Third Base Thatcher

by Everett Scott

But Jeff never made the suggestion to Hoffman and the other Sophomore friends he knew intimately, first of all because he thought it was a rather delicate matter to handle without considerable deliberation. And by the time he got through deliberating he discovered that the prediction that was made by Rabbit Warren was in a fair way toward being fulfilled. Birdie Pell and Gould were chumming together again, and Birdie was apparently developing into just as much of a nuisance because of his freshness as he had been before his accident in the swimming pool.

Birdie had hardly been definitely discharged from the infirmary before Jeff discovered him one evening strolling with Gould toward the shadows of the gymnasium building around which they disappeared. Jeff knew as well as if he had been told that the two of them were on their way toward the back road that led across the Wading River bridge to the woods on the far side which was out of bounds and so much out of the way that they could plan to do almost anything and not be detected. They were going to the woods to sneak a smoke. They were up to their old ways again and Jeff watched them in disgust. Anything that one had to sneak out of bounds to do was hardly worth doing to Jeff’s way of thinking.

“By Jove, I believe Rabbit was right. Birds of a feather do flock together. It looks as if they were both tarred with the same stick. And Gould is the worst of the two because he is older and should have more sense. He is leading that kid into trouble and I’m afraid Pell hasn’t the backbone to say no to anything.”

Jeff was thoroughly disgusted with both of them after that and gave the redemption of Pell very little thought. He had too many other things to occupy his mind.

Spring was coming on with a rush. The first of May arrived with all the balminess that that delightful month can bring. The majestic old elms and maples on the campus were a brilliant green now with lush young leaves, the ivy that sprawled over the brick walls of the school buildings was colorful with new leaves and bright green tentacles that were reaching out for new places into which to hook their tiny fingers. All of the birds were back now, even the sputtering wrens that nested in the bird boxes that the students of another generation had erected around the school grounds, and tiny warblers of all descriptions were whisking from one tree to another diligently seeking worms and worm eggs and thus clearing the fine old trees of any breeding summer pests that might destroy them. It was great to be alive such days.

It was baseball weather, too; baseball weather of just the right sort and all of Jeff’s otherwise unoccupied time was devoted to thoughts of the game and his efforts to develop himself into a permanent member of the first team. He had not missed a single day’s practice since the call for baseball candidates had been issued, and he had devoted himself conscientiously to the work of rounding into excellent physical shape and his best playing form.

And his efforts had not been without recognition either, for Coach Rice and Mr. Clarkson had been watching him with critical eye ever since he had been a member of the squad, and they had both gone to great pains to help him in his efforts, giving him suggestions and pointing out minor faults in his form which when corrected went a long way toward making him a better all around player.

Since the first game of the season with Erasmus Hall he had been accepted as one of the regular substitutes for the big team, and every Wednesday and every Saturday thereafter his name appeared on the bulletin board with those called out for the game. Indeed, by the end of the second week in May he had played in three games, once substituting for Mickey Daily on second base for an entire game, when that sturdy little streak of lightning had to go to the infirmary with a slight case of tonsilitis, and twice being put into the game for Gould at third base when Mr. Rice felt that perhaps the team would work better with the substitution than with the regular player.

Of course, Gould was none too pleased with these changes that kept him out of the batting order and he made manifest his disagreeableness in various ways much to the disgust of Jeff and the rest of the members of the team who were not at all partial to having him in the game. But it was a notable fact that the next game following the games in which Jeff had played, Gould put up a much better exhibition of baseball. He seemed to have it in him to play harder, as if he meant to show Mr. Rice and the rest just what he could do when he tried. Jeff noticed this with the rest of the fellows of the team, and the coach as well, and he came to the same conclusion as the rest of them did; that Gould was not giving his best to the team only when he had to.

If there was anything that made the head coach angry it was just that fault in a player. His instructions always were, “Play it hard, no matter how easy the game. Play everything hard.” And when he found a player softening up on his play, or trying grand stand stuff, or showing off in any way he was the first to call that player down.