EAGER HEARTS
"The battery for Yale will be Weston and Kendall, and for Cornell----"
But the last announcement was given no heed by the supporters of the
blue--at least by the players themselves, the substitutes, and Joe
Matson in particular. A murmur went around.
"Weston! Weston's going to pitch!"
"After the work Baseball Joe's done too!"
"Why, Weston isn't in form."
"Oh, he's practiced hard lately."
"Yes, and he was doing some hot warming-up work a little while ago. I
guess they'll pitch him all right."
"He must have put up a kick, and Hasbrook gave in to him."
"It looks so, and yet Horsehide generally doesn't play a man unless he
can make good. That's Yale's way."
These were only a few of the comments that were being heard on all
sides. The Yale team looked somewhat amazed, and then, lest their
enemies find out that they feared they had a weak spot, they braced up,
smiled and acted as if it was a matter of course. And, as far as Cornell
was concerned, they knew that there was rivalry between Weston and Joe,
but as a pitcher is an uncertain quantity at best, they were not
surprised that the 'varsity twirler whom they had faced the season
before should again occupy the mound. It might be a part of the game to
save Matson until later.
"Tough luck, Joe," said Spike, as he passed his friend.
"Yes--Oh, I don't know! I hadn't any right to expect to pitch!"
Joe tried to be brave about it, but there was a sore feeling in his
heart. He had hoped to go into the game.
"Sure you had a right to expect it!" declared Spike. "You're the logical
pitcher. There's been some funny work going on, I'm sure. Weston has
pulled off something."
"Be careful, Spike."
"Oh, I'm sure of it. Why, look at Horsehide's face!"
Joe glanced at the head coach. Indeed the countenance of Mr. Hasbrook
presented a study. He seemed puzzled as he turned away from a somewhat
spirited conversation with Mr. Benson. For an instant his eyes met those
of Joe, and the young pitcher thought he read in them pity, and yet a
trace of doubt.
"I wonder if he has lost confidence in me?" thought Joe. "I wonder if he
thinks I can't pitch in a big game?"
Yet he knew in his own heart that he had not gone back--he was sure he
could pitch better than he ever had before. The days at Yale, playing
with young men who were well-nigh professionals, had given him
confidence he had not possessed before, and he realized that he was
developing good control of the ball, as well as speed and curves.
"I wonder why he didn't pitch me?" mused Joe.
"Play ball!" called the umpire, and the hearts of all were eager for the
battle of stick and horsehide to begin. Cornell went to the bat first,
and Weston faced his man. There was a smile of confidence on the
pitcher's face, as he wound up, and delivered a few practice balls to
Kendall. Then he nodded as if satisfied, and the batter stepped up to
the plate.
"Strike!" called the umpire, at the first delivery, and there was a
murmur of amazement. The batter himself looked a bit confused, but made
no comment. The ball had gone cleanly over the plate, though it looked
as if it was going to shoot wide, and the player had thought to let it
pass. Weston smiled more confidently.
He was hit for a foul, but after getting three and two he struck the
batter out, and there was a round of applause.
"I couldn't have done it any better myself," said Joe, with honest
praise for his rival.
"Wait," advised Spike. "Weston's got to last over eight more innings to
make good, and he'll never do it."
But when he struck out the next man, and the third had retired on a
little pop fly, Yale began to rise in her might and sing the beginning
of a song of victory.
"Oh, we've got the goods!" her sons yelled.
"How's that for pitching?" demanded someone.
Joe joined in the cheer that was called for Weston, but his heart was
still sore, for he felt that those cheers might have been for him. But
he was game, and smiled bravely.
Yale managed to get one run during the last half of the first inning,
and once more the sons of Eli arose and sent forth a storm of cheers,
songs and college cries.
"Go back home, Cornell!" they screamed.
But the Cornell host smiled grimly. They were fighters from start to
finish.
Joe noticed that Weston did not seem quite so confident when he came to
the mound the second time. There was an exchange of signals between him
and the catcher, and Weston seemed to be refusing to do what was wanted.
After getting three and two on his man, the batter sent out a high one
that the left fielder was unable to connect with, and the runner reached
second.
"Never mind, play for the next one," advised Kendall, and though the
runner stole third, Weston pitched the second man out. Then, whether it
was nervousness or natural inability cropping out at the wrong time, was
not known, but the pitcher "went up in the air."
With only one out, and a man on third, he began to be hit for disastrous
results. He made wild throws, and the whole team became so demoralized
that costly errors were made. The result was that Cornell had four runs
when the streak was stopped.
"We've got to do better than this," declared the head coach, as the Yale
men came in to bat. "Rap out a few heavy ones. Show 'em what Yale can do
in a pinch."
They tried, but Cornell was fighting mad now, with the scent of victory
to urge her players on. The best Yale could do was two, leaving their
opponents one ahead at the beginning of the third.
And then Weston went to pieces more than ever, though in the interval
his arm had been rubbed and treated by the trainer. He had complained
that it was stiff.
I shall not give all the details of that game. Yale wanted to forget it
after it was over. But when, at the ending of the fifth inning, the
score stood eight to four in favor of Cornell there was a quick
consultation among the coaches. What was said could not be heard, but
Mr. Hasbrook seemed to be insisting on something to which the other two
would not agree. Finally Horsehide threw up his hands in a gesture of
despair.
"Avondale, take the mound!" he exclaimed.
"Avondale!" gasped the players. The scrub pitcher to go in and Joe, who
was his master, kept on the bench? It was incredible.
"Well, what do you know about that?" demanded Spike. "I've a good notion
to----"
"Be quiet!" begged Joe. "They know what they're doing."
But it seems they did not, for Avondale was worse by far than Weston had
been. He was hit unmercifully, and three more runs came in. But he had
to stick it out, and when the miserable inning for Yale ended he went
dejectedly to the bench.
Weston, who had been having his arm rubbed again, and who had been
practicing with a spare catcher, looked hopeful. But this time,
following another conference of coaches, Mr. Hasbrook evidently had his
way. Fairly running over to where Joe sat the head coach exclaimed:
"Quick--get out there and warm up. You'll pitch the rest of the game.
It's a forlorn hope, but we'll take it!"
Joe's face shone as he ripped off his sweater, grabbed up a ball and his
mitt, and started for the practice stretch. His heart was in a tumult,
but he calmed himself and began his work.
But it was too much to expect to pull the contest out of the fire by
such desperate and late-day methods. In the part of the game he pitched
Joe allowed but one hit, and with howls of delight his friends watched
him mow down the Cornell batters. Not another run came in, but the lead
of the visitors was too big, and Yale could not overcome it, though her
sons did nobly, rising to the support of Joe in great style.
"Well, it's over," remarked Spike gleefully as he caught Joe's arm at
the close of the contest.
"You seem glad that Yale lost," said the pitcher.
"Never! But I'm glad you showed 'em what you could do when you had the
chance. If you'd gone in first Yale would have won!"
"Oh, you think so--do you?" sneered a voice behind them. They turned
quickly, to see Ford Weston, scowling with rage.
"Yes, I do," declared Spike boldly.
"Then you've got another think coming!" was the retort. "I'm the
'varsity pitcher, and I'm going to hold on to the job!"