GOULD IS SET DOWN
But Jeff never made the suggestion to Hoffman and the other Sophomore
friends he knew intimately, first of all because he thought it was a
rather delicate matter to handle without considerable deliberation.
And by the time he got through deliberating he discovered that the
prediction that was made by Rabbit Warren was in a fair way toward
being fulfilled. Birdie Pell and Gould were chumming together again,
and Birdie was apparently developing into just as much of a nuisance
because of his freshness as he had been before his accident in the
swimming pool.
Birdie had hardly been definitely discharged from the infirmary before
Jeff discovered him one evening strolling with Gould toward the shadows
of the gymnasium building around which they disappeared. Jeff knew as
well as if he had been told that the two of them were on their way
toward the back road that led across the Wading River bridge to the
woods on the far side which was out of bounds and so much out of the
way that they could plan to do almost anything and not be detected.
They were going to the woods to sneak a smoke. They were up to their
old ways again and Jeff watched them in disgust. Anything that one had
to sneak out of bounds to do was hardly worth doing to Jeff’s way of
thinking.
“By Jove, I believe Rabbit was right. Birds of a feather do flock
together. It looks as if they were both tarred with the same stick. And
Gould is the worst of the two because he is older and should have more
sense. He is leading that kid into trouble and I’m afraid Pell hasn’t
the backbone to say no to anything.”
Jeff was thoroughly disgusted with both of them after that and gave the
redemption of Pell very little thought. He had too many other things to
occupy his mind.
Spring was coming on with a rush. The first of May arrived with all
the balminess that that delightful month can bring. The majestic old
elms and maples on the campus were a brilliant green now with lush
young leaves, the ivy that sprawled over the brick walls of the school
buildings was colorful with new leaves and bright green tentacles that
were reaching out for new places into which to hook their tiny fingers.
All of the birds were back now, even the sputtering wrens that nested
in the bird boxes that the students of another generation had erected
around the school grounds, and tiny warblers of all descriptions were
whisking from one tree to another diligently seeking worms and worm
eggs and thus clearing the fine old trees of any breeding summer pests
that might destroy them. It was great to be alive such days.
It was baseball weather, too; baseball weather of just the right sort
and all of Jeff’s otherwise unoccupied time was devoted to thoughts of
the game and his efforts to develop himself into a permanent member
of the first team. He had not missed a single day’s practice since
the call for baseball candidates had been issued, and he had devoted
himself conscientiously to the work of rounding into excellent physical
shape and his best playing form.
And his efforts had not been without recognition either, for Coach Rice
and Mr. Clarkson had been watching him with critical eye ever since he
had been a member of the squad, and they had both gone to great pains
to help him in his efforts, giving him suggestions and pointing out
minor faults in his form which when corrected went a long way toward
making him a better all around player.
Since the first game of the season with Erasmus Hall he had been
accepted as one of the regular substitutes for the big team, and
every Wednesday and every Saturday thereafter his name appeared on
the bulletin board with those called out for the game. Indeed, by
the end of the second week in May he had played in three games, once
substituting for Mickey Daily on second base for an entire game, when
that sturdy little streak of lightning had to go to the infirmary with
a slight case of tonsilitis, and twice being put into the game for
Gould at third base when Mr. Rice felt that perhaps the team would work
better with the substitution than with the regular player.
Of course, Gould was none too pleased with these changes that kept him
out of the batting order and he made manifest his disagreeableness in
various ways much to the disgust of Jeff and the rest of the members
of the team who were not at all partial to having him in the game. But
it was a notable fact that the next game following the games in which
Jeff had played, Gould put up a much better exhibition of baseball. He
seemed to have it in him to play harder, as if he meant to show Mr.
Rice and the rest just what he could do when he tried. Jeff noticed
this with the rest of the fellows of the team, and the coach as well,
and he came to the same conclusion as the rest of them did; that Gould
was not giving his best to the team only when he had to.
If there was anything that made the head coach angry it was just that
fault in a player. His instructions always were, “Play it hard, no
matter how easy the game. Play everything hard.” And when he found
a player softening up on his play, or trying grand stand stuff, or
showing off in any way he was the first to call that player down.
That is what he did with Gould after the Fayville High School game. As
the Sophomore was getting dressed in the locker room the coach sent a
boy downstairs to tell him that he wanted him to report to his office.
