Lester Chadwick

“ Joe Matson gazed about him curiously as the train drew into the New Haven station. He wondered what his first taste of Yale life was going to be like, and he could not repress a feeling of nervousness.
He had ridden in the end car, and he was not prepared for what happened as the train drew to a slow stop. For from the other coaches there poured a crowd of students—many Freshmen like himself but others evidently Sophomores, and a sprinkling of Juniors and the more lordly Seniors. Instantly the place resounded to a din, as friends met friends, and as old acquaintances were renewed. ”

“ Joe’s arm was beginning to feel the unaccustomed strain a trifle, and to limber up the muscles he “wound-up” with more motions and elaborateness than usual as he again took the mound. As he did so he heard from the grandstand a loud laugh—a laugh that fairly bubbled over with sneering, caustic mirth, and a voice remarked, loud enough for our hero to hear:
“I wonder where he learned that wild and weird style of pitching? He’ll fall all apart if he doesn’t look out!” ”

“ And, after all, isn’t life just one big game; and if we play it fairly and squarely and win—isn’t that all there is to it? And, in a measure, doesn’t playing at an athletic game fit one to play in life? It isn’t always the winning that counts, but the spirit of fair play, the love for the square deal, the respect for a worthy foe, and the determination not to give up until you are fairly beaten—all [119] these things count for much. So, after all, one can not blame the college lads for the intense interest they take in their games. ”

“ The days at Yale, playing with young men who were well-nigh professionals, had given him confidence he had not possessed before, and he realized that he was developing good control of the ball, as well as speed and curves.
“I wonder why he didn’t pitch me?” mused Joe.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and the hearts of all were eager for the battle of stick and horsehide to begin. Cornell went to the bat first, and Weston faced his man. There was a smile of confidence on the pitcher’s face, as he wound up, and delivered a few practice balls to Kendall. ”

“ A season with the Freshmen will give it to you. You’ll learn the ropes better—get imbued with some of the Yale spirit, and you’ll be more of a man. It’s no joke, I tell you, to pitch on the ’varsity.”
“No, I imagine not,” agreed Joe, slowly. “Then, I suppose there’s no use of me trying to even get my name down on a sort of waiting list.”
“Not until you see how you make out on the Freshman team,” agreed Ricky. “You’ll be watched there, so look out for yourself. The old players, who act as coaches, are always on the lookout for promising material. You’ll be sized up when you aren’t expecting it. ”

“ I don’t care for this college business, and there’s no use pretending that I do. I’m not built that way. My mind is on something else. Of course I know a college education is a great thing, and something that lots of fellows need. But for yours truly—not!”
“I only wish I had your chance,” said Tom, enviously.
“You’re welcome to it,” laughed Joe.
“No,” and the other spoke half sadly. “Dad doesn’t believe in a college career any more than you do. When I’m through at Excelsior Hall he’s going to take me into business with him. ”

“ This from a crowd of Sophomores who saw the newly-arrived first-year lads.
“Don’t you do it! Keep your lids on!”
“Oh, you will!” and there was a scrimmage in which the offending headgear of many was sent spinning. Joe began to breathe deeply and fast. If this was a taste of Yale life he liked it. Somewhat Excelsior Hall it was, but bigger—broader.
Gripping his valise, he climbed down the steps, stumbling in his eagerness. On all sides men crowded around him and the others who were alighting. ”

“ CHAPTER XXII THE CRIMSON SPOT
“What do you think of him, anyhow?” asked Spike of his room-mate, as Weston passed on. “Isn’t he the limit!”
“He certainly doesn’t seem to care much for me,” replied Joe, with a grim smile. “But I suppose it’s natural. Almost anyone would feel that way at the prospect of being replaced.”
“Oh, he makes me tired!” exclaimed Spike. “He ought to stand for Yale—not for Ford Weston. It’s the first time in a good many years that any player has placed himself above the team.” ”

“ In the part of the game he pitched Joe allowed but one hit, and with howls of delight his friends watched him mow down the Cornell batters. Not another run came in, but the lead of the visitors was too big, and Yale could not overcome it, though her sons did nobly, rising to the support of Joe in great style.
“Well, it’s over,” remarked Spike gleefully as he caught Joe’s arm at the close of the contest.
“You seem glad that Yale lost,” said the pitcher.
“Never! But I’m glad you showed ’em what you could do when you had the chance. If you’d gone in first Yale would have won!” ”

