FOLEY IS WORRIED
The next day Joe found himself playing third base. Gordon Smith was
changed from shortstop to second and George Peddie was at short. But
this arrangement lasted only a few innings. Peddie was out of place at
short and Joe was equally miscast as third baseman. Then Steve Hale
was put in at short and Joe and Frank Foley were instructed to change
places. The game with the Scrubs was finished with that arrangement of
the infield, and, while it produced better results than any previous
combination, still it was far from perfect. After all, Hale was a third
baseman first, last, and all the time, and Foley was not fast enough
to fill his shoes. Joe secretly hoped that the arrangement would last,
for he was in possession of his coveted position at first, and, in
order that it might, he played the very best he knew how that afternoon
and won applause more than once. Now that there were no wild pegs from
Buster Healey to be stopped the position was far easier.
But the next day Foley was back at first in practice and Hale was
once more cavorting around third. Gordon Smith was reinstated to his
old position at short and the task of covering the middle bag fell to
George Peddie. That, of course, put Joe once more on the bench, and
once more Joe gave way to discouragement and Jack about made up his
mind to lose that wager. But neither Coach Talbot nor Captain Craig was
satisfied with a line-up that left out the hitting possibilities of
Joe Faulkner, and when the two teams had battled through four innings
Foley was taken out and again Joe went to first. By now the school in
general, or as much of it as followed the fortunes of the baseball
club, was watching the struggle for first base position with much
interest. It seemed as though Coach Talbot had decided to give the two
contestants equal chances and let them decide the matter themselves!
Every day Joe and Frank Foley divided the position. It is not to be
denied that Foley was still a more brilliant first baseman than his
rival. Foley had a long reach that helped him considerably, had more
experience, and was, in fact, a first-class man for the position. It
was at the bat that he was forced to play second fiddle. Joe could
outhit him two to one. Not only that, but on bases Foley was awkward
and slow. He had a positive genius for being caught off the bags, and
his attempts to slide were sad failures. Each of the boys had his
following amongst the “fans” and whether Faulkner or Foley was to play
first base in the Petersburg game became a question that was hotly
argued.
Foley had at last realised that, contrary to his early season
conviction, he did not hold the position securely; that if he meant
to retain it he had to play his hardest and, if possible, improve his
batting. It was something of a blow to Foley’s self-conceit, for last
year he had faced no real rival and had come to look on the place as
his. He was no “quitter,” and he made a hard fight of it. He tried his
level best to increase his batting average, but without much success.
He had heretofore considered that it was enough to field his position
and leave the hitting to others, and now he discovered that batting was
not a trick to be learned in a few short weeks.
Amesville played every Saturday save one until the middle of May,
reaching that period with a showing of seven wins, three defeats, and
one tie. The missed game was with Curtis School, rain prohibiting.
Of the regular schedule of seventeen games nine remained, and after
the middle of the month Wednesday afternoon contests began. The
“Millers” secured their return game, coming to Amesville on less than
a day’s notice when Arkwright High School announced its inability to
fill her date. The “Millers” were again beaten, 9 to 3, Tom Pollock
pitching most of the game for the home team. Joe played five of the
nine innings at first, getting six put-outs, an assist, and no errors
as his share, thereby bettering Foley’s record for one less inning by
two put-outs and an assist. At bat Joe had a gala day, being up three
times and securing as many hits. Foley, as usual, failed to come across
with anything. It was after that Wednesday contest that Joe’s stock
arose appreciably and Jack got Tom Pollock to put that bat-case on
the counter for him to examine! Perhaps, however, that game with the
“Millers” was mainly notable for bringing into prominence young Peddie.
Peddie, now regularly established at second, performed in a way that
was little short of marvellous, taking part in two doubles and working
with Smith even more smoothly than Buster Healey had ever done. He also
secured a timely hit to add to his laurels. George Peddie, in short,
was the hero of that encounter.
The weather settled down to warm days that made playing a delight and
that brought out the best in everyone. High School’s batting improved
remarkably during the last two weeks in May, and the pitchers began
to come into their own. Toby Williams showed more improvement than
either of the others, but was still far from being the pitcher that Tom
Pollock was. Carl Moran went through six or seven innings occasionally
without misadventure, but was not yet equal to twirling a full game.
Behind the bat Sam Craig was still the same reliable, heady player as
ever, while Jack Speyer was rapidly getting experience as a substitute.
