“That’s all right,” replied Tom. “We know who won the last debate. I’ll call around for you Saturday, Gerald, if I don’t see you before. Good night.”
“We gave it to you!” shouted Alf as the door closed behind his chum. “Why you haven’t got a debater in your whole society.” But the challenge was wasted, and Alf turned to Dan. “We’ll have to win the debate this Spring,” he grumbled, “or there won’t be any living with Tom!”
[CHAPTER XIV]
POLITICS AND CHESS
Payson appeared on Monday and took up his lodgings in the village. But, as events proved, he might just as well have delayed his arrival for another week, for on Sunday morning it began to rain as though it meant to flood the country, and it continued practically without interruption until Wednesday night. By that time the river was over its banks, Meeker’s Marsh was a lake, the athletic field was like a sponge, and outdoor practice was impossible. The work in the cage went on, but the fellows were getting tired of it, and longed for sod under foot and sky overhead. Payson didn’t waste that week, by any means, but, with the first game only a fortnight off, the enforced confinement to the gymnasium was discouraging.
John Payson was about thirty years of age, and weighed in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds. He was large, broad-shouldered, and, in spite of his weight, alert and quick of movement. He had played baseball and football in his college days, first at Cornell, and later, as a graduate student, at Yale. “Whopper” Payson was his name in those days, and for two years he had made the All-America Football team as a guard. While at Cornell he had caught for two years on the Varsity Baseball nine, and they still remember him there as one of the best. During his five years as coach at Yardley he had helped at three football and two baseball victories over Broadwood. It would be an exaggeration to say that Payson was universally popular at Yardley. He was a good deal of a martinet, had a quick temper and a sharp tongue. But he was just in his dealings with the fellows, was a hard worker, and as unsparing of himself as of his charges. The older boys, those who had known him longer, liked him thoroughly, while the younger fellows, many of whom blamed him for their inability to make the teams, called him hard names.
The baseball candidates finally got out of doors a week later than expected. By this time the April sky appeared to have emptied itself of rain, and a warm sun was busy drying up the sodden land. The fellows felt and acted like colts that first afternoon. It was bully to feel the springy turf underfoot, to smell the moist fragrance of growing things, and to have the west wind capering about the field. Even a full hour and a half of hard work failed to quench their spirits, and they swarmed into the gymnasium at half-past five as jolly as larks. The next afternoon practice ended with a four-inning game between the first and second teams, and Dan played during two of the innings in center-field. He had but one chance and accepted it. At his single appearance at bat he got to first on fielder’s choice, having knocked a miserable little hit half way to third base, and was caught ingloriously in an attempt to steal second. And yet he could congratulate himself on having made as good an appearance as any of the other dozen or so candidates for fielding positions. By the middle of the week practice had settled down to hard work, and on Friday the first cut was made. Some twenty candidates were dropped from the squad, only enough being retained to compose two nines and substitutes. Dan found himself on the second nine, playing when the opportunity offered at right or center-field. But he felt far from secure, for it was well known that a further reduction of the squad was due some time the following week.
Meanwhile Gerald had astounded Dan and the rest of his friends, not yet many in number, by winning a place on the Fourth Class team. I think Gerald must have been a natural-born baseball player, if there is such a thing; otherwise he would never, with his slight experience, have made the showing he did. Perhaps the standard of excellence required of a candidate for admission to the team wasn’t very high, but there were many fellows amongst those trying for places who had played ball for two or three years. Gerald showed unsuspected alertness in handling the ball, accuracy in throwing, and a good eye at the bat. And so, a week after the class teams had begun work, Gerald found himself playing shortstop on his nine. Naturally, he was in the seventh heaven of bliss, and talked baseball, thought baseball, and dreamed baseball. Alf amused Dan and Tom by claiming some of the credit. Personally, I think there was reason in his contention. At all events he made out a good case.
“Oh, you may laugh,” said Alf earnestly, “but it’s so. If Gerald hadn’t had those boxing lessons he wouldn’t have made good. They taught him to see quick and act quick, and they taught him accuracy. When you come to think of it, boxing and baseball aren’t so much unalike. In boxing you have a fellow’s glove to stop and your own to get away, and get away quick and accurately. In baseball you have the ball to stop and to get away. In either case it’s quickness and accuracy of eye and brain and body that does the trick.”