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DOUBLE PLAY
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
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The Book of School and College Sports. $1.75 net.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “The next moment saw a lad ... leap high into the air in
the path of the speeding ball.”]
DOUBLE PLAY
A STORY OF SCHOOL AND BASEBALL
_By_
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF “THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL,” “THE
HALF-BACK,” “WEATHERBY’S INNING,”
“FORWARD PASS,” ETC., ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1909
Copyright, 1909, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published September, 1909_
TO
D. M.
FROM
O. L. R.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. BACK TO SCHOOL 1
II. IN 7 DUDLEY 10
III. DAN BEGINS RIGHT 20
IV. GERALD IN GRIEF 29
V. ALF TAKES A PUPIL 45
VI. A VISIT TO NEW YORK 55
VII. THE SNOW BATTLE 65
VIII. GERALD REVOLTS 78
IX. GERALD LEAVES SCHOOL 88
X. A VISIT FROM KILTS 103
XI. HOCKEY AT BROADWOOD 120
XII. YARDLEY GETS REVENGE 136
XIII. WORK IN THE CAGE 145
XIV. POLITICS AND CHESS 159
XV. THE LISTS ARE POSTED 176
XVI. GERALD MAKES A BARGAIN 185
XVII. THE CLASS GAMES 201
XVIII. FUN AT THE CIRCUS 217
XIX. WHAT PELL SCHOOL DID 230
XX. THE SLUMP 241
XXI. DROWNED! 250
XXII. THE RESCUE 260
XXIII. THE LAST PRACTICE 271
XXIV. ON YARDLEY HILL 285
XXV. THREE TO THREE 291
XXVI. DOUBLE PLAY 304
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
“The next moment saw a lad ... leap high into the
air in the path of the speeding ball” _Frontispiece_
“It was a fine ‘rough house’ while it lasted” 40
“‘He’s going back with me on the five o’clock train’” 98
“‘Have you fellows heard the news?’ he cried” 258
DOUBLE PLAY
CHAPTER I
BACK TO SCHOOL
Dan Vinton returned to Yardley after the Christmas vacation on an
afternoon of one of those bright, warm days which sometimes happen
along in the middle of Winter. As the train rumbled over the bridge,
Dan caught a fleeting glimpse of Long Island Sound sparkling in the
sunlight and pricked out here and there with a white sail. On his way
up the winding road to the school--he had the station carriage to
himself save for the unobtrusive presence of a homesick Preparatory
Class boy--he saw clean russet meadows aglow in the mellow light,
and, farther inland and across the little river, Meeker’s Marsh a
broad expanse of reeds and grass and rushes shading from green-gold to
coppery red. So far, although it was the third of January, there had
been no snow storm worthy of the name in the vicinity of Wissining,
and, save that the trees were bare of leaves, one might have thought
himself in Autumn. It was as though a careless, laughing October day
had lost its place in the procession and now, after a two months’
truancy, had squirmed and crowded itself back into line again. Dan cast
a glance toward the athletic field, half expecting to see the brown
footballs hurtling up against the sky.
The carriage skirted The Prospect and began the steep ascent which ends
with the plateau on which the school buildings stand. A freight train
rumbled by through the cut a few rods below and Dan watched the white
steam as it wreathed upward until a movement by the boy in the farther
corner of the carriage drew his attention. The lad was digging a
gloved knuckle into his eye, his head averted in an effort to hide the
threatening tears. Dan smiled. But the next moment, as he recalled how
near to tears he had himself been on more than one occasion only some
four months previous, the smile disappeared and he leaned forward.
“Well, kid, glad to get back?” he asked kindly.
The lad--he looked to be no more than twelve years of age--turned and
glanced at the questioner shyly, bravely trying to summon a smile as he
shook his head.
“Oh, well, you will be in a day or two,” responded Dan heartily.
“What’s your name?”
“Merrow, sir.”
“Well, buck up, Merrow; and never mind the ‘sir.’ I dare say you chaps
are pretty comfortable in Merle, aren’t you?”
“Yes, s--, yes, Mr. Vinton.”
“Oh, so you know me, do you?” laughed Dan. The boy nodded and smiled
bashfully.
“I guess every fellow knows you,” he murmured.
“Well, don’t call me Mister, please. Where do you live when you’re at
home?”
“Germantown, Pennsylvania, s--, I mean--”
“Well, that isn’t very far away, is it?” asked Dan cheerfully.
“N--no, not so very,” replied the other doubtfully.
“I should say not. I dare say you left home only three or four hours
ago, eh?”
“Twelve o’clock.”
“Well, I started yesterday afternoon,” said Dan. “I had to come all the
way from Ohio. That beats you, doesn’t it?”
The younger boy nodded. Then:
“We have a fellow in our house who comes from California,” he announced
proudly.
“And that beats me,” laughed Dan. “Well, here we are.” He took up his
bag and clambered out. “Come over and see me this evening, Merrow, if
you get too lonesome; 28 Clarke’s my room. Cheer up.”
He left his bag on the steps of Oxford while he sought the office to
register.
“Back early,” said Mr. Forisher, the secretary.
