HANDSOME FRANK
The Saturday forenoon following their conversation regarding Frank
Foley found Joe and his chum leaning against the counter in Cummings
and Wright’s hardware store. Jack was purchasing a new sweater and Joe
was assisting at the task. Joe would have liked just such a garment
as Jack was choosing, himself, but the next division of profits was a
long way off and until that occurred he was bound to be in straitened
circumstances. Jack had virtually decided on a handsome brown sweater
with a broad band of blue across the chest and Tom Pollock, who had
momentarily absented himself to sell a “Junior League” ball to a
grammar school youth, returned to inquire:
“This one, Jack?”
Jack nodded doubtfully. “I guess so, Tom. It’s sort of heavy for
spring, but I suppose I’d better buy one that’ll be all right for next
fall, too.”
Tom agreed, adding: “The new uniforms will be along next week, I think.
They’re going to be the best ever. I’m getting them from a different
maker this year and he’s putting a lot better material into them.
You’ll need one, I suppose, Faulkner.”
Joe smiled “I’d like to think so,” he replied, “but I’m not counting on
it.”
“You might as well,” said Jack. “You’ll get in as a sub, anyway. Don’t
you say so, Tom?”
“I hope so. I haven’t seen Faulkner work, as a matter of fact, Jack.
Anyhow, with all due respect to Bat, I think it’s the outdoor work that
shows a chap up.”
“That’s what I say,” agreed Jack. “Fellows who can lay down the cutest,
darlingest little bunts on the cement floor swing like gates when they
get out on the turf and have the sky in front of them instead of the
wall of the cage. I’ve seen it happen often.”
“Still,” demurred Joe, “it seems to me all that work indoors must be of
some value. Don’t you consider it is, Pollock?”
“Oh, yes, I do. I think it’s fine for getting fellows in shape and on
edge, especially for the new chaps. What I mean is that when it comes
to actual playing the conditions out of doors are so different that a
fellow has to practically start all over again. At least that’s been
my experience. I’m talking of batting and fielding, you understand,
and not pitching. A pitcher can get his wing in shape anywhere there’s
room. Although, at that, I think working in the air is away ahead of
working down there with the steam pipes.”
“Do you think we’ll get out next week?” inquired Jack.
“Yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if we started Monday. Sam tells me the
field’s in pretty good shape; a bit soft in places, but nothing much.”
Tom chuckled as he snapped the string around the bundle and laid it in
front of Jack. “Mr. Hall told a funny yarn one day in here, fellows.
You don’t know him, maybe, Faulkner, but you will soon. He’s a dandy
chap, and a double-dyed ‘fan.’”
“I’ve seen him,” replied Joe. “He knows the right place to buy cigars.”
“Well, he told one day about a coach they had at college when he was
a freshman. I forget what college he went to; Sam could tell you.
But it seems that they had an awfully wet spring that year and the
diamond was on a rather low piece of ground, anyway, and it wouldn’t
dry out for them. So this coach got the idea of having the players
wear rubbers! Said it would be dangerous to have them work on such wet
ground without them because they might get rheumatism and sciatica and
grippe and various other things, and he didn’t intend to lose half his
team through illness just when it was needed most. So he sent in a
requisition to the athletic committee or whoever attended to purchasing
supplies――probably the manager――for three or four dozen pairs of
rubbers of assorted sizes. There was a lot of argument about the
expense and finally the coach got his dander up and bought the rubbers
himself, and one day the fellows put them on and went out for their
first practice on the field. The field was as soft as mush and whenever
you put your foot down it went out of sight as far as your shin-bones!
Mr. Hall said it was the funniest thing he ever saw. About every man in
college was out to see what they called the ‘Gumshoe Nine,’ and they
almost laughed themselves to death. Every time a fielder started after
a ball he’d leave one or both of his rubbers sticking in the mud and
have to go back and hunt for them. Mr. Hall said that at one time there
were three pairs of rubbers sticking out of the base-path between
second base and the plate where the runners had left them in their
hurry to get around! Finally the coach sent back to town and got a box
of elastic bands and made the fellows snap them around their ankles
over the rubbers. Practice went better after that, but there was almost
a riot once, when one chap, who had stolen second, went back to get his
rubbers and the second baseman tagged him out!”