“ This was after supper, and as Joe left the room, and Clara hastened to her apartment, there to indulge in further “prinking,” as Joe called it, Mr. and Mrs. Matson looked at each other.
“What’s getting into Joe, I wonder?” spoke his father. “He’s acting rather strange of late.”
“Oh, I expect the responsibility of college life is making itself felt,” said Mrs. Matson. “But I’m proud that I have a son who is going to Yale. It is good you can afford it, John.”
“Yes, Ellen, I am too. Education is a great thing, and a college course does a lot for a young fellow. ”

“ Though Yale tried with all her might to sweeten the score, she could not—at least in the next two innings. She batted well, but Princeton seemed to be right on the ball every time. And with only one run as a margin, the game was far from won.
“But we’ll do it!” cried Hatfield, fiercely.
“That’s what!” echoed Joe.
Yale’s chance came in the eighth inning, when, owing to an error by the Princeton shortstop, a man got to first. None were out, and Joe rapped out a pretty two-bagger that, followed by a wild throw home, enabled a man to score. ”

“ In various sorts of uniforms, scattered over the big field, the candidates went at their practice with devotion and zeal. Winning a baseball game may not be much in the eyes of the world, getting the college championship may seem a small matter to the man of affairs—to the student or the politician, intent on bigger matters. ”

“ There were still two on bases, and a good hit would mean two runs in, possibly three if it was a homer.
“I’m going to strike him out!” thought Joe fiercely.
But when two foul strikes resulted from balls that he had hoped would be missed he was not so sure. He had given no balls, however, and there was still a reserve in his favor.
“Ball one!” yelled the umpire, at the next delivery. Joe could hear his mates breathing hard. He rubbed a little soil on the horsehide, though it did not need it, but it gave him a moment’s respite. Then, swift and sure, he threw the bail. ”

“ With only one out, and a man on third, he began to be hit for disastrous results. He made wild throws, and the whole team became so demoralized that costly errors were made. The result was that Cornell had four runs when the streak was stopped.
“We’ve got to do better than this,” declared the head coach, as the Yale men came in to bat. “Rap out a few heavy ones. Show ’em what Yale can do in a pinch.”
They tried, but Cornell was fighting mad now, with the scent of victory to urge her players on. The best Yale could do was two, leaving their opponents one ahead at the beginning of the third. ”

“ Though he had been told that Harvard would play a foxy game, he was hardly prepared for what followed. The next player up hit lightly, for a sacrifice, thinking to bring in the run. As it happened, Joe stumbled as he raced to pick up the twisting ball, and though he managed to recover himself, and throw home, while on his knees, the man racing from third beat the throw and the first run for Harvard was in. Then such cheering as there was! ”

“ The Silver Stars were to bat last, and as Joe walked out to the mound to do the twirling, he was greeted by many friends and acquaintances who had not seen him since the Summer vacation had started. Some news of his prospective leaving for Yale must have gotten around, for he was observed with curious, and sometimes envious eyes.
“Joe’s getting to be quite a boy,” remarked Mr. Jacob Anderson, one of Riverside’s enthusiastic baseball supporters, to his friend, Mr. James Blake.
“Yes, he’s a wonderful pitcher, I hear. Seems sort of queer how the boys grow up. ”

“ Yale won from West Point. It was almost a foregone conclusion after that sensational inning when Joe went down and out with his sprained arm, after saving the game. His mates rallied to the support of, not only himself, but the whole team, and, the cadets, having been held runless, the wearers of the blue made a determined stand.
Weston was called on to go in and replace Joe, and the former ’varsity pitcher, in spite of his feeling against our hero, had that in him which made him do his best in spite of the odds against him. ”

“ At least the ’varsity candidates did not know, and Joe was hoping for at least half a game. He was modest, for Weston arrogantly declared that he would last the nine innings. His friends said little, but he had a certain power in college not to be overlooked.
The stadium was thronged with spectators as the teams trotted out for a little warming-up practice. In the cheering stands for the wearers of the blue the locomotive cry, the Boola song, a new one—“Bulldog Grit!”—and Ricky’s effusion were gone over again. “Hit the Line!” came as a retort, and the cheerers tried to outdo each other. ”

“ This was the import of the message delivered to them a little later as they filed into the dressing rooms, where the team and substitutes now were.
“Remember, boys,” said the captain solemnly, “we’ve got to win. It’s Yale’s luck against Princeton’s maybe, but even with that it’s got to be bulldog pluck against the tiger’s fierceness. They can play ball.”
“And so can we!” declared several, in low voices.
“Prove it—by beating ’em!” was the quick retort. “Pile out now, and have some snap to you!”
If Yale had gone wild, so now did the students from her rival college. ”

