“Well, we will see. Perhaps I can. Saturday, you say? I’ll think it over.”
Mr. Pennimore watched the contest the next afternoon from a seat in the grand stand, Gerald beside him. Mr. Pennimore didn’t know when he had last seen a baseball game and he had to have a good many things explained to him. But he had a competent and willing tutor, and long before the game was at an end he had become imbued with some of Gerald’s enthusiasm, and, if he didn’t jump out of his seat every two minutes and yell himself hoarse after the manner of his companion, he became much interested and shared Gerald’s sorrow and disappointment at the outcome of the match.
For Yardley went down in ignominious defeat that day. Ignominious is not too strong a term, either. Yardley played, to quote Payson, the coach, “like a lot of babies.” Just what the trouble was no one seemed to know, although one heard all sorts of explanations offered after the game was over and Pell School had departed, cheering and happy, with one more victory added to their long list for the season. Yardley had played mighty poor ball; that was the long and short of it. They seemed to have forgotten everything they had ever known about batting, fielding, base-running, and team work. Even the redoubtable Colton, who had been sent into the box in the sixth inning to save the game, had failed to pitch his wonted game, and had been unmercifully slammed around the lot. The final score was 8 to 1, and an unbiased critic, had there been one on hand, would have told you that the score didn’t begin to show the relative merits of the two teams as they played that day. Pell School simply overwhelmed her opponent, taking quick advantage of every misplay, batting like National Leaguers, and running the bases like mice.
Payson was discouraged. There had been no slump all season, and now it had come at the eleventh hour, and he very greatly doubted whether in the four days of practice which remained before the final game the team could be brought together again in condition. It was one of the worst slumps he had ever had to contend with, and the situation looked pretty desperate to him.
The team and substitutes trotted back to the gymnasium after the game with no pleasant anticipations. That they would receive a frightful wigging from Payson was a foregone conclusion; that some of them might lose their places was not improbable. But Payson, after looking over the tired, anxious faces before him for a moment, closed his lips tightly, swung on his heel and left them. He might, he told himself, have said a great many things, but they were in no condition to hear them. Fault-finding wasn’t going to help at this crisis. If the fellows were to be brought back to their game, they must be rested and encouraged, and encouragement was something Payson couldn’t give them that afternoon.
His unexpected departure left the team dazed, and for a moment no one made a sound. Then little Durfee, the shortstop, who was only a Third Class boy and might be forgiven a show of emotion, put one bare arm over his eyes and began to sob. That broke the tension.
“Well,” said Millener grimly, “what he had to say must have been pretty bad if he couldn’t say it. Now, look here, you fellows!”
Every one turned toward him, and even the rubber stopped his administrations.
“Payson couldn’t talk, but I can. And I say we—mind you, I say we, for I was as rotten as any of you—I say, we ought to be whipped, every one of us, for the fool exhibition we made of ourselves to-day. You know it, too. There wasn’t a man on the team played his real game. We were a poor lot. That’s all for that. There’s another week before the Broadwood game. It’s enough, too. Let’s get down to work on Monday and put our hearts into it. I don’t say let’s forget to-day’s game; I say let’s remember it. Let’s remember it a week from to-day, and show Broadwood that we aren’t the lot of rotters Pell School made us look to be. Let’s show the School that we can play ball, after all, and that they aren’t mistaken in putting faith in us. Let’s work—and fight—and play the game as we can play it! What do you say?”
What they said was a lot. And it was very loud and very earnest, and after they had said it every fellow felt a whole lot better, even little Durfee drying his eyes shame-facedly, and summoning a brave smile to his face.