GOOD BASEBALL WEATHER
Bob Somers was delighted to see Captain Bunderley and his nephew. The two visitors were entertained at the Somers home on several occasions, and soon became familiar figures in Kingswood.
The captain, putting up at the largest hotel in town, often visited the high school and athletic field, where his bluff, hearty manner gained immediate favor. Of course there were exceptions. "Crackers" Brown, Owen Lawrence, Aleck Parks and some of their followers didn't seem so favorably impressed.
"He's got too much to say, and I don't like the way he says it," growled Parks. "Makes you think of a steam roller flattening everything before it."
"He's as thick as paste with the Somers crowd," said Owen.
"And when the captain drops in to Terry Guffin's he roars his opinions out so loud that my delicate ear-drums rebel," remarked "Crackers," in his usual grave tone. "Now, to change the subject. As Mr. Barry said to Bob Somers and Steele the other night, 'There ought to be a change mighty soon.'"
"I guess there's no doubt about his saying it," grumbled Owen, "though both of 'em are as mum as oysters."
"They don't deny it," said "Crackers."
"If the nine doesn't take a brace on the next game," observed Aleck Parks, "I'll begin to believe our athletic field has joined the castle in Spain class."
There could be no doubt that the school was taking an intense interest in the third contest with the Stars, scheduled for the following Saturday. Coach Steele had his men out practicing every afternoon, devoting his attention to strengthening the weak points.
"Jack Frost" was developing more confidence in himself, and Willie Singleton, another pitcher, whom Steele had not yet used, was rapidly acquiring the knack of speeding shoots and curves over the plate.
"Charlie Blake and Tom Clifton bother me a bit," confided Coach Steele to Bob Somers. "Charlie's a mighty good player until something happens to shake his nerves. Then he's apt to hit the toboggan. And Tom's a little too excitable, especially when it comes to close plays. At their best, however, I don't think any of the candidates could beat them."
"Neither do I, though many of the fellows are kicking because Charlie was chosen instead of Roycroft."
"We shall have a distinguished audience on hand Saturday," said Steele—"your friend, Captain Bunderley, and 'Uncle' Steve, of Goose Hill fame, will join the president and Professor Ivins on the anxious bench."
"Yes; they'll have the bench, and we the anxious part," grinned Bob. "How about it, Dave?"
"I've got so much work to do on the next number of the 'Reflector' that I haven't time to be anxious," said Dave.
"Guess Benny Wilkins keeps you busy firing stuff," chuckled Tom, sauntering up in time to hear his remark. "Say, Bob, Victor Collins has bought a bugle. It'll help some to swell the noise of our rooters."
"I hope the greatest part of the din will come right after the ninth inning," remarked Steele.
None of the boys looked forward more eagerly to Saturday afternoon's contest than Victor Collins. Captain Bunderley, too, was expectant, and made several emphatic observations in the "Retreat," which rather jolted the susceptible feelings of the "Pie-eaters."
On the day set for the game the weather turned out to be balmy and springlike. During the past few days the color of the landscape had changed surprisingly. The dull, yellowish grass had given place to areas of cool, refreshing green; trees here and there were beginning to hide their branches under myriads of leaves and blossoms.
No wide-awake boy could have been discouraged or gloomy on a day like this. The players romped through their practice like young colts.
By the time the Stars appeared a happy, excited crowd thronged the field.
Professor Ivins had no desire to see the game, but, being a very amiable man, did not like to refuse President Hopkins' request.
"Our presence may help to encourage the boys," said the head of the school. "What a superb day! I have an idea that we shall win this time."
"If there was only some way by which those abominable foul tips could be prevented I should feel safer," murmured Professor Ivins. "Ah! Here is Captain Bunderley."
"Very glad to see you, gentlemen!" exclaimed the skipper. "Magnificent day, isn't it? Almost makes me feel like playing ball myself."
The three men were seated on the bench reserved for them when Mr. Rupert Barry appeared, with a little man trotting at his side.
Captain Bunderley was thereupon introduced to the millionaire and "Uncle" Steve.
"Very glad to meet you, I'm sure," said Mr. Kimbole, rubbing his hands nervously together. "Grand baseball weather, isn't it?"
"Superb!" said Professor Hopkins.
"Magnificent," added the captain.
"Unexceptionable!" chimed in Professor Ivins.
"Now that the status of the weather has been decided," remarked Mr. Barry, dryly, "we can compose ourselves to witness—a—well, I hope, a better game than it was our misfortune to see on the last occasion."
The high school crowd seemed to be in a state of unusual tension when the game began, and, as it progressed from inning to inning, they relieved their pent-up feelings by uproarious yells. Victor Collins' newly-purchased bugle ably assisted in producing noise.
Tony Tippen, as before, was the stumbling-block in the path of success. No matter how desperately the batters tried to land on his varied assortment of curves the result was the same. At the end of the fifth inning the score stood three to nothing in favor of the Stars.
"Great Scott, Bob, this is awful," murmured Tom Clifton, wiping his perspiring face, as they flocked out into the field. "The jinx certainly has us again. Honest, Bob, Tony sent in a slow ball that I thought, sure as shootin', I could knock a mile, and it didn't reach me until after I'd swung the stick."
"A fraction of a second counts," said Bob. "Don't get worried, Tom."
