THE LAST PRACTICE
Dan didn’t hurry back to his room after supper, nor, for that matter,
did he hurry through the meal. He and Lawrence were the last ones at
the training table. Dan always found the third baseman’s conversation
rather boresome, but this evening, in his desire to kill time, he stood
Lawrence with equanimity, even egged him on to a further elaboration
of his subject, which might have been entitled, “How I Would Train
a Baseball Team if I had the Chance.” Lawrence wasn’t a bad sort of
fellow; only a trifle self-assertive when it came to opinions and
lamentably prosy in the presentation of them. To-night, though, Dan was
ready to forgive him much. He had gone through five years at Yardley,
each Spring passing with honors, and in a few days would receive his
diploma. It was something of a feat, when you came to think of it, Dan
reflected, and perhaps by the time he was ready to graduate he might be
a much bigger bore than Lawrence.
But presently the waiters were turning out the lights over the
tables here and there, and there was no excuse for further loitering.
Gerald’s supper had gone over to him long before. Dan pushed back
his chair, and Lawrence, still rambling on, followed him. Out in the
corridor Lawrence suggested that Dan should come up to his room for
a few minutes; he lived on the floor above. Dan hesitated, and then,
because he was very anxious to give Mr. Pennimore plenty of time to
finish his visit with Gerald and go home, he accepted the invitation.
He had never visited Lawrence before and the comfort, even luxury of
the big square room surprised him. Lawrence made him take the biggest
and easiest chair, and then went on with his views. Dan nodded now and
then, now and then pretended to question an assertion, and all the time
was wondering whether it was safe to go back to his own room. After a
while some other fellows came in, and Dan seized the opportunity to
leave. Lawrence informed the newcomers warmly that “that chap Vinton is
a mighty brainy youngster.”
Dan looked at his watch as he climbed the stairs in Clarke, and found
that the time was a quarter to nine. That was comforting. Gerald’s
father must have returned to Sound View before this. It was a relief
not to have to face Mr. Pennimore just now. Dan felt very culpable
regarding the canoe episode. He owed a good deal to Mr. Pennimore,
and he had promised to look after Gerald. Just how to reconcile that
promise with the fact that Gerald had been canoeing for a month past
without his father’s permission was somewhat of a puzzle. When Dan
reached the door of Number 28 his heart sank. He had returned too
early, after all!
Gerald was still in bed, and it was not difficult to see that he had
been crying. But at present he was looking quite happy, as was Mr.
Pennimore, seated beside him. However severe the storm had been,
reflected Dan, it had cleared away now. He greeted Mr. Pennimore and
shook hands without discerning any signs of reproach nor condemnation
in the other’s regard. Mr. Pennimore referred briefly and smilingly
to the accident, asked for news of Harry Merrow, and expressed his
pleasure when Dan assured him that Harry was practically recovered
after his narrow escape.
“He heard me at the door,” said Dan, “and asked to see me. But the
matron thought I’d better not go in. He sent word that you were to come
and see him in the morning, Gerald.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Pennimore. “And I’ll send Higgins over after
breakfast with some fruit, Gerald. He will probably like it. You can
take it around to him.”
“And please have him bring me my stamp books, all three of them.
They’re in my room. Elizabeth knows where they are. I’m going to give
them to Harry.”
Mr. Pennimore raised his brows slightly.
“Just as you like, son, but you mustn’t forget that you’ve got a
thousand dollars or so worth of stamps there. Rather an expensive
present, isn’t it?”
“I don’t care for them any more,” replied Gerald. “And Harry does. I’d
rather some one would have them who can enjoy them.”
“I dare say you’re right, son. I’ll send them over. And now shall we
ask Dan about Friday?”
Gerald nodded eagerly.
“Well,” said Mr. Pennimore, “Gerald tells me that on Friday the
Baseball Team doesn’t have any practice, and that he understands it to
be the custom to give them a sort of a good time to keep their minds
off the next day’s game. How about that, Dan?”
“Yes, sir, they usually take them for a walk into the country or load
them onto a trolley car in Greenburg and give them a ride. I haven’t
heard what they are going to do with us this year.”
“Well, now, Gerald proposes that I put the Princess at their disposal
Friday afternoon, and let them have a nice, long sail. How do you
think that would do?”
“Bully!” cried Dan. “They’d enjoy that, I know, sir.”
“I tried to persuade Gerald to look after the matter, but he doesn’t
seem to think he ought to. Says, too, that he won’t go along, because
he’s not on the nine. I tell him he ought to go and act as host, but he
doesn’t see it.”
“Dan will understand,” said Gerald confidently. “I couldn’t exactly
explain to father, Dan, but I know I’m right.” Dan nodded.
“Yes, I think you are. It’s rather difficult to explain, sir, but
Gerald has the right idea.” Mr. Pennimore smiled and spread his hands.
“I suppose it’s a matter of school ethics, eh?” he asked. “Well, have
your own way. Now, can you see the coach or the captain and tell him
about this, Dan?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll see Millener, and say you’ve made the offer and that
he’s to talk with you about it.”
