Tom got through his examinations very well, if not exactly with flying colours. It was hard to serve two masters just then and I fancy Tom would have got higher marks in an examination on baseball than he did on his school courses. But he got by fairly creditably, for all of that. Sidney, who was always a brilliant student, did so well, though, that Tom felt rather humiliated. Sidney was now very full of plans and details for the graduation party, for he had been elected a member of the committee having that important function in charge, and Tom saw less of him than usual. At the store the early spring business had quieted down. June, for some reason, was generally a dull month. The sporting goods department had done a wonderful business that year, and even Mr. Wright took occasion to compliment Tom on the fact.
“Very satisfactory, Tom, very satisfactory,” he declared, drumming nervously on the top of the showcase. “We—ah—we think you deserve much credit. And we’ve decided that—er—well, Mr. Cummings will tell you about that.”
Mr. Cummings, however, had already told him. Tom was to have an increase in wages in September, on the completion of his second year in the store. His salary was to be eight dollars a week instead of five. Moreover, when Tom was through school and could give his entire time to the business, he was to be paid twelve dollars; and Mr. Cummings hoped, he said, that Tom would decide to stay with them. Tom replied that he had no desire to leave.
“Well, we don’t want you to, Tom. You’ve made a paying thing of that department of yours and I don’t see why it shouldn’t be developed even more, nor why, when you have more time to give to it, it shouldn’t make more money for us than it’s doing now. And you mustn’t think that twelve dollars is as far as you can go with us, either. We’re willing to pay for what we get, Tom, and just as soon as you can show us you’re worth fifteen or twenty or even thirty, son, you’ll get it.”
Life looked very bright to Tom just then, and when, on the next Saturday afternoon, he pitched Amesville High to a hard-won victory over Lynton, going the whole nine innings without a falter and receiving the best of support from his team-mates, his cup of happiness seemed filled to overflowing. Mr. George returned on the morning of that day, watched his protégé perform, and had all sorts of nice things to say to him afterward. To be sure, there was criticism interspersed with the praise, for naturally enough Tom still showed inexperience, but Tom was quite as grateful for the criticism as for the praise. Mr. Cummings rubbed his hands all the way back—he seldom missed a game now—and beamed proudly upon Tom. One would have thought from the senior partner’s attitude toward the boy that he was directly responsible for the latter’s baseball prowess! The school viewed Tom as a hero and impatiently reiterated its former conundrum, Why had not Tom been allowed to pitch against Petersburg?
“Just wait until next Saturday, though,” it said confidently. “We won’t do a thing to those dubs, with Pollock in the box! Just watch us!”
There was no Wednesday game that week, as it happened, since Turner’s Falls cancelled her date because of the illness of two of her best players. But there were four days of the hardest sort of practice. And the fellows stood in need of it, since examinations had seriously interfered with the attendance of late. Tom spent Wednesday afternoon with the team and worked hard, so hard that Mr. George forbade practice in the side-yard when they returned home.
“It won’t do to run any risks with your arm, Tom,” he said. “I suppose they’ll pitch you Saturday. Can’t see what else they can do. So you want to take things easy, son.”
The next afternoon—examinations were about over and Tom had returned to the store directly after lunch—he was called to the telephone. It was a neighbour of Uncle Israel’s speaking. Aunt Patty had asked her to tell Tom that his uncle was very ill and to say that he had better come home. Tom caught a train at a few minutes past four and went out to Derry. Uncle Israel had caught cold a day or two before and was pretty sick, Aunt Patty explained anxiously. The doctor came soon after Tom arrived and was not very encouraging. It was lung congestion, he said, and Mr. Bowles was a very ill man. Whether pneumonia would result he wouldn’t predict. Aunt Patty took full command of the situation, a neighbour came in to cook, and Tom and John Green sat down to a very cheerless supper. Friday morning Uncle Israel was rather worse than better, and Tom, remembering that he was to accompany the baseball team to Petersburg the next day, considered calling up Mr. Talbot on the telephone and reporting the situation. But the nearest telephone was at a neighbour’s house, a full half-mile distant—Uncle Israel had always refused to have anything to do with such a silly contraption—and Tom decided to wait until morning. He had already informed Mr. Cummings that he would not be back for a day or two. Saturday morning, after an anxious night of it, Uncle Israel’s condition was improved and when, at about eleven o’clock, the doctor arrived he declared that all danger was passed and that careful nursing and proper diet would bring the patient around as well as ever. Tom talked it over with Aunt Patty, and Aunt Patty said he had better go back.