TOM PLAYS IN A REAL GAME
That spring proved to be the pleasantest in Tom’s recollection. To be
sure, lessons didn’t always go easily; in fact, Tom had a fortnight
of trouble when the first lazy, warm days came, and only extricated
himself from his difficulties by resolutely remaining at home in the
evenings and studying instead of playing ball. A slack time in the
affairs of Cummings and Wright followed the first spring months and
Tom was several times accorded the privilege of taking a couple of
hours off on Saturday afternoons to watch the high school team play.
He enjoyed that immensely, got terribly excited--although I must
own that he didn’t show the fact much--and “rooted” loyally for the
Brown-and-Blue. The team that year was nothing to boast of, although
patriotic youths did boast, for all of that, and met a larger number
of defeats than was either expected or desired. Once Tom journeyed
with some forty enthusiastic boys to Lynton, over in the next county,
and returned very much depressed in the cool of a June twilight. But
there were victories, too, and by the time school was over for the
year Amesville High had redeemed itself after a fashion by decisively
defeating Petersburg two out of three contests. The fact that
Petersburg was woefully weak that year had much to do with the result
of the series.
Mr. Cummings seemed to sympathise with Tom’s yearning for the diamond
and more than once suggested an afternoon off when the local club was
to play at home. The senior partner was something of a “fan” himself
and followed the fortunes of the Cleveland and other major league clubs
with great interest. He and Tom soon got into the habit of discussing
baseball affairs in slack moments and he always handed the morning
paper to the boy after he had read it.
“Fine game in Chicago yesterday, Tom,” he would say. “Thirteen innings
without a run!”
“Those White Sox have a great team this year, sir. I wouldn’t be
surprised to see them win the pennant, the way they’re travelling now.”
“Hm; yes, maybe. But Philadelphia will stand a lot of watching, son.
They made a bad start, I know, but they’re coming fast now.”
And then, if there were no customers awaiting Tom’s attention, they
would talk baseball for many minutes, Mr. Cummings leaning with an
elbow on a showcase and gazing thoughtfully into the street and Tom
tidying his stock behind the counter. Sometimes Mr. Wright would enter
quickly and find them there, and then Mr. Cummings’s efforts to appear
busy were very amusing.
“I tell you, Tom, it’s a fine thing to be able to hit over three
hundred, but if you can’t make time on the bases you might just as well
bat around two hundred. Why, now you take---- These are going pretty
well, are they? That’s good. Better not let your stock get too low.”
And Tom, bewildered at the sudden turn of conversation, would glance
around to find Mr. Wright frowning from the doorway. It became an
understood thing between the senior partner and Tom that when Mr.
Wright appeared they were each to simulate deep attention to business!
Tom finished his first year at high school with credit, attended the
graduation exercises--he had already gone to a moonlight picnic
given by the senior class--and thus, so to say, made his entrance
into Society. He had been presented to numerous young ladies, always
to his embarrassment, and had secretly wished he could dance. As he
could not, he had watched the others rather enviously and had felt
somewhat awkward and out of it. Sidney wanted to enlist the services
of a girl friend in Tom’s behalf. “She’ll teach you in an hour, Tom.
She’s a wonder at it! What do you say?” But Tom had drawn back in
unfeigned alarm and shaken his head with a vigour that had left no
doubt in his chum’s mind as to his meaning. All that summer one of the
worst experiences that could happen to Tom was to meet on the street
one of the girls he had been introduced to. More than once, discerning
a young lady in the distance, he crossed over to the other sidewalk
and became absorbed in the window displays. There was one awful
occasion--Tom couldn’t think of it without a shudder for weeks!--when
he had encountered May Warner three blocks from the store and, in some
mysterious way, had suddenly found himself walking beside her along the
street. How it had happened he never did know, but it was certainly
due to no effort on his part! The young lady, who was a very pretty
girl of about his own age, had done most of the talking, Tom merely
according an embarrassed “yes” or “no” now and then, but those were
three of the longest blocks he had ever travelled. When they reached
the doorway of Cummings and Wright’s, Tom fled without ceremony.
Naturally he soon gained a reputation for bashfulness, and the girls,
instead of taking pity on him and letting him alone, seemed to go out
of their way to speak to him, getting a good deal of amusement from
poor Tom’s unhappiness.
