JIMMY ENCOURAGES
That game with Lawrence Textile went to thirteen innings and ended,
still a tie, 1 to 1, to allow the visitors to get their train. Nate
Leddy, going to the rescue with three on, two out and the pitcher’s
score one-and-three, pulled out of the hole very neatly. Instead of
attempting the difficult feat of striking the batsman out, Nate dropped
one over knee-high and the ball went straight up from the swinging bat
and straight down again into Gordon’s mitten, and Lawrence saw her
golden opportunity vanish. After that for three innings, although the
suspense kept up every moment, neither side got anywhere near a score.
Leddy and Fairway, the latter showing fatigue and substituting control
for speed, were masters every minute. Fairway’s work to the very end
was such that the spectators applauded him every time he left the mound
or went to bat. After that hair-raising, nerve-racking tenth inning,
Grafton could feel only satisfaction at the outcome. Even Captain
Murtha had no regrets, and if Coach Sargent was disappointed he made
no sign.
Perhaps, aside from the Lawrence players, the only disconsolate one
was Dud. He had hurried from his shower straight to his room, his
main desire being to get out of the way before the game ended and the
fellows came piling into the Field House, and so he didn’t learn the
outcome of the contest until Jimmy arrived, half an hour later. By
that time Dud’s common sense had come to the rescue and he was able
to review his performance in the pitcher’s box without being prompted
to suicide. After all, he had fared no worse than Gus Weston, he told
himself comfortingly, and even Ben Myatt had begun distributing passes
before he had been taken out; although, of course, Ben had far more
excuse for giving out, since he had pitched six innings.
Dud was still wondering what had happened to him. He had been all right
until Boynton had made that memorable muff. After that he hadn’t been
able to get the ball where he wanted it. It wasn’t that his arm had
tired. It had been just as good as when he had started. And, as Dud
recalled it now, he hadn’t been nervous; not, anyway, until he had
issued that first pass in the tenth. It just seemed, looking back on
the fiasco, that the ball had suddenly simply refused to go where it
was sent! He wondered whether Mr. Sargent would ever give him another
chance, whether the fellows were secretly laughing at him. Well, he had
surely afforded Bert Winslow a fine opportunity to say “I told you so!”
Bert had all along been politely contemptuous of Dud’s ambition to make
the first team, although of late he had been very decent to him indeed.
He rather hoped he wouldn’t run across Bert for a day or two!
Dud didn’t make the mistake of feeling himself disgraced, at least not
after the first few miserable minutes, but he did feel that he had
failed pretty badly as a pitcher, and that before the whole school,
and he dreaded having to face the fellows again. He was pondering the
idea of remaining away from dining-hall that evening when Jimmy came
tramping along the corridor and entered.
“Hello, you! Where’d you get to?” Jimmy skimmed his cap to the bed and
threw himself tiredly into a chair. “Did you see the game out?”
Dud shook his head. “What――what was the score?” he asked dejectedly.
“Just the same as when you ducked; one each.” Jimmy gave a brief but
graphic history of the final three innings. “Why didn’t you come back
and see the rest of it?” he concluded.
“I guess I would have if I’d known they weren’t beating us. I’m glad
they didn’t. Did――did anyone say anything?”
“Say anything? What about?”
“About me, I mean.”
“Oh, that’s what’s worrying you? I thought you looked a little bit
down-hearted. Don’t you let that bother you, son. They all have to
go through with that before they arrive. You did pretty well, on the
whole. Three strike-outs, wasn’t it? And then you pulled us out of
that hole in the seventh! Don’t be a clam, Dud. No one expects a green
pitcher to go into a game like that and twirl like a veteran. Why, the
row those fellows kicked up even made _me_ nervous, away out in the
field!”
“It wasn’t that,” said Dud sadly. “I don’t know what it was. Of course,
I was rattled just at first, but afterwards I didn’t pay any attention
to the noise. I guess Mr. Sargent thinks I’m a pill!”
“Rot! I’ll bet you lasted longer than Pete expected you to. Of course,
I’m not saying that it wouldn’t have been a bully thing for you if
you’d gone the distance; you’d have had the whole school inviting you
to dinner; but you did pretty well as it was. And, say, talking about
that――being popular, I mean, and making a hit――that little meeting with
Hobo and Blake was a lucky thing for us, wasn’t it? Look at the way
they’ve taken you up, Dud! Fine, what?”
