Double Play: A Story of School and Baseball

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Alf rummaged through several drawers and finally found what he was after, half a dozen pages of foolscap pinned together at the corner. Alf gave a chuckle and settled himself in his chair again.

“Here it is. Let me read some of it to you. It turned out afterwards, by the way, that Bridges had never watched a game of football through in his life and didn’t know anything about it. Now, let’s see.”

“‘Yardley vs. Bridgeport. On Tuesday last our football players played a game on the School gridiron against the players of Bridgeport and won. The weather was inclement and threatened to snow as the two bands of determined players took up their several positions about the field of play. It was a battle royal from first to last and our players deserve great credit for the manner in which they outplayed the Bridgeport players. The audience—’ Hum, never mind that. Here we are. Now listen to this and bust into tears! ‘The details of the game follow. At the commencement a Bridgeport player placed the ball in the middle of the field and retiring for a few yards ran forward and kicked the ball toward our players. One of the latter nimbly caught the ball and proceeded to run with it toward the goal. At this point it was evidenced that the Bridgeport players were determined to stop at nothing in order to win, for almost half of them threw themselves against our player and bore him to earth with a shock that could be plainly heard on the stands. Luckily, however, the plucky Yardley man was not injured and was soon on his feet again. The Bridgeport players had by this time clustered so closely about him that he saw that further running was impossible. So he yielded the ball to another of his side and the opposing players drew up into what is called a scrimmage. The ball was placed on the ground and one of our players, uttering signals designed to confuse the enemy, thrust the ball into the hands of one of our best players, who, although small, is very fleet of foot. His name is Worrell, and he is one of our four speedy quarter-backs. Worrell seemed at first in doubt which way to run and by the time he had made up his mind the opposing players had seized him in their arms and borne him to the ground. As the Yardley team had not gained any advantage they were allowed to try again. This time the ball was given to another player whose identity was not clear to the scribe. This player, trusting to force rather than elusiveness, jumped into the fray with the ball in his arms and the rest of our team, quickly grasping the situation, pushed him for quite some distance, the Bridgeport players doing their level best to frustrate the endeavor. This maneuver succeeded so well that it was tried many more times, the different players of our team taking turns at carrying the ball. When about three-quarters of the field had been so conquered and the goal of our desire was near, the Umpire’s keen vision detected an infringement of the rules of play and he took the ball away from our players and handed it to Bridgeport. Some members of the audience expressed displeasure at this seemingly high-handed exercise of authority and hooted. But the consensus of opinion amongst those with whom the scribe discussed the episode is that the Umpire was quite within his rights. The Yardley players bore up bravely in the face of this keen disappointment and stood nobly shoulder to shoulder while Bridgeport strove to take the ball back the way it had come. Time and again—’ Oh, pshaw, that’s enough! But isn’t it great?”

“That was surely going some!” laughed Dan. “I suppose it didn’t get into the paper, did it?”

“Hardly,” answered Alf. “I begged Brad to run it as a joke, but he wouldn’t. That was Bridge’s first and last assignment on the Scholiast.”

“But the funniest part’s to come,” said Tom, sitting up, and Alf nodded gleefully. “After that Bridges was out at every game and the next year he went out for his Class Team and made it as—as ‘one of the four quarter-backs’; only they called him right half!”

“I’ve often wondered what became of him after he left here,” said Alf. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was playing good football somewhere.”

“I suppose the fellows teased him a lot about his story,” said Gerald. But Alf shook his head.

“No, Brad was a mighty decent sort. He never told anyone except me and I never showed that around much; just to a few fellows who promised to keep it dark.”

“He wasn’t a bad sort, Bridges,” said Tom lazily. “Someone tell me the time.” And when Gerald had obeyed, “Gosh!” cried Tom. “I’ve got a recitation in one minute and a quarter. Where’s my Anabasis? Throw it over, Dan; it’s under your elbow. Anybody coming my way? So long, then.”