The play that won

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Sorry,” said Ted, shaking his head. To his surprise he found that he really was sorry—a little. Hal’s gloom enwrapped him again.

“No, I suppose not. And I don’t guess you’d care much about lending to me if you had it. You don’t particularly love me. Well, I guess I’ll toddle.” He arose and stood uncertainly a moment before he moved toward the door.

“What will you do?” asked Ted anxiously. “If—if you get put on ‘pro’ we’ll be in a nasty fix! Hang it, Saunders, you’ve got to do something, you know. Crouch would last about two innings in the Temple game! Why don’t you see Plaister to-morrow and get him to wait another week? After next Saturday it wouldn’t matter.”

“I’ve talked to him until I’m tired,” replied Hal wearily. “It’s no good. Maybe he won’t do it, or maybe I can scrape up the money by Monday. I’m tired worrying about it. I’d just as lief get fired as have this thing hanging over me all the time.”

“Maybe he would take part of it and wait for the rest.”

“He won’t. I tried that. He says he’s waited long enough and—oh, a lot of drivel. You know the way they talk. Well, good-night. And say, Bowman, just keep this to yourself, like a good chap, will you? I don’t know why I bothered you with it, but I’d rather you didn’t say anything about it.”

“That’s all right. I won’t talk. Good-night. I hope you—come out all right.”

Hal nodded dejectedly and went. Ted took up his magazine, but after finding his place in it he let it drop once more. If Plaister did what he threatened, and Ted knew the hard-featured little shop-keeper well enough to feel pretty certain that he would, it would be all up with Warwick’s chances for the baseball championship that year. With Hal Saunders in the points they might defeat Temple Academy next Saturday. Without him they couldn’t. Neither Crouch nor Bradford was good enough to last three innings against the Blue’s hard-hitting team. The knowledge brought real dismay to Ted. Personally he wanted a victory for the school team, but it was the thought of George’s disappointment that moved him most. George, like every captain, had hoped and worked for a triumph harder than any of the others. For Ted’s part, he would go back next year, but this was George’s last chance. Ted was miserably sorry for his friend. He was such a corking fine fellow. Ted recalled the day last September when George, learning that fate in the shape of faculty had wished a strange and two years younger boy on him as room-mate, had acted so mighty decent about it. Lots of fellows in George’s place, thought Ted, would have been mad and grouchy, but George had never let Ted guess for a moment that he wasn’t entirely welcome. And all through the year George had been a perfect brick. He had helped Ted in many ways: had got him into Plato Society, helped him at mid-year exams, introduced him to nice fellows, coached him in batting until he had become proficient enough to beat out Whipple for right field position. Ted’s feeling for George Tempest was a mingling of gratitude and hero-worship that amounted to a very real affection, and the thought of George’s unhappiness in case the final game of the school year went against Warwick troubled him greatly. Temple Academy had routed Warwick overwhelmingly last year and the sting of that defeat still remained. Warwick wanted revenge, and her three hundred and odd students had their hearts set on obtaining it next Saturday. But to none did it mean quite what it meant to Captain Tempest. Ted tossed the magazine aside and stood up. “Something ought to be done,” he muttered.

In the bedroom he produced a small tin box from its hiding place in a dresser drawer and emptied the contents on his bed. Three one-dollar bills and many silver coins, when counted, came to exactly fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents. He had been accumulating the hoard ever since Fall with the intention of buying a bicycle when he went home in the Summer. When he had about five dollars more he would have enough. He hadn’t told Hal that he didn’t have the money. He had merely politely refused to make a loan. And he had no idea of changing his mind. Hal’s fix was no affair of his, and Hal could get out of it as best he might. Certainly he couldn’t be expected to give up a whole Summer’s fun for the sake of a fellow he didn’t like much anyway! Resolutely he placed the money back in the box and the box again in concealment. “He will wriggle out of it somehow,” he said to himself.