THE LIST OF PLAYERS
Since their return in the preceding fall Bob Somers and his crowd had certainly stirred things up at the Kingswood High. Of course, for many years, the school had been represented in local sporting events by its football and baseball teams. But there was no athletic association, little discipline, and a general policy of letting things drift along under no particular control.
Now all this was changed. Immediately after the board of directors was chosen, and they, in turn, had elected officers, the business of securing a competent coach was attended to. Roger Steele, a graduate of the school, who had afterward played on a university baseball team and finally taken up the practice of law in Kingswood, readily assented to assume this task.
Roger, a great friend of Bob Somers, entered enthusiastically into the scheme. There was plenty of good material to draw upon, a fact attested to by the number of victories won before Nat Wingate left school.
As early as the beginning of February the coach sent out a call for candidates. Freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors responded in such numbers as to make it apparent that the boys were in hearty accord with the new spirit of things.
Even while winter storms were howling practice was begun in the gymnasium. A net cage to protect the walls and windows from damage was arranged. Often while the snowflakes pattered against the panes aspiring candidates labored zealously to perfect themselves in the national sport.
Steele began to drill "Jack Frost" and Willie Singleton who soon gave promise of becoming real pitchers. Charlie Blake, wishing to retrieve his reputation, worked diligently. So did stout Dave Brandon. The football team of which he and Bob Somers had been members had received its bumps at the hands of Rockville Academy only a few months before, and Dave did not wish to leave school with memories of defeat lingering in his mind.
Perhaps, after all, the biggest figure in these events was Tom Clifton. He had had printed a set of by-laws which were to govern the acts of the athletic association. Tom was mighty proud of this achievement, for even Coach Steele expressed the opinion that they were very good. There was no more strenuous candidate for a position on the team than the tall senior, who was usually the first in the gym and the last to leave.
The greatest danger which the coach had to contend with was the tendency of the boys to overdo things. As the time for a definite selection of players drew near interest increased. The adherents of rival candidates began to be heard. The Somersites, however, seemed to be in the great majority, several of the Ramblers being almost certain of winning places on the team.
The Kingswood High School was surrounded by spacious grounds in which, only a few moments' walk from the main building, stood the gymnasium.
Early on the afternoon following the introduction of Owen Lawrence into the select company of the "Pie-eaters," a great crowd of students directed their steps toward it. A cold, drizzly rain fell steadily; a brisk wind shook and rattled the branches of the stately elm on the campus. But the unpleasant weather could not kill the ardor and enthusiasm of the boys.
Coats were doffed, and once again purple and white sweaters made an aggressive note of color amid the surroundings.
Among the throng who came to look on were "Crackers" Brown, Owen Lawrence, Ted Pollock and Benny Wilkins.
"Start 'er going, fellows!"
The businesslike voice of Coach Steele rang through the room.
"All right, Roger," responded Bob Somers. "Who's got my glove—you, Dave? Good! Shoot that ball over here, Tom. Thanks! Here go, 'Jack Frost.'"
With a "Hello, 'Pie-eater'!" addressed to Ted Pollock, the pitcher got to work, Phil Brentall, catcher, having taken his position behind the big chalk mark on the gymnasium mat.
"Take it easy, boys," warned Coach Steele. "Danger of straining your arms if you don't. Cut out those fancy capers, Clifton."
"Shoot it over, Dave," Bob Somers was saying. "Put plenty of ginger behind it, too. Better get over this way a little further, so we won't be in danger of putting 'Jack Frost' out of business."
The snappy work which followed brought a smile of approval to the coach's face. Several other candidates for pitchers followed Frost. Then came batting practice. Some of the boys were able to solve "Jack Frost's" delivery. Frequently the crack of the bats reverberated sharply through the building, and the wire netting stopped some pretty hard drives.
Steele showed his men many fine points in the art of sliding to bases, and Tom Clifton distinguished himself on the big mats spread about for this purpose.
Occasionally the candidates "cut loose," and by the time practice for the afternoon was over most of them were warm and happy.
Earl Roycroft had made a good showing. Everybody who liked the big football guard—and that meant almost every one in the room—was jubilant.
"He's all to the good as a baseball tosser," declared Ted Pollock. "We'll surely see him in a brand new uniform playing at first or short."
The crowd began filing out of the building.
"Hello!" cried "Crackers" Brown, suddenly. "That looks interesting."
"Goodness!—'Crackers' discovers something interesting!" murmured Benny Wilkins. "It's certainly not himself."
"What do you see, Brown?" asked Owen Lawrence.
"You fellows couldn't spy through a hole in a fence," growled "Crackers." He lowered his voice. "Cast your optics over in the direction of Steele and Somers. Now do you catch on?"
"Gee Willikins! They seem to be looking over a long list of some kind," cried Ted Pollock. "I wonder what it means."
"If your brain cells don't operate actively enough I suppose I'll have to tell you," said "Crackers," in his usual solemn tone. "It must be a—a—what's the word? Oh, yes—tentative—a tentative list of eligible players."