“I suppose so,” agreed the other rather listlessly. “They’ve been
awfully nice to me――――”
“You bet! And a lot of their crowd, too. Why, say――――”
“But I don’t, somehow, care so much about being――being a ‘regular
feller’ as I did, Jimmy. I――I’d rather be a good pitcher.”
“Isn’t that human nature?” demanded Jimmy, apparently of the ceiling.
“Just as soon as a fellow gets what he wants, he doesn’t want it! You
make me tired, Dud! Here I’ve schemed and labored for you――――”
“I know, and I’m awfully much obliged,” said Dud soberly. “Only――please
don’t do it any more, Jimmy. I’ve had enough of it, I guess.”
“My dear demented friend, you’ve just started! You mustn’t think that
just because Hobo Ordway and Nick Blake and Bert Winslow and a few of
that close corporation have taken you up that the battle’s won. Far be
it from such! The fun’s only started, son. You’ve got two years here
yet and you want to make hay while the sun shines. Just you leave it to
me――――”
“No, you leave it to me now,” said Dud. “I guess it’s like Blake said;
every fellow must hoe his own row. And――and I haven’t got time to――to
be popular, Jimmy. I just want to get so I can pitch like Ben Myatt.”
“Say, that’s hitching your wagon to a star, all right; Ben being the
‘star’! Maybe you’re right, though. There’s always the danger of
having fellows think you’re trying too hard; and they don’t like that.
Maybe your scheme is the best, Dud. Foxy, too, I call it.”
“I haven’t any scheme,” denied the other impatiently. “I just want to
quit thinking anything about whether fellows like me or don’t like me.
I guess if they do it will be because――because I don’t care!”
“That’s what I’m saying,” said Jimmy, grinning exasperatingly. “Just
let them think you don’t care a fig and they’ll flock to you. Yep,
that’s a good idea, Dud.”
“Jimmy, if folks didn’t know you better they’d think sometimes that you
were a regular――regular――――”
“Feller?” asked Jimmy helpfully.
“Bounder!”
“Oh! Thank you kindly. And such is gratitude! Never mind, son, all you
need is food. Let’s get to it.”
“I don’t think――that is, I’m not very hungry――――”
“Not hungry! You’re not sick, are you?” Dud shook his head. “Then
what’s wrong with you?”
“Well, if you must know,” replied the other desperately, “I――I don’t
want to go over there and see the fellows grinning at me.”
“Grinning at you? What would they be doing―――― Say, for the love of
lemons, Dud, get that idea out of your bean! Why, no one’s grinning at
you, you three-ply chump! Why should they? Didn’t you go in there and
save our bacon for us? Didn’t you work three innings like a regular
‘Matty’? Sure, you did! Then what――――”
“And I went to pieces, too, and filled the bases that time,” said Dud
bitterly. “Even if they don’t grin I shall know they want to!”
“Piffle! Honest, Dud, I didn’t know you were such a chump. Look here,
you’ve been wondering again! Don’t tell me! I can see it. You’ve got
your ‘I-wonder’ expression on! You stop thinking about Dud Baker and
wash your dirty face and hands and come to eats. I’ll guarantee that
you won’t get grinned at once, old man. If I see any fellow trying it
I’ll punch his head!”
After all, Dud only wanted to be reassured and had no real intention of
missing his supper, for he was undeniably hungry. And so, presently,
they were off to dining-hall together, and things were just as Jimmy
had predicted. There were no grins, save an occasional friendly one,
and no one paid much more attention to Dud than usual. They slipped
into their places at table――neither had been called to the training
table yet, since accommodations at that board were very limited――and
Jimmy, in high spirits, bandied remarks with the others between
mouthfuls, and Dud tried hard to forget anything that had happened
since luncheon.
There was, naturally, much talk of the game and much criticism of
various plays, as there always was, and Jimmy, as a participant, was
listened to with respect if not with entire credence. At the training
table, across the hall, there were no signs of depression, if one could
judge by the talk and laughter. In fact, the whole school was looking
back on the afternoon’s contest as something very much like a lucky
victory. And perhaps it was. At all events, a comparison of the scores
showed that Lawrence had made more hits and fewer errors and that the
renowned Mr. Fairway had behaved more creditably than the four Grafton
pitchers judged together.
