[CHAPTER XVI]
JACK COURTS THE MUSE
April passed into May, and uncertain skies gave way to placid expanses of blue, whereon soft fluffs of white moved slowly, blown by warm and gentle winds. Down at the boat-house, bare-legged and bare-headed, men filed across the floats, bearing the slender, glinting shells, or, with hands on oars, bent and unbent in unison to the sharp commands of important and diminutive coxswains; on the newly rolled cinder-track other men sped or jogged, heads well back and knees high, with white trunks fluttering in the breeze; in front of the stand the jumpers and pole-vaulters plumped themselves into the freshly spaded loam; on the diamond, brilliantly green in its carpet of carefully tended turf, the players darted hither and thither amid the crack of batted ball and the cries of coaches.
By the beginning of the second week in May, baseball affairs had assumed a more encouraging look. The training-table had taken on six more men—among them Showell and Clover—and the unsuccessful candidates had gone to the freshmen team or found other branches of athletics to interest them. Erskine had played eight games, had won six, tied one, and lost one. What was practically a preliminary season was well-nigh over and with the middle of the month the serious contests would begin.
Meanwhile, Jack had found himself. After a vicarious existence as a general outfield substitute, he had settled down as substitute second-baseman, a position which he had never attempted hitherto, but one which he took to in a way that vindicated his right to it. He showed that he possessed the three essentials of a good second-baseman: coolness, quickness, and judgment. With the exception of third base, second is the most difficult of the infield positions; it has been called the “keystone of the infield,” and that very aptly. So far as handling the ball is concerned—that is, catching, stopping, or throwing—second-baseman has no harder work than shortstop or third-baseman; it is in studying the batsman that he encounters his difficulties.
Jack started in with a good knowledge of the fundamentals of baseball and took kindly to coaching. Gradually he acquired the intuitive sense which enabled him to tell where the ball was going before it had left the bat, and to govern himself accordingly. He learned that a nine’s success depends upon team-work and not upon individual brilliancy, and to control his zeal; to anticipate the shortstop’s movements and to know, without looking, where that player and the third-baseman were; to keep always in mind that the best policy is to put out the runner nearest home; and much more besides.
With a definite position to try for, Jack found it much easier to put every effort into playing. Even the fact that “Wally” Stiles, the first choice for second-baseman, would in all likelihood play out the big games, those with Harvard, Artmouth, and Robinson, did not trouble him. There would be other games which, if less important, were well worth winning, and in those he would probably take part.
So Jack put his whole mind into learning his position, studying its possibilities, developing an eighth sense, which enabled him time and again to judge almost with exactitude in what direction, and how far, the ball, scarcely away from the bat, was going, and learning, too, to “size up” a batsman’s prowess from the way he stood and looked and swung his stick. I have said that he possessed a good knowledge of the fundamentals of the game when he started in; but there were still things to learn which his baseball education had not taught, such little niceties as stopping grounders with his feet together so that, in case of a miss, the ball could not go between his legs, and, after catching or stopping a ball, to start at once toward the point whither the ball was to be thrown instead of standing still, so that by the time he had gathered himself for the throw the distance for the ball to travel had been lessened; little things these, but of the sort that win or lose a game.
One thing that had a deal to do with Jack’s ability to put his heart into his work on the diamond was the attitude of the other players toward him. Had the old scarcely concealed contempt and dislike been manifested he could never have shown up as varsity material. But that was past. In the minds of most of the fellows time had dimmed the memory of the incident at the river, now nearly three months ago, and Jack’s attitude and behavior of late had aided.
For a while the neutrality observed by Gilberth made him suspicious that the pitcher was only husbanding his powers of annoyance in order to indulge in some more than usually brutal expression of contempt. But, as time went by, Jack was forced to conclude that hostilities from that source were over. At length, the neutrality was succeeded by a show of friendliness. It was impossible to practise together day after day without an occasional word or two, and Jack and Tracy soon found themselves in the habit of greeting each other when they met, very ceremoniously, to be sure, and of sometimes exchanging observations on the bench much after the manner of slight acquaintances who find themselves thrown together at a party. Jack was very glad. The old thirst for vengeance on his enemies had wasted perceptibly under the influence of congenial companionship, and he was ready to cry quits. Just what Tracy’s sentiments were at this time it is hard to say; it is doubtful if he knew himself.
He had made up his mind to let Jack alone, and was doing it. Only one thing troubled him, and that was the fear that Anthony Tidball might think that his course was the result of the other’s threats. And it is only fair to state on behalf of Tracy’s physical courage that such was not the case. Joe Perkins’s remonstrances had borne weight, and when, shortly after Anthony’s visit, Professor White had added his request, Tracy had decided that, after all, he had possibly mistaken the sentiment of the college. Professor White had said to him very much the same things that Joe had said, but he had put them more convincingly. He knew Tracy, and did not make the mistake of ruffling his temper; on the contrary, when he had left, Tracy felt that there was one person at Erskine who understood him. And for the sake of that person and of Joe he would do as they asked him.