Sidney was to leave Amesville for the summer the last of July, his
often expressed desire to spend the warm weather in town failing to
impress his parents. Tom knew he was going to miss Sidney a good deal
and he looked forward regretfully to the latter’s departure. Once, in
June, Sidney accompanied Tom out to Derry to remain over Sunday and
enjoyed the visit so much because of the novelty of it that he declared
his intention of going again. Star had a fine time then, receiving
more attention and petting than falls to the lot of most dogs in the
short space of a day. Tom’s uncle was as gracious to the visitor as
he ever was to anyone, but Sidney secretly voted Farmer Bowles “an old
curmudgeon.” He got on finely with Aunt Patty, however. But for that
matter Aunt Patty, in spite of her sharp tongue, would have been kind
to a chimney-sweep had he been honoured with Tom’s friendship.
The high school baseball team disbanded after school closed, for many
of its members went away in the summer. But this year a few of the
fellows who were to remain at home formed themselves into the Amesville
Blues, filling the vacant places on the team with boys of their
acquaintance. Sidney held his place in left field while he remained in
the city, and it was Sidney who proposed that Tom be made manager of
the team. So it fell to Tom’s lot to arrange games with rival nines
in and out of town. This he did so well that the Blues played three
times a week on an average and had a lot of good fun. They made short
trips to neighbouring towns--the matter of railroad fares prohibited
very long excursions--and once or twice Tom went with them. It was on
one of these trips that Tom made his first entry into real baseball.
Tommy Hughes, who was the regular centre fielder on the school team
and filled the same position with the Blues, developed a bad case
of stomach-ache on the way to Union Vale--he quite frankly owned to
having put away three chocolate ice-cream sodas and half a dozen
peaches!--and, as from motives of economy, the team had brought no
substitute along, there was only one thing to do.
“I may be all right after awhile,” moaned Tommy, “but I couldn’t play
now if you gave me a thousand dollars. Let Tom take my place, Walt.”
(Walter White was captain and catcher.) “He can play fine, Tom can.”
So Tom, squeezing himself into Tommy’s suit and donning Tommy’s blue
stockings, went out into the glare of centre field and nervously
waited, wondering whether he would muff the first ball that came into
his territory. As a matter of fact, he did, allowing the Union Vales to
tally two runs, but after that he had five chances and accepted them
all, while at bat he made the very creditable showing of two hits for a
total of three bases out of six times up. The Amesville Blues won that
game handily, and Tom returned home filled with the joy of victory and
a new enthusiasm for baseball.
The last week in July, Tom accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Morris and Sidney
to the station and saw them off for the summer. Of course he was
pressingly invited to visit them at the Lake and spend as much time as
he could, and he even promised to do it, but in his heart he knew very
well he couldn’t afford it even if the opportunity in the shape of a
summer vacation came to him. He felt rather lonely and downcast for
several days after Sidney’s departure. There were almost daily letters
for awhile, and these helped a good deal. But presently the letters
became less frequent and by that time Tom had in a measure reconciled
himself to his friend’s absence. Business at the store grew brisk in
July and remained so all the summer. Tom didn’t mention the subject of
a vacation and didn’t really very much care about having one. The trip
to the Lake to visit Sidney, although the latter continually reminded
him of his promise and wrote glowingly of the good times they could
have, was quite out of the question. The fare there and return was over
thirty dollars, and, while Tom was putting aside a little money every
week, he was far from being a Crœsus. He finally wrote Sidney to that
effect, received in due time a very disappointed epistle in reply, and
felt more at ease now that the matter was finally decided.
The sporting goods department did very well in the summer. There was
something very like a “boom” in golf at Amesville and Tom did a good
business in golf clubs, balls, and supplies. He had ventured on a line
of rather expensive golf vests and sweaters, very stunning affairs they
were, too, and was relieved to find that he could not only get rid of
those he had ordered, but that it would be necessary to order more.
Joe Gillig had taken a two-weeks’ vacation in June, and Mr. Cummings
frequently went away for week-ends, usually, as Tom discovered,
managing to witness a ball game somewhere during his absence, but Mr.
Wright and Tom stuck to the ship all during the hot weather. And it
_was_ hot that summer in Amesville! Tom ruined two boxes of golf-balls
by exposing them to the rays of the sun that, intensified by the
plate-glass window, caused the enamel to blister. He mentioned the
matter in trepidation to Mr. Wright, the senior partner being out of
town at the time, and had visions of being told to charge the two dozen
balls to himself. But Mr. Wright, frowning and “tut-tutting,” only
said: “Ought to have known better, Tom; ought to have known better.
Live and learn, though. Charge to profit and loss.”
