THE COACH MAKES A PROMISE
“Turner,” said Coach Mulford, taking the vacant place on the bench
beside Laurie and laying a hand on his knees, “Turner, they tell me
you’re grooming a dark horse.”
“Sir?” Laurie looked blank. Pinky’s smile told him that there was a
joke somewhere about, but the phrase was a new one to him and he didn’t
get the coach’s meaning. Mr. Mulford laughed.
“They tell me that you’re training a new pitcher for us,” he explained.
“How about it?”
Laurie reddened a bit. He wasn’t surprised that the coach knew about
it, for his crazy boast and his daily work-outs with Kewpie were
known all over school and he was being joked unmercifully. Those
morning sessions now were being attended by something of a gallery of
interested spectators who were generous with suggestions and applause.
But it occurred to him now that Coach Mulford must think him rather a
fool.
“I――well, I’m sort of helping Kewpie Proudtree,” he answered haltingly.
“He wants to learn to pitch, Mr. Mulford.”
“I see.” The coach evidently didn’t disapprove of the proceeding.
Laurie gathered that from his tones. “I see. How’s he getting on?”
Laurie shook his head. “Not very well,” he said frankly.
“Sorry to hear that,” was the grave reply. “Still, there’s quite a
while yet, and I dare say we’ll manage to get along with Beedle and the
others until your man’s ready.” Mr. Mulford slapped Laurie’s knee again
and again laughed. Laurie laughed, too, but it wasn’t a whole-hearted
laugh. Aware of the coach’s amused regard, he felt slightly resentful.
After a moment he said offhandedly:
“I reckon he’ll be ready for the Farview game, sir.”
“Think so? Fine!” Mr. Mulford chuckled as he arose. “Well, let me know
when he is ready, Turner.”
“If I do will you give him a trial?” asked Laurie quickly.
“What?” Mr. Mulford paused in his departure and looked back. “Give him
a trial? Why, I don’t know, Turner,” he continued slowly, “but I might.”
“You――you wouldn’t care to make that a promise, would you, sir?” asked
Laurie. Pinky’s round, red face smiled back as, after a perceptible
pause, he nodded.
“Yes, I’ll make it a promise, Turner,” he agreed. “But, mind you, you
mustn’t ask me to waste my time. If your Great Unknown gets so he can
really pitch, you let me know, and I’ll look him over. But no duds,
Turner!”
When, just before supper that evening, Laurie jubilantly repeated the
conversation to Kewpie, Kewpie was all swelled up over that title of
Great Unknown until Ned dryly remarked that most Great Unknowns never
amounted to a hill of beans. Even that pessimistic utterance failed to
dispel all of Kewpie’s pleasure, however.
“That’s all right,” he said. “But some of them make good, don’t they?
Well, here’s one of ’em. You ask Nod if I didn’t pitch some mighty nice
curves this morning.”
“Yeah,” agreed Laurie glumly, “they curved all right, but you mustn’t
think that a batter’s going to step out of his box to hit your balls,
Kewpie. Batters aren’t that accommodating!”
“Gosh,” complained Kewpie, “you don’t give a fellow credit when he
deserves it. If you think it’s any fun going through that stunt every
morning――”
“Who started it?” demanded Laurie.
“Well, that’s all right, but――”
“You’ll get a nice long rest pretty soon,” said Ned soothingly. “Spring
recess’ll be along in less than two weeks, old son.”
Kewpie made no reply for a moment. Then, “Well,” he began hesitantly,
“I was thinking, Nid, that maybe I ought――oughtn’t――oughtn’t to go home
at recess.”
“Not go home! For goodness’ sake, why?”
“Well, I’d lose a whole week, wouldn’t I? You and Laurie will be here,
won’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Ned, with a notable lack of enthusiasm. He and Laurie
weren’t at all keen on remaining at school during the spring vacation,
but it lasted only eight days, and as the journey to California
occupied four, why, as Laurie put it, “they’d meet themselves coming
back!”
“Sure,” continued Kewpie. “Well, I ought to stay, too, I guess, and get
a lot of practice in. Don’t you think so, Nod?”
“Why, I don’t know.” Laurie looked startled. The prospect of seven long
days with nothing to do but to catch Kewpie’s drops and curves seemed
decidedly lacking in attraction. There were moments when Laurie’s
determination wavered, and this was one of them. “I suppose it would be
a mighty good idea, though,” he added listlessly. Ned’s mouth trembled
in a smile.
“Absolutely corking, Kewpie,” he declared. “Of course, you ought to
stay. But what about your folks? Won’t they expect you home?”
Kewpie nodded. “But I wrote yesterday and told them that maybe I
wouldn’t be able to.”
“I’d like to have seen that letter,” chuckled Ned.
Kewpie grinned. “I just told them that I might have to stay here on
account of baseball practice,” he explained innocently.
“Of course,” agreed Ned gravely. “Well, you and Laurie can have a fine
old time during recess. No recitations to bother you or anything.”
“O Death, where is thy sting?” murmured Laurie.
“There is, though,” observed Ned, throwing his legs over the side of
the Morris chair and eyeing Laurie quizzically, “just one complication
that occurs to me. I’ve heard talk of the baseball team taking a
Southern trip during recess. In that case, Laurie, I suppose you’d go
along.”
“Honest?” exclaimed Kewpie anxiously. “I didn’t know that!”
