“Well, I do!” Wallace reached up and gripped David’s hand. “Look here, Dave—what was all that about your not coming back next year?”
“Oh, that was a mistake. I was feeling blue; I am coming back all right.”
“Good enough! Don’t you think we might make a go of it if we roomed together, Dave?”
“I’d rather room with you than any other fellow here, Lester. I’ve often hoped you’d suggest it. But Mr. Dean has asked me to live with him next year. He needs some one. That was what we were talking about this evening.”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Wallace hesitated a moment and then said, “You know, I like Mr. Dean. He’s making an awfully plucky fight. I never stopped to think about that. The way he talked to me this evening—he was white clear through. I’ll tell you one thing, Dave.” Wallace got slowly out of his chair. “Nobody’s going to have any chance to put me on probation next year.”
That resolve, however, as David knew, did not make it any easier for Wallace to face the surprise, the disappointment, and the inquiries of the school. The next day all St. Timothy’s buzzed with rumor and excitement; the strangeness of Wallace’s case, off probation one day, on again the next, and his own reticence as to the cause, led to gossip and speculation. All he would say in reply to the questions of his best friends was that Mr. Dean was not to be blamed in any way for thus disqualifying him for the school nine; it was all his own fault, and he did not care to talk about it.
Henshaw, captain of the nine, came to David.
“I’ve got to try you now at first,” he said. “I guess you’ll hold your end up all right. But Lester makes me tired! He was the best batter on the team.”
Wallace himself tried to make amends to the team for failing them. He gave the members batting practice; he played on the scrub; he heartened and encouraged the players with his praise. And his spirit of willing service went far toward reëstablishing him in the affections of the school.
The game that year was played at St. John’s, and thither on the day appointed all St. Timothy’s journeyed—even Mr. Dean. And during the game Mr. Dean and Wallace sat side by side on the players’ bench, and Wallace reported to him the progress of events. He clapped his hands with the rest when in the second inning David made a hit that brought in a run—the only hit, to be sure, that he made during the game. It was a hard-fought game, in which Carter, the St. Timothy’s pitcher, had a little the better of it up to the ninth inning. Then, with the score four to three against them, St. John’s came to the bat. The first man struck out, but the next singled and the third was given his base on balls. Carter seemed nervous and unsteady. Henshaw came in from third base to encourage him; the St. John’s supporters had taken heart and were keeping up a distracting tumult along the third-base line. Wallace leaned forward, gripping cold hands together; Mr. Dean sat with an expression of patient expectancy. Henshaw returned to his position, and Carter faced the captain of St. John’s. The captain had determined to “wait them out,” but Carter recovered control, and after having two balls called sent two strikes over the plate. Then the batter hit a hard grounder toward Adams, the second baseman; Adams made a brilliant stop and tossed the ball to the short-stop, who was covering second, and the short-stop shot it to David at first just ahead of the runner. The game had been won in an instant; the St. Timothy’s crowd burst into a tremendous roar.