“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Anthony. “I missed that pencil for two or three days, and then one morning it turned up again on the desk. But, hang it, Jack, you were welcome to the old thing, of course! I’m glad you took it—glad you cared to remember such a silly old codger as I! Why, that was nothing; not worth mentioning. Besides, you gave me that charm, and fair exchange is no robbery!”
“I’m glad you don’t mind now that you know,” said Jack simply. And, after a moment: “When you get your watch back again you can wear that bean, can’t you?” he asked.
“Well, I should say so!” replied Anthony with much decision. “And what’s more, Jack, I’ll wear it as long as the chain holds together!”
There was no difficulty the next day in recovering the watch. Anthony gave a detailed description of it, and explained the circumstances of the robbery, and his property was handed over to him at once. But it is needless to say that Jack’s roll of money was not among the objects recovered from the pawn-shop, nor was it found on the prisoner. Anthony was told that it might become necessary for him to attend the trial and give evidence. But he begged off very eloquently, and in the end the police decided that perhaps there would be evidence enough to convict the thief without calling upon Anthony. And, as it turned out, the decision was correct.
Jack never learned that Anthony had for a while suspected him of the theft of the watch; and it was better so. For while Anthony’s suspicions were certainly justified by circumstances, yet Jack could never have seen the matter in the same light, and would have been greatly hurt had he ever learned of it.
In the second week of June two things began simultaneously, final examinations and morning baseball practise. Naturally, the first seriously interfered with the second, and it was only by the most complicated arrangement on the part of Hanson that the players were able to report at the nets during the forenoons for batting practise. Three assistant coaches had put in appearance in response to his telegrams, among them the captain of the unsuccessful nine of the year before. Higgins was a good player and turned out to be as good a coach. His heart was set on witnessing a victory over the Brown and he worked enthusiastically and tirelessly. Afternoon practise began every day at three-thirty, and never let up as long as there was a ray of light left. The slump was a thing of the past, and every man responded well to the demands of the coaches. Stiles gradually recovered his form, and in the last game before the final contest—played on Thursday with Harwich Academy—he superseded Jack at second, and Jack, his hopes dead, sat on the bench and tried to be philosophic.
That Thursday game attracted the biggest audience of any thus far played; not because the Academy team was strong enough to promise a hard-fought battle, but for the reason that it was given out that the Erskine nine was to play just as it would in the game at Collegetown the next day but one. The batting list was as follows:
Perkins, catcher.
Gilberth, pitcher.
Motter, first base.
Bissell, center-field.
Stiles, second base.
Knox, shortstop.
Billings, third base.
King, left-field.
Northup, right-field.
Allowing for the fact that every man had been worked hard all the week up to the very beginning of the game, and that examinations were in progress, the exhibition of ball-playing made by them was decidedly encouraging. The cheering was a notable part of the contest. Led by the senior class president and five assistants, the stands did heroic work, and cheers and songs thundered forth unceasingly.
Jack, sitting forlornly on the bench, wedged in between other substitutes quite as forlorn, found balm for his disappointed hopes in the fact that the song that went the best of any, and the one which was most often sung, was his. The way in which the throng emphasized the “Poor old Robinson!” was good to hear.