What else could he say? The fellows aren’t going to be gulled into
thinking that they’re invited to a mass-meeting to play ping-pong!”
“I know, but there are lots of fellows who won’t come if they know
they’re to be asked to dive into their pockets.”
“Then let them stay away,” answered King forcibly. “Any chap that isn’t
willing to give a dollar or two to beat Robinson isn’t worth bothering
with!”
“I dare say; but we’ve got to have a lot of money, and if every fellow
of that sort stays away--” He shook his head doubtfully.
“Oh, get out! You’re pessimistic this evening. Cheer up; the tide’s
coming in! We’ll get all the money we need, and lots more besides.
You’ll see.”
“Hope so. Fact is, Greg, I’m a bit down in the mouth over the showing
we made Saturday. If we don’t do better Wednesday I sha’n’t blame the
fellows if they refuse to pony up for us. A nine that plays ball like a
lot of girls doesn’t deserve support.”
“Well, we were pretty rotten Saturday, Joe, and that’s the truth. But
we’ll stand by you better next time. We’ll give a good exhibition of
union-made, hand-sewn baseball on Wednesday that’ll tickle the college
to death. By the way, there’s a long fairy tale from Collegetown here
in the Purple about Robinson’s team. To read it you’d think they
expected to walk all over us and everybody else. They’re talking about
beating Artmouth next week! How’s that for immortal cheek?”
“Oh, they’ve got a good nine, Greg, and they know it. And you and I
know it. We might as well face it, too.”
“Well, what if they have? Great Scott, man, haven’t they had good nines
lots of times before and been beaten out of their boots? What do we
care for their old Voses and Condits and ‘Hard-hitting Hopkinses’?
Maybe we’ve got a good battery ourselves, and a man or two who can slug
the ball!”
“Maybe we have,” answered Joe dryly, “but you couldn’t just name them,
could you?”
“Certainly I can name them! You’re just as good a catcher as that
Condit wonder of theirs. And Gilberth can pitch all around Vose, when
he wants to. And----”
“Yes, when he wants to,” said Joe significantly.
“Well, he will want to when it comes to Robinson,” said King.
“Perhaps. And how about the hard sluggers?”
“Oh, well, there’s Motter, and Billings, and----”
“Yourself; you’re a better batsman than either of them, Greg. But
there’s no use in running down Hopkins; he’s a wonder at the bat; and
we’ve got to get busy and turn out a few fellows like him. Saturday
there wasn’t more than three decent hits made in the whole idiotic
game.”
“My cheerless friend, please forget Saturday,” begged King. “It wasn’t
nice, I know, but it showed up the weak spots, and that’s something to
be thankful for.”
“Not when there’s nothing but spots,” lamented Joe.
“Besides, we kept them from scoring; and for a while it looked as
though we couldn’t.”
“And even that was just a piece of good luck.”
“Good luck? Why, it didn’t seem so to me. I never saw a fielder look
more certain of making a catch than Weatherby did. And the way he
pulled down that ball was mighty pretty, too.”
“I don’t mean that it was luck for him; I mean that it was just by luck
that I put him in your place when you went into the box; I almost sent
Lowe out there. If I had it’s dollars to cents he wouldn’t have judged
that ball so as to have caught it.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well, old chap. Cheer up! By the way, I was
mighty glad Weatherby made that catch and kept our slate clean; for his
sake, I mean. I’ve noticed that yesterday and to-day the fellows at the
table have been very decent to him. I guess he rather made a hit with
them Saturday.”
“I’m glad of that,” Joe responded heartily. “To tell the truth, Greg,
Weatherby’s been bothering me a good deal; Hanson and I picked him
out for a good man, and I think he is, but all this badgering by the
fellows has made him pretty near worthless. I hope to goodness it’s
done with now.”
“It’s been Tracy more than any one else,” said King. “He’s rather
overdone it, I think.”
“I should say so! The trouble with Tracy is that he gets it into his
thick head that he’s a sort of public conscience, and you can’t get it
out. I don’t think he really intends to be mean; I’ve known him to do
several mighty decent things--kind-hearted, you know.”
“Seems as though his sense of proportion was out of gear; and you can’t
faze him, either.”
“Well, I don’t know; sometimes I manage to jar him a bit. I got at him
last week and asked him to go easy on Weatherby, and so far he’s done
it. I put it to him on the score of justice and that sort of thing,
you know. I’ve noticed, by the way, that you’ve been kind of taking
Weatherby’s part lately. Do you like him?”
“I don’t know whether I do or don’t,” answered King slowly. “I think
maybe I could like him very well if he’d give me a chance, but the
trouble is he won’t let you get near him. He’s the most independent,
stand-offish sort of chap ever.”
“I know. It’s rather against him, that kind of thing. But I fancy,
Greg, that that manner of his is sort of defensive; I don’t believe
he’s really so independent as he is--well, shy. He thinks fellows don’t
care to know him and so puts on that let-me-alone air just to hide the
fact that he’s downhearted.”
“Do you? Well, maybe you’re right. It never occurred to me.”
