Won in the ninth

by Christy Mathewson

During the second week in June, the week of final preparation for the trip to Jefferson and the first of the three championship games with Jefferson, final examinations interfered to some extent with the baseball practice, but by getting out on the field very early in the morning and late in the afternoon, with here and there a special shifting of the examination hour, for this or that member of the team, the nine put in a pretty busy week.

Coach Young had returned from Jefferson with a complete confirmation of the early reports about the nine that Captain Church had developed in the western college, and letters kept coming in daily from alumni in the west, sounding the warning that Hughie and his boys must “prepare for the battle of their lives,” as Church had built up a wonderful baseball machine—one that it would be the greatest task to beat.

This talk had its effect on the Lowell boys, and Hughie and Captain Larke were a good deal worried. After a consultation they decided to telegraph to Johnny McGrew, Conny McGil and Pop Anderson to come on to act as assistant coaches and help put on the finishing touches. Most of the time was put in signal and batting practice, as all other games were out of the way. The coaches figured that with equal ability in the pitching department the batting would win the games, if backed up by perfect team work, which only a thorough understanding of the signals could make possible.

Finally the great day came for the trip to the western college. A special train of twelve cars was provided and with the cheers of all of the students that couldn’t go along, professors and the townspeople, ringing in their ears, they started.

The team occupied a special coach in the rear of the train, and no one not a member of the Varsity was allowed in the car, excepting of course, special coaches, Young, McGrew, McGil and Pop Anderson. With these surrounding them in the car, Hughie, Captain and Johnny laid out the plan of the coming battle.

They had their own private chef aboard, the same who prepared the meals at the training table, so that with the exception of riding across the country at the rate of sixty miles per hour, they were as comfortable and fully as much under training orders as at home. The other cars on the train were occupied by the great body of students who made the journey with the team to attend the game, three coaches being filled with the Lowell Organized Noise Club. All along the route, whenever the train stopped, and they made stops all along the line to take on Lowell Alumni—there were crowds of Lowell graduates at the station to cheer and wish them Godspeed.

We will turn our attention, however, to the special car at the end of the train with the nine.

There is nothing like a long railroad journey to get you acquainted with people and to give you a chance to note the peculiarities of the others in the car and this would be especially true in the car referred to where everyone was interested in one thing. Every man on the train felt that the result might depend upon him. The good batters would wonder if their favorite sticks were aboard.

Ty Robb, quiet and nattily dressed, high strung, nervous, built like a greyhound, with slight waist and magnificently formed shoulders, small ankles and wrists and a poise to his head like the ideal Grecian youth, came as near being a perfect built athlete as any one on the train; but even this well-balanced youth was not above being superstitious, for he got a little bit nervous along about bedtime, and finally hunted up his little old black bat out of the bunch and took it to bed with him.