"Oh, I guess I'm no more worried than anybody else," grumbled Tom. "Just listen to Nat Wingate and Hackett bawling! The way those 'Pie-eaters' try to crow over our crowd certainly makes me weary."
"Batter up!" called the umpire.
"Enter Willie Singleton; exit 'Jack Frost,'" said Bob, his eyes on the new pitcher stepping into the box. "Hope to thunder he can keep down the hits."
Singleton, a businesslike lad whom nothing seemed to rattle, put all his energy and skill into the task.
Tony Tippen, however, found him for a two-base hit; Nat singled, and both made the circuit of the bases before the third out was recorded.
"The same old—old story," remarked "Crackers," disgustedly.
"A serial story," supplemented Benny Wilkins. "To be continued in our next, I s'pose?"
"You're a nice pair!" exclaimed Dick Travers, secretary of the athletic association. "Haven't the boys put up a mighty good defensive fight?"
"Of course!" broke in Harry Spearman. "If it hadn't been for good fielding and some mighty fast throws to bases the score would now be about ten to nothing."
"It's only delayed; it's only delayed," said "Crackers." "You don't need a spy-glass to see how Mr. Barry is looking."
"Gee! What's up to make you chaps look so sour?"
Victor Collins had appeared upon the scene.
"Everything, Checkered-Cap," answered Aleck Parks. "Tell your uncle to be at Guffin's to-night. We'd like to hear his opinion of the game."
"Strikes me that you're kind of fresh," responded Victor, calmly. "But I've noticed that you're mighty quiet when the captain's around."
"Here, Checkered-Cap, don't throw any saucy remarks in this direction," warned Aleck, bristling up.
"I chuck 'em out whenever I please, and whoever gets in the way catches 'em."
At the same moment Owen Lawrence was saying:
"A mighty poor game, Roycroft. They're just as weak as ever on the stick work."
"I think it's partly because Tippen's in a class by himself," said Earl.
"All the same, I'll bet if you had a chance at bat you'd rip the stitches out of that ball."
"Oh, I don't know. I'd like to try it, though."
"If you'd only put up a stiff kick in the gym that day you might be doing it now," exclaimed Luke Phelps.
"Maybe," admitted the big football guard.
"I call this a mighty good game, Owen Lawrence," piped Victor Collins. "What's the dif if your side is losing?"
"Only a big field with a diamond all laid out, and a grand stand besides," sniffed Lawrence.
"Get out! This is only the fifth game. Aren't there about ten more?"
"To lose—most likely," growled Parks.
"I reckon it'll do Clifton a lot of good. He used to be a regular caution. I was going to nickname him 'Vanitas' a dozen times."
"Just suited to him, too, Checkers," said Aleck Parks. "You've got a wee bit of sense, after all."
"Thanks! I can't return the compliment until I know you a bit better."
"Some awful fresh remarks are being let loose," exclaimed Ted Pollock. "'Vanitas'! That seems to hit Tom's case about right. What inning is this—the eighth?"
"Yes! And it's another case of whitewash," grumbled Parks. "There's our grand editor of the 'Reflector' at bat. Watch him. He's going to swing. Ah——"
"Strike one!" came over the air.
Harry Spearman dug his heel viciously into the yielding turf. The sarcastic looks on the faces of "Crackers" Brown and Owen Lawrence stung his sensitive nature.
"Come on, Dick," he said, in a low tone. "I want to speak to Bob a moment."
They found the captain and Coach Steele coming away from the bench on which Mr. Rupert Barry and the others were seated.
Steele shook his head and laughed dryly.
"Things are not breaking just the way we hoped, Harry," he said. "If we could only put a man on base once in a while I'll wager they'd manage to get around some way or other."
"What does Mr. Barry think about it?"
"He can't figure how it is that the boys aren't able to crack out a few base hits."
"The fellows who face Tony Tippen understand it," said Bob. "Side out—back to the field for us!"
The gentlemen on the "grand stand," as Victor Collins had dubbed the bench, rose to their feet a short time later, when yells, hoots, cat-calls and furious blasts from dozens of megaphones announced that something had happened.
That something was Big Bill Steever dashing frantically across home plate, a feat which required the official scorer to jot down the seventh tally for the Stars.
The high school team made a desperate attempt to change the monotonous list of ciphers which filled their run column.
Tippen, however, held them safe.
"Seven to nothing," growled Mr. Rupert Barry.
"It has been a great game," chirped "Uncle" Steve. "Considering everything, I think the schoolboys put up a pretty good fight."
"So do I," exclaimed Captain Bunderley, in his deep bass voice.
"Our ideas differ, sir," said Mr. Barry, gripping his knotted cane as though he intended to knock some one on the head. "I'm disgusted—so completely disgusted that I hardly know how to find words to express my feelings."
"Don't try, sir; don't try!" advised Mr. Kimbole, smiling benignly. "What a grand sport baseball is! I trust, sir"—he turned toward Professor Ivins—"that you have enjoyed the afternoon as much as I."
"Ahem—ahem!" The professor polished his eye-glasses industriously. "To be sure. After one has been cooped up indoors all week this sunshine is really delightful," he admitted.
"No matter who may be discouraged by the showing of the school, I am not," declared Captain Bunderley, emphatically.
"I believe, if we could get the consensus of opinion, you'd have few supporters," snapped Mr. Rupert Barry. "Five straight defeats seem to forecast a dismal failure."