“He’s a queer bird,” laughed Trumbull as Lattiser strolled on, feeling his way with his feet, his eyes fastened upon the pages of his book.
“He is older—and therefore wiser,” said Katsura. “His eyes twinkled when he spoke of finding a way. I think he already has a plan.”
But in spite of Lattiser’s promise to find a way the fall and winter passed without a change in the situation, and the Christmas holidays drew nearer and nearer. Baseball practice had given way to the football squads, and the interest of the students turned to the other games. Practice was abandoned, and training suspended until after the holidays. In spite of this suspended animation on the part of the team, Katsura, Winans and Trumbull worked faithfully at their practice. Only a few days during the winter were severe enough to prevent playing, and they found their work improving steadily. Winans had become a remarkably effective catcher, and when working with Katsura, he seemed to increase the effectiveness of the little brown boy’s pitching. Larry discovered to his surprise that Katsura could prevent him from hitting the ball hard and that he had discovered his “weakness,” which was a sharp curve ball, which “broke” quickly at the front of the plate. Winans, who, in a quiet way, was a tease, delighted in signaling for this ball whenever Katsura pitched two strikes to Larry, and he roared with laughter when it “fooled” the batter. Katsura had mastered the “javelin curve,” and the motion, peculiar as it was, made the ball the more deceptive.
“What’s the use of working so hard?” panted Trumbull one evening. “We haven’t a real chance—and none of the regulars is in training at all.”
“That’s just the idea,” replied Winans. “I’m not bubbling over with delight at the idea of working hard an hour a day—but we are fighting for a chance to make good, and we’d be nice lobsters if we fell down when we got the chance.”
So the practice work continued steadily through the winter term. Twice a month, on evenings when callers were permitted, Larry Kirkland rode to St. Gertrude’s and called upon Helen Baldwin. The girl seemed delighted to receive him, and chattered bewitchingly during the hour he was permitted to remain with her in the parlors. By silent consent they had banished the topic of the enmity between the families. Several times Helen asked him what Harry was doing, and complained that he seldom came to see her, and that she was lonely.
Both were planning their Christmas vacations, and Larry was disappointed when she received word that her uncle would stop for her and take her East for the holidays. Krag had written, planning a deer-hunting trip into the mountains, and at the prospect of the hunt, Larry rushed through the remaining weeks of the term, and with a much lighter heart boarded the train for Shasta View. He felt that he had conquered himself and gained a great victory, even though he had failed to make the team.
CHAPTER IX
The Pig in the Parlor
“The trouble with us,” remarked Winans, kicking his long legs in the air and hurling his book across the room, “is the lack of initiative. We’re dying of dry rot. No one starts anything, and the others fail to finish what he don’t start.”
“What’s the woe?” inquired Kirkland, lounging over his books in a deep chair under the lamp. “You’ve been aching for some deviltry for days. Why don’t you start something?”