“I hardly believe that,” said Ray. “There must be some reason. I don’t know what to think. I thought I had judged Harrison correctly when we chose him for the nine. I counted on some little nervousness, for he is a Freshman, and has had no experience on the ball field, but I did not look for such a complete demoralization as this to-day. Did any of you speak much to him during the game? Did you notice how confused his ideas seemed to be? Why, in the fourth inning, when we took the field, he started to go to third base instead of first, and only stopped when I spoke to him. Were such a thing possible, I could almost believe the fellow had been drugged.”
I had reached out at this moment to place Fred’s right arm in a more comfortable position, when my hand struck something hard which protruded partly from his inside coat pocket.
“Why, what is this?” I exclaimed, drawing it out to view.
It was a small brandy flask, half emptied.
“Jerusalem, the boy has been drinking!” cried Tony Larcom, as the whole truth of the affair suddenly dawned on him.
“Not a doubt of it,” said Frank Holland, who was a classmate of Harrison’s. “It was only last night that Fred told me that he was going to be nervous to-day, and said that he wished he could take something to strengthen him. I told him that he would be only the worse for it, and so he said no more about it.”
Ray had taken the bottle from me.
“I am afraid it is true,” he said.
“No wonder he was upset,” said Tony. “He must have been fairly stupefied. What on earth possessed him to do such a thing? He knew the rule that no member of the nine should touch stimulants.”