Amesville had a fine outfield in Sidney Morris, Jack Strobe, and Walter
Cummings. Sidney and Jack were especially clever players, with Cummings
promising to be quite as good with more experience. On the whole,
the school looked forward to the Petersburg game on the twenty-first
of June with more confidence than usual. Petersburg had won a scant
majority of the annual contests to date and was always considered
dangerous. But this year, with a fast, smoothly-working infield, two
first-class pitchers, and an outfield of proved excellence, Amesville
considered that she was more than the equal of her old rival. Someone,
however, has said that baseball is two-thirds skill and one-third
luck, and that one-third has often upset the wisest calculations.
So far Jack and Frank Foley were nip-and-tuck in their race. Neither
had missed a game. Jack tried to say that since Foley scarcely ever
played an entire contest through he was already defeated, but Handsome
Frank――more handsome than ever now that Summer was at hand, with its
better opportunities for sartorial display――reminded his rival of the
terms of the wager. “I said I’d play in more games with outside teams
than you would. I don’t have to play a game through from start to
finish.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t, then,” laughed Jack. “If you did I’d be
carrying my bat around in that nice leather case right now! All right,
old chap. Go to it. But you’ll have hard work stealing a game on me!”
“Oh, I don’t know. You might break something or have measles, Jack. I
hear there’s lots of measles around town.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve had ’em.”
“I know, but some folks have them two or three times.” Foley grinned
exasperatingly. “Haven’t you got a sort of rash on your forehead there
now?”
“No, I haven’t! That’s sunburn, you idiot!”
“Well, take care of yourself, Jack. You never can tell what’s going to
happen.”
Foley sauntered away, a picturesque figure in immaculate blue serge
and a pale yellow shirt, and Jack watched his departure with mingled
sentiments of admiration and contempt. “Of all the high-faluting
dudes,” muttered Jack, “he’s the high-falutingest! Did you see that
brown straw hat, Chester, with the pleated silk scarf around it? Say,
he’s gone you one better, hasn’t he?”
The encounter had taken place in the lobby of the Adams Building on a
Saturday morning. Foley and Mr. Chester Young, doubtless drawn together
by their mutual fondness for startling attire, had become very good
friends, and Foley was quite frequently to be found at the news-stand.
Mr. Chester Young, flicking the ashes from his cigarette, smiled
untroubledly.
“Old stuff,” he said. “They were wearing those in the East last Summer.
The latest straws are higher and just off the straw-colour. I’ve got
one on the way. You have to send to Chicago for them.”
Joe, who was taking stock of the cigars on hand, smiled and winked at
his partner. “Oh, those are too cheap for Foley,” he said carelessly.
“Cheap!” exclaimed Young. “Oh, yes, they’re cheap like anything! Ten
dollars is what they stand you, Faulkner.”
“For one?” gasped Jack.
“Well, you didn’t think it was for a dozen, did you?” asked Young
pityingly. “That lid Foley’s sporting cost about six. He thinks he’s a
pretty swell little dresser, Foley does. Well, he ain’t so bad, only he
just sort of misses it about every crack he makes. See his socks? Dark
blue they were. They ain’t wearing colours this season.”
[Illustration: “He thinks he’s a pretty swell little dresser, Foley
does”]
“They’re not? Help!” Jack regarded his own brown stockings in dismay.
“I’ve got to go home and change, Joe. Honest, this thing of keeping up
with the styles is killing, isn’t it?”
“It don’t trouble you much,” said Mr. Chester Young indulgently. “If it
did you’d call in that collar you’re wearing.”
“What’s the matter with my collar?”
“Nothing, only they don’t wear ’em like that now.” Young put a hand to
his throat and pulled his terra-cotta silk scarf into place. “More like
this.”
“Oh, I see,” said Jack. “Sort of low and rakish, eh? All right. Live
and learn. Say, Joe, that thing you’re wearing is worse than mine. I
should think you’d be ashamed of yourself!”
“I’d be ashamed to be seen in one like his,” answered Joe. “Get Meyers
and Fink and tell them to send us a hundred Adams Building conchas and
two boxes of Vistas panatellas, will you? Don’t forget to give these
returns to the news company, Young, when they come today. I’ve been
falling over them for two or three days.”
“We’re out of City Hall post-cards,” said Young. “And we’re getting
short on some of the others.”
