Ten minutes later the amateur detectives, forgetting their defeat and cheered by two glasses of cherry phosphate, started for the field.
CHAPTER XIV
THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE
This afternoon’s contest was the first one of the season with an outside team. Norrisville Academy, since it was a boarding school, had the advantage of being able to get into condition rather earlier in the year than Clearfield High School. To-day’s opponents had, in fact, been practicing regularly since the latter part of February, since they were so fortunate as to possess a fine gymnasium with a big and practical baseball cage. Aside from this advantage, however, Norrisville had nothing Clearfield hadn’t, and if the latter had enjoyed another fortnight of practice Dick Lovering would have had no doubt as to the outcome of the game. But as things were he told himself that he would be quite satisfied if his charges came through with something approaching a close score.
It was a splendid April day, warm and still. There were a good many clouds about, though, and the morning paper had predicted showers. With this in mind, Dick resolved to get a good start in the first few innings, if that were possible, and so presented a line-up that surprised the large audience of High School rooters that had turned out for the game. As set down in Manager Wayland’s score-book, the order of batting was as follows: Bryan, 2b; Farrar, cf; Merrick, 1b; Jones, ss; Scott, 3b; McCoy, lf; Breen, rf; White, c; Nostrand, p. This arrangement in Dick’s present judgment presented the team’s best batting strength. Tom Nostrand was put in the box instead of Tom Haley, since so far this spring he had out-hit the first-choice pitcher almost two to one. It takes runs to win a game and runs were what Dick was after.
Fudge, occupying one and a third seats behind the home plate, flanked by Perry on one side and Arthur Beaton, the Track Team Manager, on the other, viewed the selection of talent dubiously. More than that, he didn’t hesitate to criticize. Fudge never did. He was a good, willing critic. No one, though, took him seriously, unless, perhaps, it was the devoted Perry, who, knowing little of baseball, was ready to concede much knowledge of the subject to his chum. Arthur Beaton, however, frankly disagreed with Fudge’s statements.
“Forget it, Fudge,” he said. “Dick Lovering knew baseball when you were waving a rattle. Talk about things you understand.”
“Of course he knows baseball. I’m not saying he doesn’t, am I? What I’m telling you is that Joe Browne’s a heap better fielder than Howard Breen.”
“Maybe, but he isn’t worth two cents as a hitter.”
“That’s all right. If a fellow fields well enough he doesn’t have to be any Ty Cobb to make good. It’s all right to go after runs, but if you let the other fellow get runs, too, what good are you doing? If they whack a ball into right field it’ll be good for three bases, I tell you. Breen’s as slow as cold molasses and can’t throw half-way to the plate!”