WHEN CHESTER AWAKENED
"Did you ever see such an enormous crowd?"
"Beats everything that ever happened around Chester all hollow!"
"Talk to me about excitement, the old town has gone stark, staring crazy
over baseball; and it's all owing to Jack Winters coming to Chester, and
shaking the dry bones of what used to be a Sleepy Hollow place."
"Right you are, Pete, and this is only a beginning of the glorious
things scheduled to happen within the next six months or so. Already
there's great talk about a football eleven that will clean up things in
this neighborhood. We've got the right sort of stuff to make up a strong
team, too, remember."
"And, Oliver, when I hear them speak of ice hockey, and skating for
prizes, it gives me a heap of satisfaction, for you know I'm a crank on
winter sports. Because the boys of Chester didn't seem to enthuse over
such things has been the grief of my heart. But this day was certainly
made for a thrilling baseball game."
"Oh! the sky looks blue enough, and that sun is some hot, I admit, but
somehow I don't exactly like the looks of yonder bank of clouds that
keeps hanging low-down close to the horizon in the southwest. We get
most of our big storms from that quarter, don't forget."
A burst of derisive boyish laughter greeted this remark from the fellow
named Oliver, who apparently was a bit of a pessimist, one of those who,
while admitting that a day might be nearly perfect, chose to remember it
was apt to be a weather-breeder, and bound to be followed by stormy
times.
"Listen to the old croaker, will you?" one Chester rooter called out.
"How anybody could pick a flaw with this splendid day beats me all
hollow. Why, it was made on purpose for Chester to lick that boasting
Harmony team, and send them back home like dogs, with their tails
between their legs. Hurrah for Chester! Give the boys a cheer, fellows,
because there they come on the field."
There was a wild burst of shouts from a myriad of boyish throats, and
school flags, as well as other kinds, were waved from the grand-stand
where most of the town girls sat, until the whole wooden affair seemed a
riot of color in motion.
The boys set to work passing the ball, and calling to one another as
though they were full of business and confidence. Those in the audience
who knew considerable about games felt that at least none of the home
team suffered from stage fright. It looked promising. Evidently Jack
Winters had managed to instill his nine with a fair degree of his own
bubbling animation. They certainly looked fit to do their best in honor
of their native town.
There were hosts of the Harmony folks over. They had come, and still
arrived, in all sorts of conveyances, from private cars to stages and
carryalls; and from the great row they kicked up with their calls and
school cries, one might think it was an open-and-shut thing Chester was
fated to get a terrible drubbing on that decisive day.
There were thousands on the field. Every seat in the grand-stand, as
well as the commodious bleachers, was occupied, and countless numbers
who would have willingly paid for a chance to take things comfortable,
found it necessary to stand.
Chester had reason to feel proud of her awakening; and since it seemed
an assured fact that her boys could do things worth while, there was
reason to hope the town on Lake Constance would never again allow
herself to sink back into her former condition of somnolence. So long as
Jack Winters lived there, it might be understood first and last that
such a catastrophe would never happen.
All eyes were upon the new pitcher who was yet to prove his worth. Most
of those gathered to see the game only knew of Alec Donohue as a
youngster who had been playing on the sand-lots, as that section near
the factories was usually called, for there the toilers in the iron
foundry and the mills were in the habit of playing scrub games.
Jack had come across Donohue by accident, and apparently must have been
struck with the amazing speed and control that the boy showed in his
delivery. He had taken Alec under his wing from that day on, and coached
him, with the assistance of old Joe Hooker, until he felt confident he
had picked up a real wonder.
Various comments were flying around, most of them connected with the
newest member of the Chester team.
"One thing I like about that Donohue," a rangy scout of the high school
was saying to a companion wearing glasses, and looking a bit effeminate,
though evidently quite fond of sport; "he acts as though he might be as
cool as a cucumber. Those Harmony fellows in the crowd will do their
level best to faze him, if ever he gets in a tight corner, and lots of
things are liable to happen through a hard-fought game."
"Oh! I asked Jack about that," observed the one with spectacles, "and he
assured me the fellow seemed absolutely devoid of nerves. Nothing under
the sun can bother him. He banks on Jack, and knows the captain has
confidence in his work; so you'll see how all the jeering and whooping
and stamping on the boards of the grand-stand will fail to upset him.
Jack says he's an _iceberg_."
"Glad to hear it, Specs. That kind of pitcher always has a big lead over
the fellow who gets excited as soon as the enemy begins to lambast his
favorite curves. The cool sort just changes his gait, and lobs them over
between, so that he has the hard batters wasting their energy on the air
long before the ball gets across the rubber."
"Listen to all that whooping, Ernest; what's happening, do you think?"
