“That’s all right, there’s something back of all this,” continued Spike, vigorous in defence of his chum. “Why should the coaches put Weston in, and then, when he slumped, call on Avondale before they did you, Joe? It isn’t right, and I think Horsehide should have made a better fight for you. You claim he’s a friend of yours, Joe.”
“Well, yes, in a way. And yet if I had to depend on his friendship to get on the mound I’d never go there. I want to stand on my own feet and have the right to pitch because I can do better than some other fellow. That’s all I ask—a fair show. I don’t want any favors, and Mr. Hasbrook isn’t the man to give them to me, if I’d take them.”
“I guess you’re right there,” commented Ricky.
“But what I can’t understand,” went on Spike, “is how Horsehide seemed to give in to the other two coaches. It was as plain as a flagpole that he didn’t want to pitch Weston to-day, and yet he had to in spite of himself. Why was it?”
“Do you really want to know?” asked Ricky, and his voice was lowered, while he glanced around as if to make sure that no one would hear him save his two friends. “Do you really want to know?”
“Certainly,” declared Spike, and Joe wondered what was coming.
“Well, it’s because Weston is a member of the Anvil Club,” said Ricky. “It’s a class secret society, and it has a lot of influence—more so than even some of the big Senior clubs. Weston belongs and so do Horsehide and the other two coaches. They were in college, and they still keep up their affiliations. Now you know why they pitched Weston to-day—because he demanded it as a part of his right as a member of the Anvil Club.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” asked Spike, “that the secret society is bigger than Yale—that it could make her lose a ball game?”
“No, not exactly,” replied Ricky. “But it is powerful, and a member has an unwritten right to demand almost anything in reason of the other members, and by their promises made they are obliged to help him.”