"I believe that wearing spectacles must make a fellow smart," grinned Benny. "What are you looking so glum about, Lawrence?"
"Why, I wanted to try for the team myself," exclaimed Lawrence. "By Jingo, they ought to give me a chance. Come on, fellows. I'm going to find out right away where I stand."
"Don't let 'em bluff you," counseled Benny. "Always remember that the 'Pie-eaters'll' back you up."
There was no air of indecision about the new student. The lines of his clean-cut face seemed to tighten.
"I say, Mr. Steele," he called, "may I have a word with you?"
"As many as you please," answered the coach, smilingly. He handed the list which had excited "Crackers'" curiosity to Bob Somers and advanced to the edge of the cage. "What can I do for you, Lawrence?"
"Am I too late to try for the team, Mr. Steele?"
Owen spoke in an aggressive manner, as though he anticipated an affirmative answer and was ready to argue the point. But: "Certainly you may," coming from the coach made the combative light fade from his eyes.
"Oh—oh! Thank you."
"You have played a good deal, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. You may start in to-morrow."
"Too bad! A revolution nipped in the bud," muttered Benny Wilkins. "Lawrence's expression was something fierce. But it had the 'fade-away' drop, all right. Back to the pie parlor for me."
"I'd like to see that list," remarked "Crackers," wistfully.
"Hi, hi, there, Tom Clifton," shouted Benny Wilkins, "trot over this way."
"Well?" inquired Tom, an instant later.
"Is that—er—er—what was the big word you used just now, 'Crackers'?"
"Tentative, you ignoramus."
"Thanks! A tentative list of players, Tom?"
Tom looked very wise.
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," he answered, slowly. "Just think it over while you're eating doughnuts. Going to practice to-morrow, Lawrence? Good! The more the merrier!"
"The more the sorrier, you mean—when the list is pasted up," interposed Benny.
"I shouldn't be surprised if somebody got pasted after the pasting," said "Crackers."
"Don't worry," laughed Tom, turning away.
During the next few days, whenever the weather was suitable, the boys practiced out-of-doors. Owen Lawrence worked as hard as any of the others. There was no doubt about his being a good player—even Tom Clifton admitted this fact to Harry Spearman.
"Joining that 'Pie-eating' crowd won't do him a bit of good, though," he added.
"Strikes me he'd be a rather hard chap to manage," confided Harry. "Awful set in his opinions, isn't he?"
"Owen makes me tired," confessed Tom. "He actually tried to jump on Dave this morning. But Dave only grinned—that's all. Couldn't get him going."
"How did it happen?"
"He's seen that Dave is chummy with the coach—asked him to put in a good word in his behalf. 'Can't,' said Dave. 'We're leaving it all to Steele.' Seemed to make Owen hot."
"If he doesn't get on the team he'll be hotter yet," chuckled Spearman. "You seem to be getting some of those base-stealing stunts down fine, Tom."
"Steele's put me onto a lot of tricks. 'Tisn't all in the sprinting, he says. Even a slow man who knows how has a chance. He's got the list of players about made up now. Next Monday he'll submit it to the athletic association."
"We've been talking things over with Roger for a long time," remarked Harry. "From what I've seen, I'd say he's struck the list about right. But there'll be a lot of kicks coming, son."
"Sure," admitted Tom. "That officious 'Crackers' Brown, even before the names are put up, is buttonholing everybody he thinks ripe for a row. 'Steele will be making the greatest mistake of his life if he doesn't have Roycroft and Lawrence on that team,' he says. The nerve of him!"
"One good thing: Roger knows his business too well to be influenced. It's up to the coach to run the team, and the school hasn't a word to say."
"Of course not! Gee! I must get over to practice now," exclaimed Tom, suddenly.
Before the week was over Mr. Barry and his dog again appeared on the scene. He was as garrulous as usual whenever spoken to, but otherwise made no comments.
To the anxious candidates Monday seemed very far off; and when it rolled around few of the students were able to keep their minds on the work in hand. Some "fell down" hard in the class room. All sorts of rumors were afloat. Earl Roycroft looked hopeful; "Crackers" Brown decidedly ominous; Owen Lawrence wore an air of belligerency.
At the first opportunity a crowd began trooping over to the gymnasium.
Yes, the list was there, posted in a conspicuous place.
But, due to the noise, pushing and jostling, it was some time before those on the outside of the excited mass could gather any clear idea of what had happened.
"Crackers" Brown and Owen Lawrence were not on the outside of the mass. The former had his face shoved so close to the list that it was with difficulty his neighbors could get a glimpse.
"Gee whiz, 'Crackers,' I'm tired of looking at the architecture of your head," complained Benny Wilkins. "How many of the seven candidates for pitchers got their jobs?"
Numerous exclamations of surprise and disappointment were soon being heard. The ominous expression on "Crackers'" face increased. Lawrence was looking positively savage.
"Say, fellows, this is about the limit. What do you think!" Brown turned to face a staring, noisy crowd. "Neither Roycroft nor Lawrence is on the team!"