“And this is just the season when we want most to beat them,” said Ray Wendell.
Our prospects of realizing that end were certainly very bright. The nine had been practising steadily each day, and was rapidly getting into shape. Ray was right when he said we had good material. In all my college life I do not think I ever saw a more promising nine. No changes as yet had been found necessary, and it looked as if we would continue through the season with the nine as first chosen. The men were all good individual players, and, under Ray’s efficient captaincy, they were playing together with the utmost harmony and precision. Since our suspension the members of the nine became more devoted to Ray than ever, and his control over them was perfect.
Recognizing the extraordinary good chance we had this season of redeeming Belmont’s baseball record of the past two years, we bent every nerve to securing a successful issue, and were regular and assiduous in practice. As the baseball grounds were situated close to the lake and beyond the college, we were unable to reach it conveniently except by a short cut through the college grounds. Since this was forbidden us, Tony Larcom devised the plan of meeting us down by the dock with his boat and rowing us across a portion of the lake to the ball ground. In this romantic and picturesque way we were conducted each day back and forth from practice.
And so the days passed by while we were busily engaged in our exercises and studies. We had as yet heard nothing from either Professor Fuller or Dr. Drayton, but as we found that we were able, with the assistance of our copied notes and Mr. Dikes’ instruction, to keep well up with our classes, our anxieties had somewhat subsided. We were content to wait patiently, for the present at least.
The day of our first baseball game approached. We had finished our last hour of practice, and were to go over to Dean College the next morning. Ray had given final instructions to the members of the nine to retire early and report at our quarters at eleven o’clock the following day. We were sitting in our room about half past eight in the evening, discussing our chances in the series of games that was about to begin, when we heard a terrific roar in the hall down stairs. The street door was slammed with a noise like a pistol shot, then came the sounds of footsteps clattering up the stairs three steps at a time; our door was flung wide open, and Tony Larcom stood before us, his face flushed, his eyes glistening, waving a letter triumphantly over his head. We gazed at him in silent astonishment.
“Good news! Good news!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, although we were scarcely ten feet away.
A premonition of the truth seized us both at once, and we sprang forward eagerly. Tony tossed the envelope to Ray.
“There, read that!” he exclaimed, throwing himself on our bed and kicking his heels in the air.