“Yes; and something Professor White said the other day bears me out.
He came up to see me about Weatherby. It seems he’s taken rather a
shine to him, and had him home with him overnight last week. He says
that Weatherby’s frightfully cut up over the way the fellows have been
treating him; thinks no one wants to have anything to do with him on
account of that affair down at the river, you know, and is just about
ready to throw up the sponge and light out. In fact--” Joe stopped,
remembering that Anthony had requested him not to talk of Jack’s
flight. “Anyhow, it seems rather a shame, don’t you think? The chap’s
a nice-looking, gentlemanly sort, and apparently has lots of pluck, in
spite of what happened at the wharf that day.”
“That’s what I think. I believe the truth of that business is that
Weatherby doesn’t know how to swim, Joe.”
“Really? Did he ever say so?”
“Oh, thunder, no! He never’s talked about it to me; I’d be scared to
death to ask him. But that seems a reasonable sort of explanation,
doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. And it’s funny that it never occurred to me. Somehow,
you take it for granted here that every fellow knows how to swim; we’re
such a lot of water-rats, you know. I believe you’ve hit it, Greg. But
if that’s the case, why didn’t he out and say so?”
“Well, I don’t know. Maybe we didn’t give him a chance at first, and
then, when he did have a show, maybe he got spunky and wouldn’t. It’s
the sort of thing I could understand his doing.”
“Yes, it is. Well, anyhow, he’s cut up more rumpus and made more worry
than any freshie I ever knew. And I hope to goodness it’s over. I want
him to play ball. Going? Don’t forget to drum up the meeting. Bring a
crowd with you and start the enthusiasm early in the game. And, by the
way, if you ever have a chance, you might just try and find out about
Weatherby; whether he can swim, you know. So long, Greg.”
Jack would have been distinctly surprised had he known that he was the
subject of so much discussion. He was beginning to congratulate himself
that the men with whom he associated seemed to have forgotten the
unpleasant incident, and were, in a manner, making his acquaintance all
over again. There was no denying the fact that since his performance
of Saturday on the diamond the fellows at the training-table had shown
themselves very friendly toward him. Of old he had usually eaten his
meals in silence, save for an occasional word with Joe or King or
the trainer. Nowadays the fellows greeted him as one of themselves,
included him in their conversation, and even asked his opinion
sometimes. And unconsciously he was bidding for their friendship. He
no longer answered all inquiries with monosyllables, but forgot his
rôle of injured innocence and entered into the talk with sprightliness
and interest. Once he had even made a joke. It was a good joke, but its
effect was embarrassing. Every one was so surprised that for a full
quarter of a minute not a sound greeted it. Then the table broke into
laughter. But by that time Jack was all self-consciousness once more,
and for the rest of the meal ate in silence.
But his shyness wore off again, and by the middle of the week his
companions had adopted a way of listening when he spoke as though what
he had to say was worth hearing. The effect of this was like a tonic to
Jack’s vanity. He began to recover his naturally good spirits and the
change in him was noticeable. Anthony saw and was delighted.
The friendship between him and the younger boy had worked back into its
old lines. Sometimes, more and more infrequently as time passed, Jack
thought he could detect a difference in Anthony’s attitude toward him;
fancied that the other was reserved in manner. But the difference, if
difference there was, was slight and did not seriously impair Jack’s
enjoyment of Anthony’s friendship.
Anthony himself in those days was not aware that he showed at times
any of the doubts that assailed him. He did not mean to. He had argued
with himself over the matter of the lost watch and had at length
practically convinced himself that, despite all evidences against his
friend, Jack was not guilty of theft. It is probable that even had
Anthony detected Jack in the act of stealing he would still have kept
much of his liking for the boy, even while detesting his offense.
Anthony was big enough morally to view wrong-doing with pity as well
as disfavor, and his affection for Jack--a big-hearted, generous
affection--would have weighed in the boy’s favor.
But Anthony had made up his mind to believe in the other’s innocence,
and believe he did. Sometimes the doubts would creep back despite him,
and it was at such times that Jack believed he detected a difference
in Anthony’s manner toward him. Meanwhile, Anthony had purchased a
wonderful alarm-clock for the sum of eighty-five cents; wonderful for
the reason that it gained an hour each day as long as it stood on its
feet, and lost twenty minutes each day if laid comfortably on its back.
Anthony corrected it every evening by Jack’s watch, and persevered in
his efforts to lead it back into a life of veracity and usefulness.
“There’s some position,” he declared, “in which that thing will keep
exact time. ’Tisn’t on its feet, and ’tisn’t on its back; it’s
somewhere between. Patience and study will find the solution.”
So he propped it at various angles with his books, and even laid it
on its head, but whether the numerals XII pointed toward the floor,
the ceiling, or the dormer-window the result was always surprising
and never satisfactory. And finally, after he had once awakened and
prepared his breakfast before discovering that the alarm had gone off
at five instead of half-past six, he gave up the struggle, settled the
timepiece firmly on its little legs, and accustomed himself to being
always one hour ahead of the rest of the world.