The laughter of Tom’s audience was interrupted by the opening of the
door and the advent of Frank Foley. Handsome Frank quite deserved
the title this morning. For a day or two there had been unmistakable
indications of spring, and Foley had responded to them today by donning
a Norfolk suit of very light homespun material with knickerbockers, a
pair of very green golf stockings, and a cap that matched his suit. A
pale heliotrope “sport shirt” from under whose flaring collar emerged
a vividly green scarf completed the costume, except that he was,
naturally, appropriately shod with brown rubber-soled shoes. Even Tom
was a bit taken back by the radiance of the vision which sought the
athletic goods department, and his “Hello, Frank,” sounded rather
feeble. The other boys nodded, Jack adding a murmured salutation to
the nod. Foley returned the greetings with a remarkable absence of
self-consciousness and joined the group.
“What about a baseman’s glove, Tom?” he asked. “Anything new in that
line this spring?”
“No, nothing much different,” was the answer as Tom pulled some
boxes from a shelf. “You had one of these last year, didn’t you?”
he continued, placing a glove on the counter. Foley examined it
indifferently.
“Yes, that’s like the one I’ve got now. I thought maybe there was
something new on the market. How’s everything, Jack?”
“Pretty good, Frank. My eyes are troubling me a bit, though.”
“What’s the matter with them? They seemed all right at practice
yesterday.”
“I don’t know.” Jack gravely blinked. “They seem sort of weak. I guess
it’s the glare that hurts them, Frank. You couldn’t turn your coat
collar up, could you?”
“Oh, that’s the idea?” said Foley calmly. “Don’t you like what I wear,
Jack?”
“Oh, I like it, all right, but my eyes sort of go back on me. What are
you impersonating, Frank, a custard pie?”
“You chaps have a lot of fun with my clothes, don’t you?” inquired
Foley good-naturedly enough. “I don’t mind, though. I’d certainly
hate to go around looking like a tramp, the way some of you do.” Foley
seated himself on the counter, swinging his brightly-hued legs, and
viewed Jack smilingly. “Any come-back to that?” he inquired.
“There’s a come-back from me,” said Tom quietly. “Gentlemen will not,
others must not, sit on the counters, Frank.”
“Oh, all right; I’ll try to stand up a bit longer. I don’t believe
you’ve got anything there I want, Tom.” He glanced unenthusiastically
at the several gloves displayed. “I’ll use the one I’ve got. It went
all right last year and I guess it’s still good.”
“You won’t need a glove much this spring,” said the irrepressible Jack.
“They’re not worn on the bench, Frank.”
Foley winked untroubledly. “Don’t worry about me, old chap. I may not
be any McInnes, you know, but I never noticed much resemblance between
you and Tris Speaker. You watch out that you don’t keep that bench warm
yourself.”
“Frank, you know very well,” replied Jack severely, “that when it comes
to playing baseball I’ve got it all over you. You’re not a bad first
baseman when you’ve got time for it, but you know mighty well you
can’t bat over a hundred. I like you, Frank; I appreciate your many
fine qualities, and I just love your picturesqueness, but I don’t just
see you holding down that first sack beyond the middle of March. I’m
saying this to you so you won’t be too awfully disappointed when you
lose your job.”
“Thanks.” Foley laughed amusedly. “Just who is the coming wonder that
gets my position, Jack? Is it Faulkner here? Is he telling you how good
you are, Faulkner?”
“He’s just talking,” replied Joe uncomfortably.
“I’m not saying who it is, Frank,” said Jack. “There are two or three
who look good to me in your place. I’d be sorry to see you go, though.
I certainly do like you, Frank.”
“Yes, you do――like poison,” responded Foley with a grin. “Tell you what
I’ll do, Jack. I’ll bet you anything you like that I’ll play in more
games――contests with outside teams, I mean――than you do this spring.
Want to take that?”
“Ger-ladly, old sport! I’ll bet you”――Jack’s eyes twinkled about the
cases and shelves――“I’ll bet you one of those nice leather bat-cases,
Frank. I’ve always wanted a bat-case. How much are they, Tom?”
“A dollar and a quarter and two seventy-five.”
“I mean the all-leather ones.”