“ All Yale was on edge on the day before the Harvard game, which was to take place on the Cambridge diamond. The team and the substitutes were trained to the minute, and all ready to make the trip, together with nearly a thousand “rooters” who were going along to lend moral support. Particular pains had been taken with the pitching staff, and Joe, Weston, McAnish and Avondale had been worked to the limit. They had been coached as they never had been before, for Yale wanted to win this game. ”

“ Are you playing ball?”
“Well—er—I—that is I haven’t——”
“Oh, I see. You’re trying for your team. Good! I’m glad to hear it. It’s a great game—the greatest there is. And so you are at Yale—Matson—you see I haven’t forgotten your name. I never expected to meet you here. Do you know the other coaches?”
“I’ve met them,” murmured Joe, and he half smiled in a grim fashion, for that was about as far as his acquaintanceship had progressed. He had met them but they did not know him apart from many others.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Hasbrook. “Well, I’ll see you again. And so you’re at Yale? ”

“ These fellows are only human, and, though they’ve got the game down to a fine point, and play together like machinery, on account of their drill practice, yet baseball is always uncertain. Yale luck is bound to turn up sooner or later.”
“It had better be sooner then,” remarked Joe, with a grim smile. “Two defeats, hand running, would about put me out of business. I’d resign.”
“Nonsense!” declared Spike. “You can make good all right. Remember that Weston is just hankering for a chance to displace you, so don’t give it to him. Hold on to the mound.” ”

“ The practice went on over the field, until the umpire called the captains together for the final conference, and an agreement on the ground rules. These were adjusted satisfactorily, and once more the inspiring cry rang out:
“Play ball!”
“Get ’em over, Joe,” advised Shorty Kendall, as the young pitcher walked out to his place. “Shoot ’em in good and hard, but keep ’em over the plate. I know this umpire. He’s fair, but he’s careful. You’ll have to work for all the strikes you get.” ”

“ Where were your eyes?” he asked, of the scrub captain.
“I—er—I didn’t think——”
“That’s what your brains are for,” snapped the head coach. “You can’t play ball without brains, any more than you can without bases or a bat. Watch every move. It’s the best general who wins battles—baseball or war. Now go on, and don’t do that again, Weston, and, if he does, you call a balk on him and advance each man a base,” ordered Horsehide.
The ’varsity pitcher and the scrub captain looked crestfallen, but it was a lesson they needed to learn.
“He’s sharp, isn’t he?” said Joe. ”

“ They are very exclusive—societies—elections—eating clubs—and all that sort of rot. A man has to be in with the bunch before he can get a show.”
“That’s all nonsense, and you know it!” snapped Tom. “At Yale, I warrant you, just as at every big college, a man has to stand on his own feet. Why, they’re always on the lookout for good fellows on the nine, crew or eleven, and, if you can make good, you’ll be pitching on the ’varsity before the Spring term opens.”
“Maybe,” assented Joe with rather a moody face. “Anyhow, as long as I’ve got to go to college I’m going to make a try for the nine. ”

“ He nodded to the coaches and trainer, and as he stepped back once more came the cry:
“Three cheers for Hatfield. Good old Yale cheers!”
The gymnasium rang with them, and then came the Boola song, after which the crowd formed in close line and did the serpentine dance.
“Now then, get busy!” commanded Mr. Benson. “Old players over that side, and the new ones here. Give in your names, and say where you’ve played. Lively now!”
He and Mr. Whitfield began circulating among the candidates, and, as they approached him, Joe felt his heart beginning to beat faster. Would he have a chance? ”

“ Joe had pitched for the ’varsity in some informal practice games, though Weston was regarded still as first [154] choice. And Joe was fearful that his cherished ambition was yet far from being realized.
“We’re playing good ball,” said Weston. “I don’t say that because I’m pitching,” he added quickly, as he saw some looking at him curiously, “but because we have got a good team—mostly old players, too,” and he glanced meaningly at Joe, as though he resented his entrance as an aspirant for the mound. ”

“ On the way home in the special train he was gloomy and silent, but later, when he and his chums went to the well-known resort, and heard the Yale songs, and saw the jolly faces of the students—jolly in spite of the defeat—he felt better.
“It’s only once in a while that the bulldog loses his grip,” declared Ricky Hanover. “We’ll get a strangle hold on the rest of the games and come out on top of the heap.”
College life resumed its usual routine after this big game. There were others in prospect, though, and practice went on unceasingly. ”