Double Play: A Story of School and Baseball

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Oh, most anything,” said Alf. “Just tell them to be blowed; tell ’em you’re sort of particular about whom you associate with, and that—”

“Shut up,” laughed Dan. “Just say that ‘Mr. Pennimore declines with thanks the kind invitation of Oxford Society.’ That’s all that’s necessary, isn’t it, Alf?”

“Ye-es, I suppose so. But you might add in a postscript that you hope they’ll choke.”

Thus Gerald’s disappointment was mitigated by the promise held out by Alf, and the note declining the invitation to Oxford was despatched without regrets. Even had Gerald been inclined to feel sore over his failure he would not have had much time to indulge his feelings. The inter-class baseball games were approaching, and practice demanded much of his time. Gerald was winning friends now, for his fellow members of the Fourth Class nine had to admire his playing, if nothing else. But as they got to know him better they found other things to like. They soon discovered that his reserve, which looked so much like arrogance, was only a cloak to hide a sort of shyness that was the result of his earlier experiences at Yardley. They found that he wasn’t stuck-up—a heinous sin at Yardley—and that he never referred to wealth or influence. He was “Pennimore” now; in some cases “Gerald”; the nicknames, “Miss Nancy,” or “Moneybags,” seemed to have fallen into disuse.

Gerald thrived and grew happier every day. He stopped thinking about Thompson, and paid no heed to that youth when he met him. And gradually, but perceptibly, he was undergoing a physical transformation. His work in the gymnasium under the careful supervision of Mr. Bendix, and now his daily exercise on ball-field and tennis court had not failed of effect. He had taken on flesh, his color was good, his muscles had hardened and developed, and his shoulders and chest had broadened and deepened. And with his physical betterment came an increased capacity for study. He found that after an hour’s baseball practice, followed by a shower and a brisk rubdown, he was ready to tackle cheerfully the hardest task in algebra that Mr. Wentworth could invent. I don’t mean that his marks were all A’s and B’s. On the contrary, he exhibited a seeming preference for C’s, with an occasional B by way of variety. But he was doing good work, for all of that, and Kilts was pretty well satisfied. His other studies, English, French, and Latin, were going better, too, and he was no longer worrying about his chances of passing the finals in June. He felt pretty sure of B’s in English and Latin, and believed he could get C’s in the other two studies.

The boxing lessons, which had been transferred from Saturday afternoons to Saturday mornings, when Alf’s baseball work had claimed the former hours, had now ceased altogether. Alf declared that Gerald had already learned almost all he could teach him, and that further development and improvement depended on himself.

“Go up against the punching-bag, Gerald, two or three times a week, and keep your muscles limbered up. Next Fall we’ll go at it again. It’s bully exercise and it’s bully fun; and it’s a mighty good thing to know something about boxing. Maybe you’ll never need the knowledge, and maybe you will. There’s no harm in having it, anyway.”

The discontinuance of the boxing lessons left Gerald his Saturday mornings for other pursuits, and he chose to devote them to tennis. He had played tennis a good deal ever since he had been large enough to swing a racket. Sometimes his father had been his opponent, sometimes the tutor. For his age Gerald was a good player, and was extremely fond of the game. There were six courts at Yardley, and it was almost always possible to secure one at some time during the morning. There was a rule, and a necessary one it was in view of the large number of fellows who played, that if others were waiting to use a court, only three sets could be played at a time. As a general thing, Gerald’s opponent was Harry Merrow. Harry was only twelve years of age, but he played good tennis and was a spirited, hard-fighting youngster. Gerald usually won, but Harry always proved a worthy foe.

On a morning in the last week of May, the two were sitting on the grass beside one of the courts, waiting for their turn. They had skimped their breakfasts in order to be early at the courts, but they found that others had been even more enterprising, and all the courts were in use. But it was still far short of nine o’clock, and they had plenty of time before them. Besides, it wasn’t bad fun lolling here on the grass in the warm morning sunlight, and there was plenty to see. On the court which they had elected to wait for, two First Class fellows, “top-notchers” both of them, and members of the Tennis Club, were putting up an exhibition well worth watching. Beyond, on the river, several canoes were in sight, their brightly-colored sides reflected gayly in the quiet water. The canoes put an idea into young Merrow’s head.

“I say, Gerald,” he asked, “can you swim?”