Late in August, Sidney began to write of coming home in a fortnight or
three weeks, and about that time business slackened up a little. Mr.
Cummings said one morning: “Tom, how about taking a vacation? I guess
we can get along without you for a week or two after the first of the
month. You haven’t been here quite a year yet and so we can’t give you
full pay, but you can have a week with wages and another week without
if you want it.”
So Tom chose to limit his vacation to one week. He went out to Derry
one Saturday evening and remained until Tuesday. By that time he began
to miss the town and so he moved back. The next morning he dropped in
at the store, talked baseball with Mr. Cummings and hobnobbed awhile
with Joe, and then went out to loiter rather aimlessly along the
street. While he was studying the enticing placards outside the Empire
Theatre and wondering whether to invest a dime and witness the moving
pictures inside, someone slapped him on the shoulder and he glanced
around to find Thornton Brooks grinning at him. Thorny Brooks had
graduated from high school in the spring and was a big, fine-looking
chap of eighteen. He had played with the Blues as pitcher, and Tom had
become fairly well acquainted with him.
“Going in?” asked Thorny.
Tom looked undecided.
“Come on! It’s my treat. They’ve got some dandy pictures this week.
I’ve seen ’em once, but I can stand ’em again.”
So Tom allowed the older boy to pull him up to the window and finally
through the turnstile. They found seats in the back of the house,
and Tom had his first glimpse of moving pictures. They seemed very
wonderful to him and when, presently, a film showing a game of baseball
at the Polo Grounds in New York was thrown on the screen he almost got
out of his seat in his eagerness. Thorny, with the superior knowledge
of one to whom moving pictures are an old story and who has seen the
present programme before, explained to his companion in whispers.
“That’s Lewis at bat,” said Thorny. “Now watch. See him swing at that?
Plain as day, isn’t it? There’s a hit. Watch him streak to first!
That’s Murray fielding the ball in to second. That was a peach of a
base-hit, eh? I don’t know who this chap is. He’s a big one, though.
One ball! A foul! He’s got it! No, he hasn’t either! Look at the crowd
in the stands, Tom. Now watch the fellow on first. There he goes!”
“He’s out!” exclaimed Tom in a hoarse and agitated whisper as the
runner slid into second and the shortstop swung at him with the ball in
hand.
“No, sir!” said Thorny triumphantly. “He’s safe! See that? That was
some steal, eh? A close decision, though. I wonder who that umpire on
bases is? I’d hate to be in his shoes, wouldn’t you?”
Tom agreed that he would, keeping meanwhile his eyes glued to the
quivering drama before him. The batsman popped up a high foul, the
New York catcher got under it, the batsman walked toward the bench
in disgust, and the picture faded. Others followed, however, and Tom
enjoyed them all hugely. It was long after noon when the boys emerged
from the little theatre, bathed in perspiration. On the way back toward
the centre of town Thorny said:
“We play the Red Sox this afternoon over by the railroad. Coming over
to see it?”
“Yes,” Tom answered. “We got licked Monday, didn’t we?”
Thorny shrugged his broad shoulders in disgust.
“Why wouldn’t we? We had only six of our regulars. A chap named Squires
or something was playing third and he never made a put-out once during
the game. Say, Tom, why don’t you play in the field for us to-day? Then
we can put Hobbs on third. Will you?”
“I’d like to,” said Tom eagerly, “if you want me to.”
“Surest thing you know, kid! That’s all right, then. I’ll tell Walter.
We’ll need to put up a corking game to-day if we’re going to lick those
toughies over there. Don’t forget. Three o’clock!”
Tom played in right field that afternoon, made no errors, and had three
hits and one run to his credit. The Red Sox won their game, 7 to 5,
however. On the way back Walter White, who captained the Blues, said:
“Can you go over to Lynton with us Saturday, Pollock? Wish you would.
You played a dandy game to-day; didn’t he, Thorny?”
“Sure! The kid’s a ballplayer, that’s what he is. He’ll come; won’t
you, Tom?”
“If you want me,” said Tom.
“We sure do! Wish you might have played all summer with us,” replied
White. “You’ve got a fine eye for the ball. That two-bagger of yours
was as clean a wallop as I’ve seen for a long time!”
“And that red-headed pitcher of theirs,” sighed Thorny, “was no cinch!
I couldn’t find him at all!”
“We’re going over by trolley at half-past one,” said White. “Meet at
Main and Ash, Pollock. Don’t be late, will you?”