“Two seventy-five.”
“That’s the idea. How does that strike you, Frank? Feel like spending
that much to make me happy?”
“Yes, but I don’t happen to want a bat-case, thanks. Think of something
else.”
“Then I’ll buy you a couple of pairs of lavender gloves to wear to the
parties.”
“Quit fooling and say something. What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want that doesn’t cost more than the bat-bag?”
“I don’t know. Leave it that I’m to pick out anything I like up to that
amount, eh?”
“Certainly. Gentlemen, you’ve heard the terms of the wager. If, at the
end of the season, Frank has played in more games than I have he comes
in here and goes the limit――up to two dollars and three-quarters. If,
on the other hand――――”
“Why do I have to buy the thing here?” asked Frank.
“Because I want to see my friend Mr. Pollock make a little money. Tom
ought to get something out of it, Frank.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll find something I want, I guess.”
“As I was saying when so rudely interrupted,” resumed Jack, “if, on the
other hand, Frank plays in no more games than I do he comes across with
one of those perfectly beautiful and useless bat-bags which Tom prices
at two dollars and seventy-five cents and which you can get from the
mail-order house for a dollar sixty-nine.”
“You try it,” laughed Tom.
“I don’t need to. The cost doesn’t interest me a bit. Well, that is the
wager, gentlemen. May the best man win――so long as it’s me. Come on,
Joey. So long, Tom. Bye, Frank. By the way, which way are you going
from here?”
“You wait around and find out, old chap.”
“Won’t tell? Sorry. I wanted to stand on the corner and see you go by.”
“What did you do that for?” remonstrated Joe when they were on the
sidewalk again.
“Do what? Make that bet? Oh, just for fun. Besides, I’m pretty sure to
win it.”
“I didn’t mean the bet, you chump. I meant why did you rag him like
that? He thinks you meant that I’m the one who’s to beat him out at
first.”
“So you are,” answered Jack calmly. “As for why I did it, I did it
because I couldn’t help it, Joey. Frank gives me a severe pain every
time I meet him and I just can’t resist the temptation to have a little
fun with him.”
“He took it all right,” said Joe. “He’s good-natured, I guess.”
“You guess again,” said Jack grimly. “He’s good-natured when he knows
it would look silly to get mad, but he’s got a disposition like
a――a――What is it that has a disposition?”
“You!” laughed Joe. “You’ve got a nasty one at times.”
“Meaning just now? Was I specially rude, Joey? Maybe I was a bit nasty.
Well, never mind. You can’t really hurt Handsome Frank’s feelings. If
you could he’d be black-and-blue by this time!”
“Black and blue are the only things he wasn’t,” said Joe. “He was about
every other colour; buff and green and purple and lavender――――”
“Shucks! He was dressed real quietly today; almost unostentatiously, so
to speak! You ought to see him when he’s really dolled up! Now, look
here, Joey. If you don’t buckle down and play ball and beat him out of
his position at first I’ll never forgive you.”
“But, Jack, I can’t play first the way he can!”
“How do you know? You’ve never seen him play. Besides, you can out-hit
him. Leastways, if you can’t you ought to be ashamed. And it’s batting
that’s going to count this spring, old man. Petersburg has got a line
of good pitchers this year and Bat will be going on the policy that
hits mean runs. So you get your eye peeled, Joey, and win that bet for
me.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be much of a batter,” said Joe sadly.
“Poppycock and piffle! You can hit the merry sphere just as well as
anyone can if you’ll only tell yourself so. Look here, what you want to
do is to go out there and when the ball comes say to yourself, ‘It’s so
big I can’t miss it if I try! Why, it’s a cinch. _Bing!_ That for you,
Mr. Ball!’ Try it and see how well it will work.”
“You’re great on the psychology stuff, aren’t you?” laughed Joe.
“I don’t know the gentleman,” answered Jack serenely. “I only know that
no chap ever became a decent batsman by telling himself that he was no
good! Confidence, my friend, confidence! That’s the――er――the password,
no, the keynote, to success! Think it over. Now, let’s go in and see
how much money we’ve taken in this morning. Ah, as usual, Young has his
Roman mob around the place. If he doesn’t make those loafers stay away
we’ll get notice to quit, I’m thinking.”