“He can call me up on the telephone, if he likes, any time to-morrow
before eight or after six. I shall be glad to have them use the yacht.
I’d like to go along--if it wouldn’t infringe some mysterious law--but
I shall have to be in the city Friday if I’m to take a holiday on
Saturday.”
“Then you’ll want the yacht, sir,” said Dan.
“Oh, no, I’ll use the train for once. Well, I’ll leave the matter in
your hands for the present. And see that this boy stays in bed the
rest of the evening, Dan. Now, I must be getting back.” At the door
he laid a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Gerald and I, by the way, have
been discussing canoes, Dan, and we’ve decided that they’re a bit too
dangerous for young boys. Good night, good night! You’re to come over
to dinner Sunday, Dan. Or--” Mr. Pennimore paused, smiled, and turned
back into the room. “Look here, Gerald, how would you like to entertain
the Baseball Team at dinner Sunday, eh?”
Gerald sat up eagerly.
“I couldn’t do it, sir, but you could! Will you? That would be just
dandy, wouldn’t it, Dan?”
“Fine!” said Dan enthusiastically. “But there’s an awful lot of them,
sir.”
“How many?”
“Pretty near twenty.”
“Pshaw, we can handle thirty if we can find them! The more the merrier,
boys! I guess after the sort of training table food you told me about
the other day, Dan, they’ll relish a change, eh? I’ll tell the cook
to plan all the sweet, indigestible things he can think of--and pile
on the whipped cream! We won’t say anything about this yet. I’ll see
Doctor Hewitt and talk it over with him first. Good night, son. Get a
good long sleep. Good night, Dan.”
Dan went with Mr. Pennimore to the stairs, and then returned to Gerald,
and an excited discussion of the sailing party and the Sunday banquet.
The next morning Gerald was up bright and early, feeling no ill effects
from the previous day’s misadventure. He soon found that he was looked
on as something of a hero, and had he responded to all the requests for
his story of the incident, he would never have reached commons in time
for breakfast. When he did give his account of the upset, as he was
forced to do at table, he gave most of the credit to Thompson.
“Shucks!” said one of his audience, “you and Thompson make me tired.
He says you did it all and you say he did. I’ll bet a dollar Merrow
crawled out of the water himself, while you two fellows were wrangling
about who was to be the hero!”
To-day was the last day of examinations, and Gerald’s work was over
early. At half-past ten he set out for Merle Hall with his arms full.
He carried a big basket of fruit from the Sound View hot houses,
and the three big stamp books. He found Harry still rather pale and
scared looking, but eager to show his gratitude and anxious to talk.
Being thanked for saving a fellow’s life was, Gerald found, rather
embarrassing, and he switched Harry away from that subject as soon as
he could by producing the basket and the books.
“These are the ones I told you about yesterday,” he explained of the
books, when Harry had admired and nibbled at the fruit. “You know I was
going to give them to you in case Broadwood won the game. But I want
you to have them anyhow. So--so here they are.”
But Harry, much as he wanted them, required a good deal of persuasion
before he would accept them. And then it was only with the proviso
that Gerald was to have them back any time he changed his mind. Then
Gerald exhibited some of the rarer treasures, and the two boys were
deeply absorbed when there was a knock on the door, and Arthur Thompson
entered.
“Thought I’d just drop in and see how you are,” he explained, shaking
hands with Harry in an embarrassed way. He, too, had to listen to
Harry’s thanks, and by this time Harry was quite an experienced hand
at expressing gratitude, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy his privilege.
Thompson sat through it as patiently as possible, casting sheepish
glances the while at Gerald. Afterwards they went over the adventure
together, each one describing his sensations and explaining his
actions, and then Gerald got up to leave.
“I must go, too,” said Thompson hurriedly. “Get well, Merrow,
and--er--buck up, you know.”
Gerald promised to look in again in the evening and then he and
Thompson withdrew. Gerald expected the latter to leave him at the
entrance, but instead of that Thompson kept step with him down the walk
toward Clarke. Gerald strove to think of something to say, but without
success, and the silence was growing rather embarrassing, when Thompson
broke out with:
“Say, Pennimore, what have you got against me, anyway? If it’s that
little row we had last Winter, why, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm,
really.”
“I guess I haven’t got anything against you--after yesterday,” replied
Gerald gravely.
“That’s the way to talk!” said Thompson, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I’ve noticed that you didn’t see me when we passed, and I don’t like
that. I don’t like fellows to be stand-offish with me. I haven’t
anything against you, and so--”
“If you haven’t anything against me,” blurted Gerald, “why did you keep
me out of Cambridge?”
“Keep you out of Cambridge? Me? I never did!”
“Oh, get out!” scoffed Gerald warmly.
“Honest, I didn’t, Pennimore. Look here, I haven’t any right to tell
you this, but--but if I don’t you won’t believe me, I guess. It was
Jake Hiltz that blackballed you.”