“They’re on order, thanks. That reminds me, Jack. Those chocolates
aren’t as good as they sent us first. Guess we’d better switch back to
the Cleveland folks. Their packages aren’t quite as dressy, but the
chocolates are a lot better.”
“There was a fellow in here just before you came,” observed Young,
“trying to sell us candy. I told him to come back later. He had some
new stuff, all right; glazed boxes with crimson ribbons across ’em.
Pretty good-looking line, I thought.”
“Tell him we don’t want anything when he comes again. How are you off
for magazines there, Young?”
“Pretty fair. We’ve sold about twenty of those Murray’s. Ought to
order more, I guess.”
“All right. How many are there there?”
“Four――no, five. They’ll sell today, I guess. And we’re short of
Mid-Wests. Only two of those here.”
“I’ll order twenty more Murray’s and ten Mid-Wests.” Joe reached for
the telephone with one hand and searched for a nickel with the other.
“The telephone company is after Mr. Adams to put in a couple of booths
here, Jack. If he lets them do it it’ll make this ’phone cost us money.
Hello! Amesville 430! As it is we’re making about seven dollars a month
on this thing. Hello? News company? This is Adams Building. Send around
twenty Murray’s Monthlies and ten Mid-Wests this noon, will you? I beg
your pardon? No, that’s all. Murray’s and――Yes, I think you’d better.
Make it fifty Murray’s and twenty-five Mid-Wests after this. Good-bye.”
Joe hung up the receiver and put the instrument back in place, and when
Mr. Chester Young had served a customer, remarked:
“By the way, Young, you don’t seem to be keeping that gang of yours out
of here much better. Yesterday there were six or seven hanging around.
We’ve spoken two or three times about it, you know. We don’t want this
to become a loafing place. Mr. Adams doesn’t like it, and we don’t,
either.”
“Well, you can’t turn away custom, can you? Those guys spend their
money with you, don’t they?”
“Not a great deal, I guess,” replied Joe drily. “Anyhow, they don’t pay
rent for this lobby, Young. Keep them moving, please.”
“All right. But you’d better hire a ‘bouncer,’ Faulkner. I don’t get
paid for insulting my friends.”
“You tell your friends to come and see you somewhere else,” replied Joe
tartly. “This place looks like a hog-wallow after that crowd has been
standing around a while.”
“Meaning my friends are hogs, eh?” Mr. Chester Young laughed, but not
with amusement.
“If they’re friends of yours, Chester,” said Jack, “you’d better shake
them. They’re a cheap lot of corner loafers. They used to hang out
around Foster’s until they got on to the fact that they could come in
here and keep warm. We don’t want them. Get that?”
“Sure! After this as soon as a customer gets his change I’ll duck out
from here and throw him through the door! That’s fine!”
“Don’t talk sick,” said Jack shortly. “You know what we mean. If you
don’t encourage them by talking with them they’ll go along, I guess. We
don’t want Mr. Adams putting us out of here, you know.”
Mr. Chester Young forebore to reply, but there was a world of eloquence
in the way in which he puffed his cigarette and winked at the elevator
attendant across the lobby.
Later, when the chums were on their way to the field for the game with
Morristown High School, they reverted to Mr. Chester Young. “What do
you know about his paying ten dollars for a straw hat?” demanded Jack.
“He’s probably adding about five to the price,” said Joe. “Where would
he get that much to pay for a hat? He certainly can’t do it on the
wages we’re paying him.”
“You said he was having things charged, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but he told us he was getting the hat from Chicago.”
“Having Keller send for it, I dare say. Keller’s is the place he buys
hats, because I saw him in there one day looking at some. The first
thing we know, Joey, the sheriff or someone will be descending on us
and taking away the stand!”
“They can’t do that. We’re not responsible for his debts, thank
goodness! What is pretty certain is that he must be getting near the
end of his rope. We’ll have to be looking for a new clerk pretty soon,
I guess.”
“If he will hang out until school is over we won’t have to have one.
You can take the stand half the day and I can take it the other half.”
“Yes, but that won’t be for nearly a month, and I don’t believe Mr.
Chester Young will last that long.”
“He will probably light out some fine day,” said Jack pessimistically,
“with the cash-register under one arm and the showcase under the other.
I try awfully hard to believe him a fine, honest youth, Joey, but I
never can quite do it!”