On Friday “Wally” Stiles got back into the practise and Jack, greatly to his disgust, retired again to the bench, or, to be more exact, to the net where Bissell was coaching a squad in bunting. Saturday’s game was with Erstham, and before it was half over Jack was morally certain that unless Stiles improved greatly during the next few days the second-baseman in the Robinson game would be one Jack Weatherby.
Stiles, unlike most of the other players, had not recovered from the slump, and his playing that afternoon was deplorable. Yet, since Erskine took the lead in the second inning and held it throughout the contest, he was not replaced, Hanson hoping that he would find his pace before the last man was out. But he didn’t, even for a moment. The team, as a whole, showed up strongly, and Erstham went home with a 10 to 2 score against her.
Jack was sorry for Stiles, really and truly sorry, he told himself; yet he would have been less than human had he not experienced a feeling of delight in the thought that, after all, it was not improbable that he would get into the Robinson game. There was no certainty about it, of course, he reflected, for Stiles might, in fact probably would, take a brace on Monday, and, during the five days that would then intervene before the last contest, win back his title to the position. But there was ground for hope, and since Jack had hitherto never for a moment really expected to have a chance in the big game, that slender hope brought happiness. He went back to Elm Street and the sympathetic and patient Anthony, whistling merrily or humming “Down with Robinson,” much out of tune.
His poetical production had duly appeared, among many others, in the Purple, and for several days he had been highly delighted. Each contribution had been signed with the author’s name, and Jack had experienced not a little good-natured teasing by his friends. But there had been praise also, for his verses were better than the rest, and even Professor White had congratulated him.
Jack was discovering that he had a good many friends. Not many were intimate, to be sure, but all were apparently genuine. Joe Perkins had promptly spread the story of Jack’s swimming lessons, and at last the true reason for the latter’s failure to distinguish himself in the rôle of life-saver had become generally known. If the college had been quick to condemn, it was equally prompt to acknowledge its mistake, and while few fellows made mention of the matter to Jack, yet many of them went out of their way to show him courtesy and kindness.
Tracy Gilberth had never mentioned the subject to any one since the truth had come out, not even to Joe. But Jack was aware that the varsity pitcher very frequently sought his companionship nowadays and seemed intent upon making up for the injustice he had done him. Jack willingly met him half-way, his olden longings for revenge forgotten in his present content. Nor, as has been said, was Tracy the only one who sought to ease his conscience by paying little attentions to the fellow he had formerly despised. From an object of scorn and derision Jack had changed into something approaching a hero.
On the Sunday succeeding the Erstham game Jack and Anthony were seated in the latter’s room shortly after noon when Mrs. Dorlon knocked on the door and announced a caller, presently ushering in with many excited sniffles Professor White. The professor carried a newspaper in one hand and his immaculate silk hat in the other. He greeted the two and took the chair that Anthony promptly pushed forward. But remarks on the beauty and seasonableness of the weather seemed to interest him but little, and as soon as politeness would permit he plunged into the subject which had brought him.
“Do you own a watch, Tidball?” he asked.
Anthony stared, shot a glance at Jack, and after a moment of hesitation answered: “Yes, that is—well, in a way.”
“You have it now?” the professor went on. Jack scented mystery, and listened attentively, wondering the while why Anthony looked so uncomfortable. Surely it was no disgrace to borrow money on one’s own property! Anthony hesitated again, then answered “No.”