When Dud and Jimmy left the dining-hall they ran into Nick Blake and
Bert Winslow in the corridor. Dud had determined to avoid any such
meeting, but fortune ruled otherwise.
“Hello, James T.,” greeted Nick. “How’s Tris Speaker Junior tonight?
Hello, Dud Baker.”
“My arms are a trifle lame,” responded Jimmy. “When a fellow makes all
the hits in a game――――”
“Hah!” ejaculated Nick mirthlessly. “Again, hah! You make me laugh,
Jimmy. He’s a regular funny fellow, isn’t he, Dud? How are you feeling,
by the way? Say, that was some twirling you did in the seventh, my
lad!”
“How about the tenth?” asked Dud, smiling wanly.
“Well, no harm done, you know,” said Nick cheerfully. “They all get
theirs sooner or later, and I dare say if you’d stayed in you’d have
pulled yourself out all right.”
“If we hadn’t needed the game so much,” observed Bert, “he’d have
stayed in, I guess. I was hoping Guy would let him. It’s a bully good
thing for a pitcher to have to dig his way out, Baker. Gives him
confidence, you know. If I was captain of a team and a pitcher got in
a hole I’d just let him stay right there and crawl out of it. Just
let him have to do it, and if he’s the least bit of good, he will. My
notion is that if a pitcher thinks he’s going to be relieved any time
he goes bad, he’s going bad too plaguey often! That sound like sense to
you, Jimmy?”
“I haven’t heard a word that sounded like sense since I got here,”
answered Jimmy gravely. “If someone would suggest something to do more
exciting than hearing Lit and Forum jabber over some subject like:
‘Resolved: That Marcus T. Cicero was faster on the bases than his
brother Quint,’ or ‘That the Penguin is mightier than the Swordfish’!”
“That’s so, it’s debate night, isn’t it?” said Nick. “Who’s going? You,
Bert?”
“I suppose so. You?”
“Well, if there was anything better――――!”
“There’s a moon,” said Jimmy tentatively.
“Go on, pray! Your words interest me strangely,” prompted Nick,
assuming an attitude of suspense.
“And there’s a river――――”
“I get you! Will you go, Bert?”
“Bathing? I guess so. Let’s find Hugh. You’ll come, Baker?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got――――” Dud stopped abruptly. Jimmy, smiling
sweetly, had surreptitiously kicked him on the shin.
“Yes, he’ll come,” said Jimmy. “As this happens to be a Saturday night,
Dud, your excuse of having to dig Latin or something is very poor.
Let’s find a crowd, fellows.”
“Let’s not,” said Bert. “I’ll round up Hobo and Ted Trafford. They went
off a minute ago. That’s enough. By the way, though, I suppose you
fellows know that the rules forbid it?”
“No, honest?” Jimmy was evidently as pained as he was surprised. “Did
you know that, Nick?”
“News to me, Jimmy! I was never so surprised in my life! Are you sure
of what you tell us, Bert?”
“Oh, go to the dickens! Come on then before the moon goes down.”
“Or the river evaporates,” added Jimmy. “I’m going to suggest, fellows,
that we avoid publicity as much as possible. The last time I had
anything to do with that old river it nearly got me into trouble!”
I feel that I ought to record here that Dud’s conscience made itself
heard, and that, refusing to transgress the rules of the school, he
persuaded the others to forego the enterprise. I’d like to record
that, but I can’t, for Dud’s conscience must have been asleep, and
ten minutes or so later he was following the others――and Pop Driver,
who had been discovered in the company of Hugh and Ted Trafford and
persuaded to join the party――across the Green and Lothrop Field to
the Beach, as the scanty expanse of sandy shore bordering the Cove
was somewhat ironically called. And I am forced to relate that the
moonlight bathing party was a huge success, that it lasted until nearly
ten o’clock and that faculty remained forever in ignorance of it. So,
it would seem, for once the transgressor went unpunished. But perhaps
not, after all, for Nick cut his foot open on a mussel shell or a
piece of glass and Ted Trafford caught an awful cold that lasted him
nearly until school closed! Possibly the reason that the others escaped
retribution was just because their crime was not, after all, especially
wicked.