“Yes, sir,” answered Dan. “We’ve got some dandy snow out our way and I
thought I’d better start early in case the trains got tied up. Not many
fellows back yet, are there?”
“Only a few. The next train will bring most of them. Nice weather we’re
having.”
Dan agreed that it was and turned toward the door. But:
“By the way, Vinton,” said the secretary, “you have a new roommate with
you this term, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, Gerald Pennimore.”
“Exactly. Well--er--we want to make young Pennimore’s stay with
us as pleasant as possible, Vinton, and so--anything you can do
to--er--smooth the way for him will be--er--appreciated at the Office.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going to try and look out for him, sir.”
“That’s right. I suppose he will be along pretty soon.”
“He and his father are coming on the six o’clock, sir. I had a letter
from him a couple of days ago.”
“Ah, that reminds me, Vinton! Mr. Collins left word that you were to
join Mr. Pennimore and his son at the Doctor’s table this evening. He
thought that would make it pleasant for the boy.”
Dan smiled as he closed the Office door behind him.
“It pays to be a millionaire,” he thought. “I rather wish, though, for
Gerald’s sake, that his father wasn’t coming along. The sooner the
fellows forget that Gerald’s John T’s son the better it’s going to be
for Gerald.”
He rescued his bag and made his way to Clarke Hall where he climbed two
flights of well-worn stairs and let himself into a corner room on the
front of the building. There he sat down his bag, threw off his hat
and coat and, crossing to the windows, sent them screeching upward.
The sun had passed from the front of the building but a thin shaft of
amber light entered the side window and fell upon the bare top of the
chiffonier nearby. Dan thrust his hands into his pockets and looked
about him. Then he shook his head.
“It’s going to be funny here at first without Tubby,” he muttered.
“Tubby wasn’t what you’d call an ideal roommate, but I was sort of
getting used to him. I suppose a fellow misses even a boil if he has it
long enough!”
Twenty-eight Clarke was a large room, well lighted and airy. It was
comfortably if plainly furnished. Each side of the room held its bed,
chiffonier, washstand and chair. An ingrain carpet covered most of
the floor and the shallow bay window was fitted with a window-seat
piled with cushions. In the center of the room stood a broad-topped
study table and a comfortable arm-chair flanked it at either side.
On the clean gray-tinted walls hung a few good pictures. There was a
good-sized closet on each side of the door. Being in a corner room
there was an end window as well as the bay in front.
Dan hung his gray overcoat and derby hat in the closet, swung his bag
to the table and began to unpack it. And while he is engaged let us
have a good look at him.
Dan Vinton was fifteen years of age, rather tall, lithe, and long of
limb. He had a quickness and certainty of movement--exhibited even in
the way in which he stowed his things away--that impressed the observer
at once. Alertness was a prominent characteristic of Dan’s; he never
shilly-shallied, nor, on the other hand, was he especially impulsive.
He had the faculty of making up his mind quickly, and, his decision
once reached, he acted promptly and with little loss of effort. Dan’s
course between two points was always a straight line. All this may have
had something to do with the fact that he played an extremely good game
of football at the end of the line.
I don’t want to give the impression that Dan was one of the thin and
nervous sort; on the contrary he was well-built, if a trifle large
for his fifteen years, while his limbs were not all bone even if they
were long. And nerves were things that never bothered him. He was
good-looking, with steady brown eyes, a short, straight nose, brown
hair, and a pleasant mouth which hinted of good temper. Dan had entered
Yardley Hall School the preceding Fall and was in the Third Class.
He had won a place for himself on the football eleven and had scored
the winning touchdown in the final contest against Yardley’s rival,
Broadwood Academy. One cannot ordinarily do a thing like that without
becoming pretty well known in a school of some two hundred and seventy
students or without gaining some degree of popularity, and Dan was no
exception. He had received enough praise and adulation to have turned
a less well-balanced head. To Dan the School’s homage had brought
pleasure but not pride. He had many acquaintances but only a handful
of friends. But the friends were worth having and the friendship was
real.
Having emptied the bag he tossed it onto the closet shelf and wandered
to the window, glancing at his watch on the way.
“Ten minutes to five,” he murmured. “That train ought to be in.” At
that moment there was a shriek from a locomotive whistle and Dan
threw open one of the front windows and craned his head and shoulders
out. It was just possible to see the corner of the station, nearly a
half-mile away, and there was the big engine puffing black smoke clouds
from its diminutive stack. A moment later it had taken up its journey
again and Dan watched it and the ten cars slip across the open track
and plunge into the long cut through the school grounds below The
Prospect. It would be ten minutes at least before the carriages would
arrive, and Dan settled himself in his arm-chair and took up a book.
But the arrival of his trunk from the station interrupted him a moment
later, and after the porter had gone he decided to do his unpacking
now and get it over with. The trunk was only a small one and didn’t
keep him busy very long, but before he had finished the carriages had
begun to unload their noisy passengers at the front of Oxford Hall and
Dan decided to finish his task before seeking his friends. So it was
nearly a quarter of an hour later that he set his cap onto the back of
his head and ran down the stairs. The station carriages were making
their second trips and the front of Oxford was sprinkled with fellows.
Dan returned salutations here and there without stopping as he cut
around the corner of Clarke and made his way to Dudley.