Jack touched Clover on the shoulder. “Do you mind changing seats with me?” he asked. Clover looked doubtful a moment; then he got up and Jack slipped along into his place. Showell watched the proceedings with surprise, and when he found Jack beside him turned his gaze uneasily ahead and for the rest of the evening attempted to look unconscious of the other’s presence. But, what with the grins and whispering of his friends, it is doubtful if he enjoyed himself.
The senior president made his little speech and introduced the dean. The latter, who never was much of an orator, said just what everybody knew he would say, and was succeeded by Patterson, the manager. Patterson explained the needs of the Baseball Association, and Professor Nast, chairman of the Athletic Committee, followed and urged the students to come to the support of the team. Neither his remarks nor Patterson’s awakened any enthusiasm, and the cheers which followed were plainly to order. Some one at the rear of the hall started a football song and one by one the audience took up the refrain. Perkins, who had stepped to the front of the platform, paused and glanced inquiringly at the head coach. The latter shook his head and Joe turned away again.
“Let them sing,” whispered Hanson. “It’ll warm them up.”
But as soon as it was discovered that there was no opposition the singing died away. King was on his feet then, calling for cheers for Captain Perkins. They were given loudly enough, but lacked spontaneity. Joe’s speech was short, but had the right ring, and several allusions to past successes of the nine and future victories awakened applause. But when he had taken his seat again and the cheering, in spite of the efforts of King and Bissell and others of the team, had ceased, it was evident that the meeting was bound to be a flat failure unless something was done to wake it up.
Hanson, who was down as the next speaker, called Joe to him, and for a minute they whispered together. Then Joe crossed the stage and spoke to Anthony. At the back of the room there was a perceptible impatience; several fellows had already tiptoed out, and there was much scraping of feet. Joe heard it and held up his hand. Then Anthony lifted himself up out of the ridiculously small chair in which he had been seated and moved awkwardly to the front of the platform. Instantly there was the sound of clapping, succeeded by the cry of “A—a—ay, Tidball!” Anthony settled his spectacles on his nose and thrust his big hands into his trouser’s pockets.
“Good old Tidball!” cried some one; the remark summoned laughter and clapping; men on their feet and edging toward the door paused and turned back; those who had kept their seats settled themselves more comfortably and looked expectant. The senior class president jumped to his feet and called for a cheer, and the response was encouragingly hearty. Joe threw a satisfied glance at Hanson and the latter nodded. The tumult died down and Anthony, who had been facing the gathering with calm and serious countenance, began to speak.
[CHAPTER XV]
ANTHONY ON BASEBALL
“Well,” commenced Anthony, in his even, deliberate drawl, “you had your chance to get out, and didn’t take it. I guess you’re in for it. I’ve been requested to speak to you about baseball. I told Captain Perkins that I didn’t know a baseball from a frozen turnip, but he said that made it all the better; that if I didn’t know what I was talking about you would realize that I was absolutely unprejudiced and my words would carry more weight. I said, ‘How are you going to get the fellows to listen to me?’ He said, ‘We’ll lock the doors.’ I guess they’re locked.”