Coach Hooker was on deck, for already the spirit of newly awakened sport had permeated the whole place, so that the boss at his factory gladly released him from duty for that special afternoon, in order that the Chester boys might profit from his sage advice.

Fred did not show up until just before the game with the scrub team was being called, so that of course Jack could not find an opportunity just then to indulge in any side talk with the keeper of the third sack. He determined not to let anything prevent his walking home in company with Fred, however, and trying to see behind the mask which he believed the other was wearing to conceal the real cause of his uneasiness.

The game started and progressed, with every fellow filled with vim and vigor. To those who had come to size up the team before the great battle, it seemed as if every member had made strides forward since the last match, when Harmony won out in that last fierce inning after the rally that almost put Chester on top.

From time to time, each, individual player would seem to rise up and perform the most remarkable stunts. Now it was Joel Jackman, out in center, who made a marvelous running catch, jumping in the air, and pulling down a ball that seemed good for at least a three-bagger, also holding the horse-hide sphere even while he rolled over twice on the ground.

Later on, a great triple play was pulled off, Winters at first to Jones on second, and home to Mullane in time to catch a runner attempting to profit by all this excitement. Such a wonderful handling of the ball in a match game would give the crowd a chance to break loose with mighty cheers, friends and foes joining in to do the clever athletes honor.

Then there was Big Bob Jeffries, a terror at the bat; three times up, and each occasion saw him almost knock the cover off the ball, making two home runs, and a three-bagger in the bargain. Why, if only Big Bob could duplicate that performance on the following day, it was "good-night to Harmony." But then there was a slight difference between the pitcher of the scrub team and the mighty slab artist who officiated for Harmony; and possibly, Bob might only find thin air when he struck savagely at the oncoming ball, dexterously tagged for a drop, or a sweeping curve.

Nevertheless, everybody seemed satisfied that the entire team was "on edge," and in the "pink of condition." If they failed to carry off the honors in that deciding game, there would be no valid excuse to offer, save that Harmony was a shade too much for them. Even though they might be defeated, they meant to fight doggedly to the end of the ninth inning, and feel that they had given the champions of the county a "run for their money."

Win or lose, Chester had awakened to the fact that the local team was well worth patronizing. Another season would see vast improvements, and the time might yet come when Chester would write her name at the top of the county teams. All sorts of other open-air sports were being talked of, and there was a host of eager candidates ready to apply for every sort of position. Jack Winters had managed to awaken the sleepy town, and "start things humming," most fellows admitted, being willing to give him the greater part of the credit.

So when the game was ended, the players gathered around Joe Hooker to listen to his frank criticisms, and pledge themselves anew to do their level best to "take Harmony's scalp" on the morrow.

Jack kept on the watch, and both Toby and Steve saw what he was aiming at when he hurriedly left the group and walked quickly after Fred, who had started toward home.

"Only hope he makes his point," muttered Toby to the other. "Fred certainly played like a fiend today. Nothing got by him, you noticed. He scooped that hummer from Bentley's bat off the ground as neat as wax. No professional could have done better, I heard Joe Hooker say. He thinks Fred is a jim-dandy at third, and that he's a natural ball player, strong at the bat, as well as in the field."

Meanwhile, Jack had overtaken Fred, who, hearing his footsteps, turned his head to see who might be hurrying after him. Jack fancied he looked a trifle confused at seeing the captain of the team trying to come up with him, though that might only be imagination, after all. Still, doubtless Fred's mother must have mentioned the fact that Jack had been at the house twice that morning, as though he had something of importance to communicate.

"I'm going your way, it happens, this afternoon, Fred," Jack remarked as he came up, "as I have an errand over at your neighbor, Mrs. Jennings, a commission for my mother; so I'll step alongside, and we can chat a bit as we walk along."

"Glad to have your company, Jack," said Fred; but all the same he did not seem so _very_ enthusiastic over it. "The boys all worked like a well-oiled machine today, I noticed, and if only we can do as well in the big game, we ought to have a look in, I should think."

"We've just _got_ to make up our minds we mean to win that game tomorrow, no matter how Hendrix pitches gilt-edged ball," Jack told him.