Gould reported on his way out of the building and the coach treated the
third baseman to one of the severest lectures that he had delivered
to any boy and Gould in humiliation became very surly and ugly, and
answered back in a manner that was decidedly disrespectful.
“Look here, Gould,” said the coach, concluding the grilling he was
giving the Sophomore. “You are a fair baseball player when you want to
try. But it isn’t very often you want to try, it seems to me. I’m about
sick of it. I think you are not putting enough of yourself into the
game. You are not giving enough of yourself to the team. You are just
giving enough to slide by and that isn’t what I want. I want a fellow
to play hard all the time. Play everything hard. You know that as well
as I do. Let me see your hands.”
Gould wonderingly held out his hands. Mr. Rice looked at them closely.
“Hum, just as I thought. Trying to slide by. Giving some of your
physical resources to smoking, eh? Oh, don’t try to deny it. I’ve
suspected it for a long time and now I’m convinced. That’s nicotine
on your fingers, isn’t it? You are one of those chaps who sneak out of
bounds every night after supper and steal a smoke or two. Gould, you
can’t match baseball against cigarettes. Every time you smoke you give
just so much of your physical energy and resource to tobacco and you
have just that much less to give to the team. You have doubtless hurt
your wind and your heart by smoking. You have slowed up your brain
just a little. Your eyes are a little duller. The coördination of your
muscles isn’t quite so keen as it should be. You are lazy and willing
to let down except when you have to exert yourself, and the exertion
costs you just a little bit more than it does a boy who doesn’t smoke.
I knew I’d find the answer to it all in cigarettes, or late nights
or both. I’ve watched too many boys these years past to let you put
anything like that over on me. I am sorry it has come to this, Gould,
but until you can give me one hundred per cent of yourself, until you
can give the team and the school all your interest and not divide it
with cigarettes and pleasures, you will have to go back in the line of
substitutes and give your position to a fellow who is willing to play
hard and work hard, and give all his interest to the school, the team
and to me.”
Gould was sullenly silent for several minutes after the head coach had
stopped talking. Then he moistened his lips and spoke:
“Look here, Mr. Rice, you are accusing me of something that you are
not certain of. Those yellow stains on my fingers may not be nicotine.
Suppose I said it was iodine; that I hurt my finger in practice
yesterday. What about that?”
“Why, if you told me that, Gould, and looked me in the eyes as you
told me, perhaps I would believe you. But that wouldn’t make me change
my opinion that you have not given everything you have to the team
except when you had to. And I’m sick of such tactics. From now on you
will have to fight for your place in the sun; your place on the team.
You’ll have to give everything you have to the team or you will not
be in the batting order very frequently. Saturday I am going to keep
you on the bench and put Thatcher in for the whole game. And until you
can convince me that you have taken baseball seriously and that you
will play hard all the time I am going to keep him in the line up.
Understand? That’s all, Gould.”
That was Wednesday afternoon. Thursday morning the team was posted
for the next game, which was the first out-of-town game of the season
and Jeff, as he entered the gym., that afternoon, was surprised to be
greeted by Wade Grenville who had a broad smile on his face.
“Put her there, Old Hickey. You’ve made it at last.”
“Made what? What’s happened? What do you mean?” exclaimed Jeff, totally
surprised.
“Why the regular team, you ninny. You are slated to start the game at
third Saturday over at East Hampton. Look. There it is on the board.
See.”
Jeff looked at the bulletin and was surprised to discover that in the
batting order announced, his name appeared in the place of Gould at
third base and Gould’s name was among the list of substitutes.
“Well, by jingoes!” exclaimed Jeff jubilantly. “What’s happened?”
“Happened, you old chump? Why, Coach Rice has recognized your superior
brand of baseball. That’s what. He’s tied a can to Gould which most of
the fellows think he should have done long ago.”
“But Gould is good, Wade. There must be something behind it all. I
wonder――”
“Hello, Thatcher,” said Mr. Rice, coming up behind the group of boys.
“I’m going to give Gould a rest. He seems a little stale so I’m going
to keep him on the bench to-morrow and let you start the game. It all
depends, of course, on how you play, whether you finish it or not. Play
hard, my boy. Play it hard every step of the way. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rice,” he said with enthusiasm. Then as the coach
passed on up the hall he turned to Wade and exclaimed:
“Oh, boy, it sure looks like a chance. Play hard! Will I! Watch
me! I’ve simply got to make good. I want a chance to play in that
Lawrencetown game and win my P.”