Dan felt the enthusiasm as well as the rest, and only wished that he might have the chance that the others would have of proving himself. He had sat on the bench all the afternoon, watching and waiting and hoping. But, irony of ironies, where all the team had played poor ball, there was one who had done a little better than the rest; and that one was Condit! Dan was disheartened. Even Danforth, the crack second baseman, had been outplayed by Condit; in fact, Danforth had managed to make about as poor an exhibition of himself as possible, letting hit after hit go through his position, and missing more than one throw to second. But Danforth’s demoralization brought Dan no comfort, for Danforth, he knew, was a fellow who would make good the next time; Danforth had proved himself time and again. No, try as he would, Dan couldn’t see himself in the Broadwood game, and he took his way back to Clarke, the one silent member of the little throng of players and substitutes, feeling rather out of it.
But by Monday he had reached a more philosophical frame of mind. Up until Saturday he had hoped. Now he had stopped hoping and found that he could be quite cheerful. He might possibly get into the game for an inning or a half an inning, and, anyway, there was another year coming. Besides, life was pretty busy nowadays, and there wasn’t much time for thought, happy or regretful. In a little more than a week Graduation Day would come, bringing the end of the school year and the commencement of the Summer holidays. Meanwhile, the First Class fellows went about with worried countenances and absent-minded glances, being in the middle of final examinations. All the other fellows were doing finals, too, but it isn’t so serious when you’re not graduating and when a diploma doesn’t depend on your ability to present in a few hours what it has taken you a whole school year to store up.
The Weather Man had evidently determined to do all he could to make the final week of school memorably pleasant. Monday started in with a clear sky, and the hottest of June suns. Tuesday the sky was even bluer and clearer, and the sun hotter. And so it went, day after day, with the thermometer up in the eighties. What breezes there were, were tiny, timid, ineffectual little breaths that scarcely stirred the limp leaves. On Thursday a great bank of white clouds rolled up from the horizon and at three o’clock a mighty thunder storm was splitting open the heavens and deluging the earth. It lasted only an hour or so, however, and then went off muttering and rumbling into the east, and the sun came out again as jovially ardent as ever. Friday brought unclouded skies, and Saturday dawned hot and clear, and the School, final examinations over with for good or bad, and only the Broadwood baseball game to think about, rejoiced and was glad.
But I am far ahead of my story, for many things happened before Saturday’s sun came blazing up out of the east.
[CHAPTER XX]
THE SLUMP
Contrary to expectation, Monday’s baseball practice was easy and short. Payson was affable, smiling, unhurried. Apparently he hadn’t a care in the world to-day. There was a brief session at the batting net, followed by fielding practice for infielders and outfielders. And then, when the fellows looked for a game with the Second team, Payson waved his hand in dismissal.
The players were distinctly disappointed. They had nerved themselves up for a hard afternoon, determined to work as they had never worked before, and they hadn’t been given a chance to distinguish themselves! They felt cheated and cast somber looks at the coach as they trotted off. They had been fully prepared, even anxious, to suffer martyrdom, and instead had been treated like so many little kids. It wasn’t fair! They wanted to be raged at, scolded, driven; and here they were trotting up the hill to the gymnasium after the easiest sort of practice, as fresh and untired as you please! What sort of a way was this to prepare for the Broadwood game? Didn’t Payson realize that there remained only three days for practice? They talked it over amongst themselves disgustedly and the consensus of opinion was that Payson believed them to be stale and was afraid to work them.
“Stale!” exclaimed Alf. “Poppycock! Why, if I felt any better I’d go to work!”