[CHAPTER XI]
THE CHENANGO CLUB
The club had already played several games by that time, but, as all the members were either attending high school or employed at work, one day’s line-up was seldom like another’s. Captain Taylor never knew until the last moment which of his team members would be able to play and in consequence he tried to have two good players for every position. Practice was held in a field on the edge of town leased by the Association. It wasn’t either very level or very spacious, but it sufficed. It had a board fence around it, contained a small grand stand, a shed which answered the purpose of dressing-room, a cinder track, one-eighth mile in circumference, and jumping pits. The practice hour was five o’clock, or as soon after as the fellows could reach the field, and they kept at it as long as daylight lasted or hunger would go unappeased.
Wayne found some twenty-odd fellows in attendance the afternoon of his first appearance. All of them wore a uniform of some description or a portion of one. All, that is, save Wayne, who had given no thought to the matter of attire. Still, he was no worse off than Hoffman, whose regalia consisted of a pair of football trousers and stockings in combination with his usual street clothes. Hoffman was a catcher, and when he donned mask and protector he made a laughable appearance. His first name was Augustus, but he had been known as Gus until he had become a clerk in the office of the gas company. Now he was called “Gas” Hoffman. He was a fairly good catcher and a slugging batsman, as catchers so often are.
Practice with the Chenangos was work very largely diluted with play. As a captain, Joe Taylor was anything but a martinet. Wayne, recalling his own strict discipline when he had captained his school team the year before, decided that Taylor erred on the side of laxity. Perhaps, however, the Chenango captain knew his business, for there was a very evident disinclination on the part of most of the candidates to take their occupation seriously. They were there for fun and meant to have it. Wayne had wondered that Arthur Pattern had not tried for the team until Arthur had explained that his playing on a semi-professional team in New Hampshire one summer had taken him out of the amateur class and that since the Chenango was a purely amateur club he would have no right there.
The fellows at the field that afternoon averaged nineteen years of age. One or two were older, among them “Gas” Hoffman and Captain Taylor. Gas was twenty-three and Taylor twenty-one. To even the average, young Despaigne, who played shortstop very cleverly, was only seventeen, and Collins, a fielder, was scarcely older. Wayne suffered for lack of baseball shoes that day and made up his mind to buy a pair at the first opportunity. There was about twenty minutes of fielding and batting practice and then two teams were chosen and six innings were played. Wayne was put at third base on the second-string nine and made a good impression in spite of his lack of practice. At bat he failed ignominiously to hit safely even once, but, having waited out the pitcher in one inning, he got to first and gave a very pretty exhibition of base-stealing a moment later, reaching the coveted bag simultaneously with the ball but eluding it by a dexterous hook-slide that kept him far out of reach of the baseman’s sweep.
It was all over at half-past six and the fellows walked back toward the centre of town together, still very full of spirits, disappearing one by one down side streets until at last only Hal Collins, a tall youth named Wheelock, and Wayne remained. Wheelock played first base and was thin and angular and wore glasses over a pair of pale, peering eyes. He was about nineteen, Wayne judged, and had a slow, drawling manner of speech and a dry humour. Collins was a quick, nervous youngster, inclined to be sarcastic. Wayne liked Jim Wheelock best, although for a while he was never sure whether Jim’s remarks were serious or otherwise. It was Jim who praised Wayne’s throws to first base as they tramped along Whitney Street.
“You peg the ball across like you were looking where you were sending it,” drawled Jim. “Playing first would be a cinch if they all did that, Sloan.”
“Jim’s idea of playing first,” said Hal Collins, “is to stand on the bag and pick ’em off his chest. He hates to reach for anything.”
“My arms are four inches longer than they were before I started playing ball with this gang,” responded Jim, “and I’ve got joints in my legs that aren’t human!”