“No’m, not when things suits him, but you ought to see him when he is mad. Golly! Why, even the cops lets that kid alone.”
“But it isn’t parliamentary—I mean, it isn’t proper to have one election after another like this. We chose one captain, and we ought to stand by him.”
“That wasn’t no quorum what elected him, ma’m,” said Ern Swanson, smiling broadly. “They was only eight in the club then, and now we got twenty-three. That little bunch o’ Greasers couldn’t represent us. No, ma’m. We want regular Americans at the head of this club, and so we had a regular election.”
Eveley knew this was dead against American principles, and she looked once more toward the sulking ex-captain. Then she remembered that he had won his own election in her absence by plain coercion, and decided to pass this one irregularity, but never again.
“Very well, then,” she said weakly, “have it your own way this time. But there must be no more elections until the right time. Now, what are you going to do? Have a practise game? Then suppose we let Ivan be captain of the second team, anyhow, and you can pick your men and have a good game.”
This seemed a simple proposition to Eveley in her innocence, but on a sudden, pandemonium reigned. The whole crowd of boys propelled itself violently into the air, and there was a shrieking of voices and a tossing of bats and gloves, and a seemingly endless number of arms flying about. From out the clamor Eveley could distinguish repeated hoarse roars of “Pi-i-i-i-tcher,” “Pi-i-i-i-tcher,” “Ca-a-a-a-a-atcher,” “Ca-a-a-a-atcher,” and she retired to a remote spot to await the proper moment for gathering up the remains. Being a lady, she could make no sense at all of the deadly uproar, and she was quite thrilled and charmed when of a sudden the tumult subsided, and she found that out of that apparently aimless clamor, two teams had been selected and the players assigned to their various positions on the field. It was black magic to her.
Eveley thought she knew baseball. She knew what a “foul” was, and she knew what happened when one passed four balls, and she knew when one was out. And she had often said fatuously that she loved baseball, because she understood it. But she did not understand it. She understood a mild respectable game that was played by scholarly young men in college. Baseball as played by the wild creatures on that Saturday afternoon was a sealed book to her. And she devoutly hoped and prayed it would remain sealed. She felt that death would be preferable to a full working knowledge of what went on in the Irish-American Club that afternoon.
For an interval of perhaps three minutes the thing progressed with some degree of reason. Then issued a sudden roar from a dozen throats, every one came tearing in from his proper location on the field, and there was a yelling, huddled group in the center. Then Eveley crept timidly from the corner where she was engaging in prayer for the safety of herself and her club, and advanced cautiously toward the swaying pile of shrieking boys.
She placed soft entreating hands on the outside layer, she even jumped up and down and yelled “Boys,” at the top of her healthy voice. But she was only an atom in a world gone upside down. Presently, however, and from no reason she could determine, the mob disentangled itself into distinct entities, the roar subsided into a few threatening growls and murmurs, and Captain Swanson hitched up his trousers and yelled “Play ball” triumphantly. Then the game went on. This identical thing occurred at intervals of about eight minutes during the entire afternoon.
Eveley hoped devoutly that she was by her very presence helping to Americanize these particular bits of flotsam and jetsam—she trusted so. She was quite confident that so much personal agonizing on her part ought to be doing something to the wild beings. But there was no apparent development.