CHAPTER XVII

ANOTHER STEP

"'Varsity beaten! What do you know about that?" gasped Ricky Hanover, as the crowd that had watched the game swarmed out on the diamond.

"And Joe Matson did it!" added Spike. "Jove! but I'm glad for his sake!

And him only a Freshman, playing on a scrub cla.s.s team. I'm glad!"

"So am I," added Jimmie Lee, who joined them.

"Will this get him a permanent place?" asked Ricky. "He's ent.i.tled to it."

"Well, he's got his foot on the first rung of the ladder anyhow," was Jimmie's opinion. "But it'll be a good while before he pitches for the 'varsity. He's got to show the coaches that it was no freak work.

Besides he's got a year to wait."

"And he can do it!" declared Spike. "I haven't been catching him these last two weeks for nothing. Joe isn't a freak pitcher. He's got control, and that's better than speed or curves, though he has them, too."

On all sides there was talk about the result of the practice game. Of course the second nine had, in times past, often beaten the 'varsity, for the element of luck played into the hands of the scrub as well as into those of its opponents.

But the times were few and far between when the first nine had to go down to defeat, especially in the matter of a scrub Freshman pitcher administering it to them, and Joe's glory was all the greater.

"Congratulations, old man!" exclaimed Avondale, the scrub twirler whom Joe had temporarily displaced. "You saw your duty and you done it n.o.bly, as the poet says. You didn't let 'em fuss you when you were in a tight corner, and that's what tells in a ball game. Shake!"

"Thanks!" exclaimed Joe. He knew just what it meant for his rival to do this, and he appreciated it. "You can have a whack at them next."

"I'm afraid not," returned Avondale. "You did so well that they'll want to keep you at scrub, and you'll be on the 'varsity before you know it."

"I wish I could think so," laughed Joe. As he spoke he saw Ford Weston pa.s.sing behind him, and the 'varsity pitcher had heard what was said. A scowl pa.s.sed over his face. He did not speak to Joe, but to Captain Hatfield, who was with him, the pitcher murmured, loudly enough to be heard:

"It was just a fluke, that was all. We could have won only for the errors the fielders made."

"Maybe--maybe not," agreed the captain. "I think we were outpitched, and I'm not afraid to acknowledge it. We've got to do better!"

"Do you mean me?" There was challenge in Weston's tone.

"I mean all of us," was the quiet answer. "Matson, you did us up brown, but you won't do it again," and the captain laughed frankly.

"I'll try--if I get the chance," was the grim retort.

Meanwhile the coaches had singled out some of the 'varsity members whose playing had shown faults, and were giving instructions how to correct them. Merky Bardine, who played on third, had sprained his leg slightly, and the trainer, McLeary, had taken him in hand to treat him. Mr.

Hasbrook walked up to Joe.

"You did very well," the chief coach was good enough to say, "and I'm glad you had your chance. You have a number of faults to correct, but I think you can master them. One is that you don't get enough into the game yourself. A pitcher must do more than merely deliver the ball.

Twice in this game you didn't get after the bunts as you might have done."

Joe felt a little discouraged. He had hoped for unqualified praise from the head coach, but he was sensible enough to realize that it was all said for his benefit, and he resolved to profit by it. In fact it was this quality and ability of Joe's--enabling him to receive advice graciously--that made him the wonderful pitcher he afterward became.

"You must play into the game more," went on Mr. Hasbrook. "Outside of the catcher, you're the only man on the team who can handle certain bunts--I mean the pitcher. For that reason you want to study a style of delivery that won't leave you in a bad position to look after the ball if it is. .h.i.t your way. You have the right idea now in throwing, but you can improve, I'm sure."

"I'll try," spoke Joe.

"I know you will, and that's why I'm taking the trouble to talk to you.

Then you've got to be on the watch for base stealing. There are some catchers who can pretend to throw to second, and yet so suddenly change as to deliver the ball to the pitcher. This deceives the man on third, who starts for home, and if you have the ball you can nip him. So far we haven't had a catcher who can work this trick, but we may develop one before we get through."

"Then Kendall isn't sure of his place?" asked Joe eagerly, thinking of the desire of his chum Spike to fill the position behind the plate later on.

"Well, he's reasonably sure of it," went on the head coach cautiously.

"But we never can tell what will develop after the season opens. Another point I'd like to impress on you is, that sometimes you've got to help out on first base. Particularly is this the case when a bunt comes that the first baseman can take care of. Then it's your duty to hustle over to first."

"Yes, sir," answered Joe. It was all he could think of to say at the time. In fact he was rather dazed. There was a deal more to this baseball game than he had imagined. He was beginning to get an inkling of the difference between the amateur sport and the professional way of playing.

"I don't want to burden you with too much advice at the start," went on Mr. Hasbrook, "for I want you to remember what I tell you. From time to time, as I see your weak points, I'm going to mention them to you."

"I'll be glad if you will," spoke Joe earnestly.

"On the whole you did very well to-day," concluded the head coach, "and I'm glad we gave you the chance. Report for light practice to-morrow, and the next day we'll try another game. Look after your arm. You used it a good bit this afternoon."

Joe felt in rather better spirits after Mr. Hasbrook had finished than when he began.

"I'm going to get a fair chance to show what I can do, anyhow,"

declared our hero, as he went to his room. On the way he was joined by Spike, who had dropped back when the head coach started his instructions.

"Well?" asked Joe's room-mate.

"Fairly well," was the answer. "Say, I believe you've got a chance, Spike."

"Me? How?"

"Why, it isn't settled that Kendall will catch all of next season."

"Oh, I guess it is as much as anything is settled in this world. But I can wait. I've got four years here."

Joe was elated at his triumph, and little was talked of in baseball circles that night but how the scrubs had "put one over" on the 'varsity. There was some disposition to criticize the first team for loose and too confident playing, but those who knew gave Joe credit for what he had done.

And so the baseball season went on until the 'varsity was fully perfected and established, the cla.s.s teams improved and the schedule made up. Then came hard and grilling work. Joe was doing his best on his Freshman cla.s.s team, and often played against the college nine, either in conjunction with his mates, or, when it was desired to give one of the other Freshmen pitchers a chance, taking part with a mixed "scrub"

team, composed of lads from various cla.s.ses in order to give the 'varsity good opposition.

And Yale swept on her way. Of course Joe bewailed the fact that he would have to lose a whole year before he could hope for a chance to be on the first team, but he bided his time. Weston was doing fairly well, and the feeling between him and our hero had not changed.

The Spring term was drawing to a close. Yale and Princeton had met twice, and there was a game apiece. Yale had also played other colleges, losing occasionally, but winning often enough to ent.i.tle her to claim the championship if she took the odd game from the Tiger. But she did not, and though her players insisted, none the less, that Yale was at the top of the heap, and though the sporting writers conceded this, still Princeton won the third game. And Yale was bitter, though she stood it grimly,--as she always does.

"Well, we'll see what next year will bring forth," said Spike to Joe, at the wind-up of the baseball season. "You're coming back; aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything now. Though, as a matter of fact, I didn't expect to. I thought I'd take one year here, and if I could get on the 'varsity nine long enough to say I had been on it, I'd quit, and go in for the professional end of it. But, since I can't, I'll come back and make another stab at it."

"That's the way to talk. Well, I hope to be here, too."