Winning his game

by Ralph Henry Barbour

But in spite of Jimmy’s hopes and criticisms Star played a good enough game in center and managed to get a rather lucky hit the only time he went to bat. Jimmy tried to bribe Manager Barnes to score it as an error for the second team shortstop, but failed.

There was an early and rather hurried dinner for the players the next day and the team, eighteen strong, bowled away to the station shortly after one o’clock. Much to his surprise, Dud made one of four pitchers to accompany it, and Jimmy, too, was of the number. Jimmy’s satisfaction, however, was somewhat spoiled by the presence of Star Meyer. Parker was left behind. So, too, was Ben Myatt, still suffering from what the school physician had diagnosed as “a touch of heat.” Ben was instructed to keep out of the hot sunlight and, when playing, wear a fold of paper inside his cap. Mr. Sargent, however, had no intention of allowing Ben to pitch again until he was so far recovered as not to require that paper. The first of the series with Mount Morris would be played on Saturday, just three days later, and so Ben had been instructed to stay right at home and be very, very good to himself. Leddy, Weston, Brunswick and Dud would undoubtedly manage between them to dispose of Corliss, for Corliss, although called a college, was little more than a preparatory school and was not considered dangerous.

Corliss lay an hour and forty minutes away by railroad, although the actual distance was about thirty-eight miles. The team had to change at Needham Junction first and, later on, at North Taunton, and in consequence was somewhat weary when it finally disembarked from the trolley car that had brought it from the Corliss Station to the nearest point to the school. They paraded up a tree-shaded street, past some yellow-brick building that looked uncomfortably hot and glary today, and eventually reached the field, a very ambitious affair, inclosed with a brick wall and containing a permanent stand of concrete and a picturesque building of the same material roofed with red tiles. The fellows secretly admired that field, but they pretended to consider it too dressy and made a good deal of fun of the commodious and well-appointed building into which they were shown. There they had a room all to themselves and three shower baths as well. By the time they had changed to playing togs the stand was well sprinkled with spectators and a welcoming cheer greeted them as they took the field for practice. Only some dozen and a half Graftonians had accompanied the nine, for examinations held many at school and others were too poor to pay for the trip. But the handful of patriotic youths gathered themselves into a small but devoted group in a corner of the big stand and from the first appearance of the Scarlet-and-Gray on the diamond to the end of the contest made enough noise for thrice their number.

All four pitchers were set to warm up while the fielders practiced. Will Brunswick, by this time reconciled to his fate, went through the motions in a mechanical fashion, but the other three set to work hard, each hoping to get the call. After the Corliss players, a rather hefty lot of blue-stockinged and blue-sleeved youths, had taken the field and completed their warming up, Mr. Sargent had a consultation with Guy Murtha and Pete Gordon. Dud pretended no interest as he sat on the bench between Hugh Ordway and Neil Ayer, but secretly he was a very anxious boy. Manager Barnes was getting the batting order now from the coach and Dud, while answering a remark of Hugh’s, strained his ears to hear.

“Blake, Winslow, Ordway, Murtha, Ayer, Boynton, Meyer”—Dud felt sorry for Jimmy then—“Gordon and—I’ll give you the pitcher later.” Mr. Sargent nodded to Nick Blake. “Start it up,” he said.

Nick went to bat while Mr. Sargent arose and, after watching the work of the opposing pitcher, a broad-shouldered and rather slow-moving fellow named Walters, for a few moments, moved along and spoke to Nate Leddy. Dud’s gaze followed, although he tried not to let it. The coach and Leddy spoke for several moments, their eyes all the while on the Corliss twirler. At last Mr. Sargent nodded and Leddy settled back in his seat, turning to his companion on the left, Boynton, and making a remark that brought, as Dud saw, a look of surprise to the face of the right fielder. Mr. Sargent remained behind the bench, watching Nick Blake trying to find something useful to him amongst the slow, wide curves that the blue-legged pitcher was offering. Nick finally slammed one across the diamond, but was an easy out, shortstop to first.

Bert Winslow raised a long fly to left field and likewise retired and Hugh Ordway, after fouling off a couple, was badly fooled on a drop and fanned. As the players arose from the bench to trot into the field Dud, who had forgotten the coach for the moment, felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Baker, I’m going to let you start,” said Mr. Sargent. “You’ve pitched to Brooks a good deal, haven’t you? Would you rather have him handle you than Gordon?”

“He knows my stuff pretty well, sir,” stammered Dud. “But it’s just as you say, sir.”

The coach called to Ed Brooks. “You catch Baker, Brooks,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do, my boy. Study your batters and watch the bases. Barnes, put Brooks down for Gordon and Baker last. All right now, you two. Show what you can do.”