No one heard him, I fancy, for there was a great deal of noise about that time.
CHAPTER XVII
BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS
There was yet nearly three-quarters of an hour before supper time and Dud, still elated and excited over the track victory, turned his steps to River Street and, skirting the school grounds, swung west and made for the station. The ball team, unless it missed its connection at the Junction, would be in at a quarter to six. Dud was not alone in his journey to the station, for the carriages bearing the Mount Morris athletes passed him half-way along the shaded village road and several boys, fortunate youths living nearby who had procured leave of absence over Sunday, were trailing along, suit-cases in hand. Dud witnessed the departure of the Mount Morris track team and the fellows off for home and then, seated on a baggage-truck, watched the shadows creep down the hillside across the tracks and thought of a great many things. He speculated on what had happened at Rotan to result in Grafton’s defeat, wondered whether by any stroke of fortune the Scarlet-and-Gray had redeemed herself in the later innings and then tried to imagine himself in the box for Grafton, facing those doughty Rotan freshies and mowing them down one-two-three! He couldn’t quite visualize the scene, however, and gave up with a sigh. Then he wondered how long it would be before Mr. Sargent would let him start a game, and what would happen when he did! And at that instant there was a whistle far down the track, the few loiterers came to life along the platform and the baggage man requisitioned his truck.
Jimmie was one of the first off the train and was all for returning to school in the barge until Dud reminded him that he had walked all the way over to meet him and didn’t propose to pay any fifteen cents to ride back. Whereupon Jimmie good-naturedly set out with his chum on foot.
“Twelve to seven,” he answered in reply to Dud’s request for the final figures. “What was the matter? Why, nothing much, except that we couldn’t hit that pitcher of theirs and they slammed Myatt all over the lot in the third. Why the dickens Pete didn’t yank him out I don’t know. Maybe it’s just as well he didn’t, though. I guess they’d have battered Leddy something brutal. Those dubs sure can hit the pill, son!”
“How did you get on?” asked Dud.
“Rotten, thanks! I muffed a peach of a fly and let two runs cross, worse luck! It was in that awful third. The sun got square in my eyes just at the last moment. I had the old thing sighted nicely until I had to drop my hands to make the catch. Then it went plum through ’em. There were three on bases and so two of them scored. The other one could have, too, if he’d had any sense, for it took me about ten seconds to find the ball after I muffed it. But the fellow slowed up at third and by that time it was too late.”
“Did you hit any?”
“I got one, and it was a corker. I’d have had two bases on it if Blake hadn’t held me up at first, the chump! I wasn’t awfully strong with the stick, Dud, but I got a base every time I went up!”