But Dud got no hint from the coach that week. The next day, Friday, Ben lugged Dud off to the practice diamond after the teams had gone in and put him through his paces. Dud’s round-arm delivery interested him considerably, and Ben had to have a try at it himself, without, however, getting any such result as Dud did.
“I like that,” said Ben. “If you can make it a bit more certain, Dud, you’ll have a good ball there. I know if you pitched that to me and I didn’t know what was coming I’d back out of the box! Let’s try it again.”
Dud put in every moment at batting that he could find opportunity for. But he didn’t seem to make any improvement. He could land on some of Brunswick’s offerings fairly well, but Gus Weston or Leddy nearly always got them past him. He wasn’t used in the box on Thursday, and had only two innings of work Friday, but his pitching arm was back in shape and he assured himself over and over again that he was quite ready to face Mount Morris or anyone else. Nevertheless, his heart had a way of jumping into his throat sometimes when he suddenly remembered what might happen a week hence! Jimmy wasn’t much use to him at that time, for Jimmy was having hard work with examinations and was, besides, much disgruntled over Mr. Sargent’s preference for Star Meyer in center field. Even when, the day after the Corliss game, he dwelt on what he termed Dud’s “coup,” he was only half-hearted.
“You own the school now, Dud,” he proclaimed. “Your middle name is Popularity. Didn’t I tell you that if you followed my advice and specialized on pitching a baseball you’d get to be a regular feller? Sure, I did! And you’ve gone and done it!”
Dud, though, failed to discern any enormous popularity. Of course those who had seen the game were warm in their praise of his work, and those who hadn’t been present looked on him a bit more interestedly, but if he had expected to wake up on Thursday and find himself suddenly famous—and, as a matter of fact, he hadn’t thought of any such thing—he would have been disappointed. No one patted him on the back and told him how good he was and no one particularly sought the honor of his society. But the Corliss contest had not been a very important one and the school had fully expected to win it, anyway. Real fame was to be garnered only in a game with Mount Morris.
Saturday dawned hot and breathless, with an unclouded sky overhead. There were no examinations that morning and the fellows had nothing to do but look forward to the afternoon’s contest with their old rival and speculate on the outcome of it. A few heroic ones played tennis and the canoes were pretty busy, but the heat made idleness almost a virtue. It was rumored at dinner time that Leddy would start in the box for Grafton and that Myatt would be held in reserve.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE FIRST GAME
When, at two o’clock, the invading hordes swept down on Grafton it looked as though Mount Morris Academy had arrived in toto. Of the hundred and eighty-odd students enrolled at the Greenbank school that year, fully a hundred and fifty swarmed over from the station after the arrival of the train. They came in hilarious mood, marching along Crumbie and River Streets four abreast and waving small green megaphones through which they hoped to later roar the enemy into subjection. Green and white, the Mount Morris colors—I am aware that white is not a color, but how else can I put it?—were much in evidence in the shape of pennants and neckties and arm-bands, while a frivolous fox-terrier led the procession, straining at his leash, attired in a green blanket with the school monogram in white. Altogether, that invasion was notable and picturesque, and Grafton, looking on from the windows of Lothrop and Trow or from along the campus fence, cheered approvingly. Mount Morris cheered back and waved her pennants, turned into School Street and disbanded at the gate. Subsequently those who had acquaintances at Grafton were to be seen climbing stairways, while others wandered around in critical survey of the school buildings.
Add some two hundred Grafton fellows and another hundred sympathizers from the village and roundabout and you’ll understand that the seating capacity of Lothrop Field that afternoon was severely taxed. Politely, but not over-eagerly perhaps, Grafton yielded the grandstands to the visitors and townsfolk and found accommodation on the grass. Only a band was lacking to make the occasion complete; and I’m not sure that a band would have had much chance with all that cheering and singing!