A frantic outburst of applause, followed by the ripping, crashing Cascade yell aroused Larry Kirkland from the half daze in which he had moved since his fiery interview with Major Lawrence. For an hour he had been torn by a tumult of conflicting emotions in which he found it difficult to think clearly. The hot anger in which he had parted with his guardian had partially subsided and given way to stubborn determination to carry out his part of the program.
His mind was made up; Major Lawrence had called him ungrateful, a parasite and had hinted that he was incompetent to earn his own living. He would no longer accept alms, he thought bitterly. He realized that he had failed to lighten the supposed burden of woe for Helen Baldwin. She must bear it bravely for a little while and he would go out into the big world, fight the battles for himself and for her and return and claim her. His mind had traveled in circles over and over the same ground. Plainly he could not marry her at once because that would place him in a position where they must accept aid from either Major Lawrence or from the Baldwins—and to him the thought of either was hateful.
The roar of the crowd as the Cascade players trotted out onto the playing field broke in upon his tumult of thought. His brain cleared as if by magic, and a sudden grim resolve seized upon him. He would play that day as never before. It was his last game of ball and he would show them his ability. He jerked his belt more tightly and, diving sideways, fielded a hard-hit ball and tossed it quickly to Jacobs, who, pivoting as a dancer whirls, threw to first base. Another outburst of applause greeted the lightning-like handling of the ball and the applause was like balm to Larry’s sore nerves. The weariness from a sleepless night, the mental strain of the morning passed; he felt quick return of confidence in himself. He looked upon the crowd, volleying cheers back and forth across the arena, and smiled cynically. They were all his foes now—he was going to fight them all now, to force them to his own terms.
Larry found himself giving directions with a coolness that surprised him. His low-toned advice to Katsura and Winans was given with the air of one accustomed to commanding.
“These fellows have been hitting against speedy pitching all the time,” he said. “I do not think they can hit your slow twisters Katty, keep the fast curve low, pitch the javelin ball close to their hands and across their chests, and tease them into hitting the slow twisters.”
“No breaks to-day, boys,” he called as his team left the bench. “On the toes every minute. Remember, every man hits when he sees the runner moving and every base runner runs. Make Herron pitch all the time. Don’t hit until you have to, and then run it out to the limit.”
The spirit of the Cascade team was high and their confidence rising. Katsura, pitching easily, puzzled the heavy hitters of Golden in the first inning and three of them retired on easy chances.
“They’re swinging their heads off,” remarked Larry. “All three of them hit at the ball before it got to the plate. Mix them up in the next, Katty, and keep them guessing.”
Inspired by their success, Cascade rushed the attack. Jacobs, leading off, reached first, and instead of waiting for a sacrifice or a hit and run sign, he dashed for second; Dalmores swung viciously, missed, and Jacobs was out at second.
“Great work, Jake,” said Larry, although the Cascade crowd was groaning. “Keep it up and he’ll throw the game away.”