“Nor any one else,” said Laurie, frowning. “Don’t you know yet when
Ned’s joshing?”
“Oh,” breathed Kewpie with immense relief. “I thought maybe――”
“A swell chance I’d have of going with the team if it did go,” said
Laurie. “I can’t play ball. I didn’t make a hit this afternoon.
Couldn’t even see the old pill! Guess I’ll quit and go in for――for
soccer or rowing.”
“Yes, rowing would be nice for you,” said Ned. “You’re so big and
strong! It’s a wonder to me they haven’t grabbed you for the boat
before this!”
“I’ll bet I could row as well as you, you old bluffer!”
“There goes the bell!” yelped Kewpie. “Gosh, I didn’t know it was so
late! S’long!” He collided with a chair and rushed out.
A week passed, a week of ideal weather. The days were mildly warm and
spring-like, and Polly’s possible snow didn’t develop. It showered
occasionally, usually at night, and never enough to interfere with
baseball practice. Tennis came into its own again, and Bob Starling was
torn between the desire to remain at home and speed the making of the
court behind the big house and the longing to go over to the school
field and engage in combat with his ancient rivals. The crews were
on the river daily. The education of Kewpie Proudtree as a baseball
pitcher continued. Laurie regained his batting eye in a measure
and talked no more of abandoning the diamond for the courts or the
four-oared shells. Ned borrowed three golf-clubs from as many different
acquaintances, bought a fourth, and accompanied Joe Stevenson, captain
of last autumn’s football’s eleven, around the links. Mr. Goupil, of
Sioux City, Iowa, continued to emulate the Sphinx, and Miss Comfort
was temporarily installed in one of the up-stairs rooms at the Widow
Deane’s, Polly sleeping in the room below.
This arrangement had come about as the result of an eleventh-hour hitch
in the program that was to have placed Miss Comfort in the poor-farm,
down the river about two miles. It turned out that gaining admission
to that institution was not such a simple matter as one might suppose.
There was a great deal of red tape to be untied, and the untying of it
occupied the energies of several of Orstead’s influential citizens.
There was no doubt that eventually Miss Comfort would reach that
haven, but meanwhile there ensued a delay that might last a week――a
fortnight――even longer. Bob Starling’s father, instigated by his
sister, who, since the death of Bob’s mother, had kept house for them,
offered very generous assistance of money. Other individuals had
sought to aid, as, too, had the congregation of the little church that
Miss Comfort attended. But all such offers had been gratefully and
firmly declined. Hospitality the little old lady would have accepted,
but charity in the form of money was, to her mind, something quite
different and most repugnant. So, until the last knot in the mass of
red tape had been untied, she was to remain as Mrs. Deane’s guest, an
arrangement that brought as much pleasure to the Widow and Polly as it
did to Miss Comfort.
Even Polly had now accepted the inevitable. That first search for a
modest habitation for the exile had been discouragingly unsuccessful,
as had a second and more half-hearted one, and the four sympathetic
young folks had finally agreed that the situation was beyond them. If
Polly was a wee bit disappointed in Laurie because of his failure to
find a solution of the problem――and I think she was――she doubtless
recognized the injustice of that emotion and concealed it. Laurie,
once satisfied that everything had been done that could be done,
philosophically banished the matter from his mind. Of course, he was
just as sorry as ever for Miss Comfort, but that didn’t keep him from
giving his full attention to matters of more personal interest, such as
trying to beat Elk Thurston out for the position of first substitute
catcher, and striving, sometimes hopelessly, to make Kewpie into a
pitcher. It is always so much easier to view another’s misfortunes with
philosophy than one’s own.
Hillman’s played two games during the week preceding the spring
vacation and won one of them. The second, with Lincolndale High School,
went to ten innings at 7 to 7 and was then called to allow the visitors
to catch a train. Laurie, to his oddly mingled relief and disgust,
saw action in neither of the contests. Elk Thurston took the place
of Cas Bennett, the regular catcher, for the last two innings in the
first encounter, but in the second game Cas worked through to the end.
Laurie had to acknowledge that Elk did pretty well that Wednesday as a
catcher――better, probably, than he could have done. Laurie’s modesty,
though, did not keep him from telling himself that, while he might have
performed less skillfully behind the plate than Elk had, he was mighty
sure he could have done better at the bat. The Orstead High School
pitcher, the third since the beginning of the game, had nothing on the
ball, was, in fact, scarcely more of a twirler than Kewpie Proudtree,
and yet Elk had swung ingloriously at the first three offerings and had
failed to so much as tickle one of them. “Bet you,” thought Laurie,
“I’d have _fouled_ one, anyhow!”
The Lincolndale game was on Friday, and the next day vacation began. By
noon the school was pretty well depopulated, although there remained a
scattering of unfortunate fellows who, like Ned and Laurie, lived too
far from Orstead to allow of a home visit, or who could not afford the
trip. Kewpie had reached a compromise with his parents. He was to go
home and remain until Tuesday morning. Then he was to return to school
and the demands of baseball. Ned was cynical after Kewpie’s departure.
“Bet you we won’t see Kewpie again until a week from to-morrow,” he
said to Laurie.
Laurie shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied, “but I have a hunch
that he will be back Tuesday. Kewpie’s taking this pretty seriously,
Ned, and he’s really trying mighty hard. Sometimes I think that if only
he wasn’t so outrageously like a dumpling he could do something at it!”