The Blandykes had assured the St. Cuthbert's boys early in the spring, that they had played them for the last time, not because of any disagreement or because they had been beaten previously, but because their faculty had ruled against the long travel. Yet here was Gill, at the very opening of the season, securing
the first great game without hitch or flaw, and on the home grounds.
The boys were jubilant. Their satisfaction was increased when they learned that Gill, by his irresistible charm of manner, had induced Henning to practice with the team. He could not get Roy to promise to play in the match game, but to have him in the practice games was something. Every one admitted that Roy was an exceptionally fine player. Much of the beginning of the undercurrent of talk against him in the previous fall was, it will be remembered, owing to his refusal to have any more to do with sports, and especially with baseball.
How could he now reconcile himself to his father's positive injunction to engage in no sports and yet play practice games? Roy had thought the matter over and had come to a decision.
His father had told him there were to be no sports. This he adhered to scrupulously. His father had said there was to be enough exercise only by which to keep a sound mind in a sound body. Now to him, as to many another healthy, hearty boy, after the long dormant months of winter, there was need of good outdoor exercise. Where could one find it better than in the great game? But was not this sport, in the understanding of his father? Roy thought it was not, that is, practice games were not. With match games it was different. He reasoned that his father knew that he was athletic, that wheeling could not always suffice, and that long walks were a mere winter expedient. He therefore arrived at the eminently satisfactory conclusion that his father did not intend, when he told him to keep a sound mind in a sound body, that he should be altogether excluded from the game which, above all others, was best able to secure that end. Casuists
may argue pro and con on the soundness of Roy's conclusion if they will. We leave it to them.
It is well known that there is nothing in a college so well adapted to the breaking up of animosities and of undesirable alliances and dangerous particular friendships which lead to no good, as baseball. The adage, “birds of a feather flock together,” is particularly true of boys at school during the winter season. Crowded together in a certain circumscribed space of one or two or three halls, according to the excellence of the college equipment, the very best boys are often forced to form acquaintances with those with whom they would otherwise not closely associate.
This had been particularly the case this year at St. Cuthbert's, owing to the diversity of opinion as to the question of the identity of the undiscovered thief. As we know, many boys were inclined to suspect Roy Henning. Among these were some of the best ball-players. Now Harry Gill, captain and manager, was substitute pitcher. Stockley was a splendid first baseman, and could pitch well. Smithers, too, although not liked generally by the boys, was too fine a player to be ignored. Beecham, of course, was on the team, as was Bracebridge. Garrett, so the boys declared, “would have eaten his hat”to have been selected for a place on the first nine. Gill, however, appointed strictly according to merit, and Andrew rose no higher than substitute for third baseman. That, however, was something in a place like St. Cuthbert's, because the substitutes, beside traveling with the team, were always the opposing team in practice games, and during the spring and early summer saw a deal of fine work.
It is an axiom that in order to play good ball, all differences of opinion must be dropped. No team
could be enthusiastic for victory with three or four currents of self-interest or animosity thwarting and dampening all efforts and rendering harmonious and united action impossible.