"Well, by the way they're standing up on the seats, and waving hats and
handkerchiefs, I rather guess the Harmony players are coming along."
His guess proved to be a true one, for a minute afterwards a big
motor-stage entered the enclosure, and from it jumped a dozen or more
athletic chaps clad in the spic-and-span white suits with blue stockings
that distinguished the Harmony baseball team.
Paying little or no attention to all the wild clamor, they ran out on
the near field and commenced flinging several balls back and forth with
astonishing vigor. From time to time the boys from the rival town would
wave a hand at some enthusiastic friend who was trying to catch their
eye from his position in the stand, or on the bleachers.
The band had accompanied them aboard another vehicle. It now burst out
with that same encouraging tune "Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes!" though
the strains could hardly be heard above the roar of many lusty voices
trying to drown each other out.
Of a truth, Chester had never seen such a wonderful day. It seemed as
though the wand of a magician must have been manipulated to awaken the
hitherto sleepy town to such real, throbbing life. And every boy in the
place, yes, and girl also, not to mention hundreds of grown-ups who were
thrilled with such a magnificent spectacle, had determined that this
would only be a beginning; and that Chester must, under no conditions,
be allowed to fall back into that old dead rut. Why, they had just begun
to discover what living meant, and learn what the right sort of a spirit
of sport will bring to a town.
It was now three, and after. The immense crowd began to grow impatient.
Both teams had occupied the diamond in practice for fifteen minutes
each, and many clever stunts were pulled off in clean pick-ups, and
wonderful throws, which called forth bravos from the admiring
spectators.
Several pitchers on either side had also warmed up, and naturally the
new recruit, Donohue, was watched much more closely than those whose
offerings had been seen on previous occasions.
He made no effort to disclose what he had in the way of various balls,
his sole object, apparently, being to get his arm limbered up and in
condition. Still, occasionally, he would send one in that caused a gasp
to arise.
"Did you see that speed ball zip through the air, Specs?" demanded the
fellow who had been called Ernest by the one wearing glasses.
"I tried to follow it, but lost out," admitted the other, frankly. "It's
true, then, this Donohue must have a swift delivery, for I could always
follow the ball when McGuffey hurled his best; and seldom lost one that
speed-king Hendrix sent along. See how most of those Harmony chaps are
looking out of the tail of their eyes at our man."
"They're trying to size Donohue up, that's all," said the knowing
Ernest. "I've heard it said, though not able to vouch, for the truth of
the rumor, that they've had a scout over in Chester every day for a week
past."
"What for?" asked Specs.
"Trying to get a line on Donohue's delivery so as to report whether he's
the wonder they've been told. But Jack was too clever for them, I guess.
They say he had his battery off practicing in secret most of the while;
and whenever Donohue did pitch for the local games he was held back.
That's why some people said they believed he must be over-rated, and
might prove a disappointment. But Jack only gave them the merry ha! ha!
and told them to wait and see."
"But it's long after three right now, and still no sign of the game
starting," continued Specs, a little anxiously.
"Yes," spoke up Oliver from his seat near by, "and, believe me, that
bank of clouds looks a mite higher than it did when the Harmony fellows
arrived. Unless they jig up right smart now, we'll get our jackets wet,
you mark my words."
The others scoffed at his dismal prediction. With that bright sun
shining up in the heavens, it did not seem possible that any such
radical change in the weather could take place within a couple of hours.
"Hey! Big Bob, what's the matter with starting this game right away?"
called Ernest, as the stalwart right-fielder of the local team chanced
to be passing in the direction of the players' bench after chatting with
friends.
"Umpire hasn't shown up yet!" called the accommodating Bob, raising his
voice, as he knew hundreds were just as curious as Ernest concerning the
mysterious reason for play not having commenced. "He had a break-down
with his car on the way. Telephoned in that he would be half an hour
late, and for them to get another umpire if they couldn't wait that
long."
"Well, apparently, they've decided to wait," said Specs, resignedly,
settling back in his seat for another fifteen minutes of listening to
the chatter of a Babel of tongues and merry laughter. "Good umpires are
almost as scarce as hens' teeth; and that Mr. Merrywether is reckoned as
fair and impartial as they make them. So the game will start half an
hour late after all!"
"Too bad!" Oliver was heard to say, with another apprehensive look in
the direction of the southwest, as though to measure the location of
that cloud bank with his weather-wise eye, and decide whether it gave
promise of stopping play, perhaps at a most interesting stage of the
game.
Most of those present did not begrudge the half hour thus spent. Just
then none of them could even suspect how great an influence the lost
time might have in respect to the eventual close of a fiercely contested
game. But, as we shall see later on, it was fated that the dismal
prophecies of Oliver were to have some foundation; and time cut a figure
in the eventual outcome of that great day's rivalry on the diamond.