"Every fellow must tell himself in the start that he will let nothing whatever interfere with his giving Chester of his very best. I don't care what it may be that stands in the way, we must brush it aside, and fight together to carry the day. Why, Chester will just go crazy if only we can down the boasting team that has never tasted defeat this season up to that fluke game, when they underestimated the fighting qualities of the rejuvenated Chester nine. And we can do it, Fred, we surely can, if only we pull together in team work, and every fellow stands on his honor to do his level best. You believe that, don't you, Fred?"

The other looked at Jack, and a slight gleam, as of uncertainty, began to show itself in his eyes. Then he shut his jaws together, and hurriedly replied:

"Of course I do, Jack. I'm not the one to show the white feather at such an early stage of the game. They've never accused _me_ of having cold feet, no matter how bad things seemed to be breaking for my side.

In fact, I've been a little proud of the reputation I have of being able to keep everlastingly at it. Stubbornness is my best hold, I've sometimes thought."

"Glad to know it, Fred, because that's a quality badly needed in baseball players. There's always hope up to the time the last man is down. Joe Hooker tells lots of wonderful stories of games he's seen won with two out in the ninth frame, and the other side half a dozen runs to the good. You are never beaten until the third man is out in the last inning. I'm glad to hear you say you mean to fight as never before in your life to get that game for the home club. Fact is, Fred, old fellow, I've been a little anxious about you latterly, because I thought you seemed upset over something or other, and I was afraid it might interfere with your play."

Fred started plainly, and shot Jack a quick look out of the corner of his eye, just as though he might be asking himself how much the other knew, or suspected.

"Well, the fact of the matter is, Jack, I have been feeling down-spirited over something. It's a family matter, and I hope you'll excuse me for not going into particulars just now. Day and night I seem to be wrestling with a problem that's mighty hard to solve; but there's a little ray of sunlight beginning to crop up, I don't mind telling you, and perhaps I'll find a way yet to weather the storm. I'm trying to feel cheerful about it; and you can depend on me taking care of third sack tomorrow the best I know how."

"That's all I can ask of any man, Fred; do yourself credit. Thousands of eyes will watch every move that is made, and among them those we care for most of every one in the whole world. I heard Molly Skinner saying this afternoon that she wouldn't miss that game for all the candy in the world. She also said she had a favorite seat over near third, and would go early so as to secure it. A brilliant play over _your_ way would please Molly a heap, I reckon, Fred."

The other turned very red in the face, and then, tried to laugh it off as he hastened to say in a voice that trembled a little, despite his effort to control it:

"Yes, she told me the same thing, Jack, and it was nice of Molly to say it, for you know she's the prettiest girl in Chester, and a dozen boys are always hanging around her. Yes, I'd be a fool not to do myself proud tomorrow, with so many of my friends looking on; though of course any fellow might run into a bit of bad judgment and make a foozle, when he'd give five years of his life to work like a machine. I'm hoping, and praying, too, Jack, that such a streak of bad luck won't come my way, that's all I can say. Here's where I leave you, if you're bound for Jennings' place. If it's my promise to do my level best tomorrow you want, Jack, you've got it!"

So they parted. Still, Jack was not altogether easy in his mind. He went over every little incident of their recent intercourse as they trudged along side by side; and wondered whether Fred, who was not very well known to him, could be deceiving him. He cudgeled his brain to understand what those strange actions of the third baseman could mean, and who that sporty looking individual, whom he had with his own eyes seen talking so mysteriously to Fred might be.

CHAPTER IV

WHEN CHESTER AWAKENED

"Did you ever see such an enormous crowd?"

"Beats everything that ever happened around Chester all hollow!"

"Talk to me about excitement, the old town has gone stark, staring crazy over baseball; and it's all owing to Jack Winters coming to Chester, and shaking the dry bones of what used to be a Sleepy Hollow place."

"Right you are, Pete, and this is only a beginning of the glorious things scheduled to happen within the next six months or so. Already there's great talk about a football eleven that will clean up things in this neighborhood. We've got the right sort of stuff to make up a strong team, too, remember."