“Hiltz? I don’t know him even by sight,” exclaimed Gerald perplexedly.
Thompson nodded.
“I know, but he knows you. You see, Hiltz and a fellow named Jones,
Tubby Jones we called him, were pretty good friends. Jones used to room
with Vinton in the Fall.”
“Yes,” said Gerald. “I knew him.”
“Well, Tubby, you know, left school before the term was up; got fired
or something; no one ever knew exactly what did happen to Tubby. Then
you came to room with Vinton, and Hiltz--well, Hiltz resented it.
That’s all. He just didn’t like to see you in Tubby’s place. And,
besides that, he doesn’t like Vinton much, I think. And, anyway, he’s
the sort of chap that would rather spite some one, if he could do it
without being found out, than eat his dinner. I hadn’t any business
telling you this, Pennimore, because we’re not supposed to tell
anything that happens at election, but I didn’t want you to think I’d
done any such dirty trick. And you would have thought so, even if I’d
argued myself black in the face, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I think I would,” answered Gerald frankly. Thompson laughed.
“I’ll bet you would. You believe what I say, though, now, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed. And--and I’m glad I was mistaken.”
“That’s the talk!” returned Thompson heartily. “I don’t see any use in
fellows having grouches with each other. I like plenty of friends. I
guess I’m pretty mean sometimes, but I’m always ready to apologize and
shake hands. Let’s do that now; what do you say?”
“All right,” answered Gerald with a smile. And so they shook hands on
the steps of Clarke, and Thompson went off, beaming and whistling at
the top of his lungs.
There was a hard practice that afternoon, delayed by the thunder-storm.
Payson was himself again, and the way he drove and scolded was a
caution. But the fellows liked it and responded magnificently. It was
almost six o’clock when he finally released them. Afterwards, in the
locker room, he made a little speech.
“If you play on Saturday the way you played to-day,” he said, “you’ll
stand a mighty good show to win. I’ve let you fellows go your own gait
since last Saturday, because I saw that you were a bit fine, and I
didn’t think you’d stand driving. I argued that if you really wanted
to win from Broadwood, you’d work out your own salvation, and you’ve
done it. I guess some of you have been calling me names.”
A good many of his hearers looked sheepish. Payson smiled grimly.
“That’s all right. I can’t blame you. I dare say it looked as though
I had paresis. I hadn’t, though. I simply gave you fellows credit for
some sense and fight, and I wasn’t mistaken. The way you got together
and played the game just to _show_ me, proves that. Well, we’ve had
the last practice for this year, and I’ve taught you all I could. It’s
up to you now. I can’t do any more. You’ve pulled together well, and
you’ve pulled with me well. You’ve got a fine captain, and it will be
your own faults if he doesn’t lead a winning team. To-morrow afternoon
we’re going to take an outing. Mr. John T. Pennimore has offered us the
use of his steam yacht for the whole afternoon, and Captain Millener
has accepted with thanks. I want every fellow to go along. You’re to
meet at Mr. Pennimore’s pier at two o’clock. I guess you’ll have a good
time. Whether you do or don’t, an afternoon on the water will do you
all good. Don’t bother your heads about Saturday’s game--yet. Plenty
of time for thinking about that when Saturday comes. Broadwood has a
slight advantage this year in playing on her own grounds, but we can
offset that if we try. To-morrow at two o’clock, then.”
“Now, fellows, three cheers for Mr. Payson!” cried Millener, jumping
onto a bench. And they were given royally. And then came three cheers
for Mr. Pennimore, which would have done Gerald’s heart good had he
been there to hear.
Gerald saw the baseball team, accompanied by Payson and Andy Ryan,
embark on the Princess the next day with regret. He didn’t regret
that Dan and Alf and Millener and Colton, and all the other baseball
fellows he knew by sight and duly reverenced, were going to have a
jolly afternoon together; he only regretted that he wasn’t along; and
he regretted that a whole lot. But Gerald had been learning during
the last six months. When he first entered Yardley he would have
accompanied the team to-day without a qualm, and would have wondered
why the fellows treated him coolly. Now he knew that some of the
fellows would call him “fresh kid,” and almost all would hold him
in contempt for showing off. So he watched the embarking from the
terrace of Sound View, and afterward went up to the gymnasium, got
into his dark blue gym suit, and went at the punching-bag until he
was breathless, cheerful, and running with perspiration. Then he
trotted down to the bath and whistled happily while the luke-warm spray
enveloped his grateful body. He was quite alone down there and could
make as much noise as he wanted to. At last, bracing himself for the
shock, he “turned on the ice,” as the fellows said, and yelled lustily
as the cold jets hissed upon him. Then, glowing and refreshed, puffing
and gasping, he rubbed himself dry and dressed leisurely, whistling
merrily all the while, from stockings to tie. Finally he climbed the
stairs again, paused at the door in the warm afternoon sunlight to cock
his straw hat a trifle over one eye in the approved Yardley fashion,
and then took the path to the tennis courts in search of adventure with
the little swagger engendered by mental and physical exhilaration.