"And, Oliver, when I hear them speak of ice hockey, and skating for prizes, it gives me a heap of satisfaction, for you know I'm a crank on winter sports. Because the boys of Chester didn't seem to enthuse over such things has been the grief of my heart. But this day was certainly made for a thrilling baseball game."

"Oh! the sky looks blue enough, and that sun is some hot, I admit, but somehow I don't exactly like the looks of yonder bank of clouds that keeps hanging low-down close to the horizon in the southwest. We get most of our big storms from that quarter, don't forget."

A burst of derisive boyish laughter greeted this remark from the fellow named Oliver, who apparently was a bit of a pessimist, one of those who, while admitting that a day might be nearly perfect, chose to remember it was apt to be a weather-breeder, and bound to be followed by stormy times.

"Listen to the old croaker, will you?" one Chester rooter called out.

"How anybody could pick a flaw with this splendid day beats me all hollow. Why, it was made on purpose for Chester to lick that boasting Harmony team, and send them back home like dogs, with their tails between their legs. Hurrah for Chester! Give the boys a cheer, fellows, because there they come on the field."

There was a wild burst of shouts from a myriad of boyish throats, and school flags, as well as other kinds, were waved from the grand-stand where most of the town girls sat, until the whole wooden affair seemed a riot of color in motion.

The boys set to work pa.s.sing the ball, and calling to one another as though they were full of business and confidence. Those in the audience who knew considerable about games felt that at least none of the home team suffered from stage fright. It looked promising. Evidently Jack Winters had managed to instill his nine with a fair degree of his own bubbling animation. They certainly looked fit to do their best in honor of their native town.

There were hosts of the Harmony folks over. They had come, and still arrived, in all sorts of conveyances, from private cars to stages and carryalls; and from the great row they kicked up with their calls and school cries, one might think it was an open-and-shut thing Chester was fated to get a terrible drubbing on that decisive day.

There were thousands on the field. Every seat in the grand-stand, as well as the commodious bleachers, was occupied, and countless numbers who would have willingly paid for a chance to take things comfortable, found it necessary to stand.

Chester had reason to feel proud of her awakening; and since it seemed an a.s.sured fact that her boys could do things worth while, there was reason to hope the town on Lake Constance would never again allow herself to sink back into her former condition of somnolence. So long as Jack Winters lived there, it might be understood first and last that such a catastrophe would never happen.

All eyes were upon the new pitcher who was yet to prove his worth. Most of those gathered to see the game only knew of Alec Donohue as a youngster who had been playing on the sand-lots, as that section near the factories was usually called, for there the toilers in the iron foundry and the mills were in the habit of playing scrub games.

Jack had come across Donohue by accident, and apparently must have been struck with the amazing speed and control that the boy showed in his delivery. He had taken Alec under his wing from that day on, and coached him, with the a.s.sistance of old Joe Hooker, until he felt confident he had picked up a real wonder.

Various comments were flying around, most of them connected with the newest member of the Chester team.

"One thing I like about that Donohue," a rangy scout of the high school was saying to a companion wearing gla.s.ses, and looking a bit effeminate, though evidently quite fond of sport; "he acts as though he might be as cool as a cuc.u.mber. Those Harmony fellows in the crowd will do their level best to faze him, if ever he gets in a tight corner, and lots of things are liable to happen through a hard-fought game."

"Oh! I asked Jack about that," observed the one with spectacles, "and he a.s.sured me the fellow seemed absolutely devoid of nerves. Nothing under the sun can bother him. He banks on Jack, and knows the captain has confidence in his work; so you'll see how all the jeering and whooping and stamping on the boards of the grand-stand will fail to upset him.

Jack says he's an _iceberg_."

"Glad to hear it, Specs. That kind of pitcher always has a big lead over the fellow who gets excited as soon as the enemy begins to lambast his favorite curves. The cool sort just changes his gait, and lobs them over between, so that he has the hard batters wasting their energy on the air long before the ball gets across the rubber."

"Listen to all that whooping, Ernest; what's happening, do you think?"