Ralph Barbour - Weatherby's Inning - A Story of College Life and Baseball

“But why did he give it to you?” asked Jack. “But maybe I’m asking impertinent questions?”

“Oh, no; there’s no secret about it, only – Well, you see, this steam-yacht man had his son with him, a kid of about eleven or twelve, I guess, and one day the kid fell out of the naphtha-launch. There was a good sea running, and they couldn’t get the launch about very well. I happened to be near there in a dory, and so I picked the youngster up. His daddy seemed a good deal tickled about it, and after he got home he sent this to me. That’s all. Some people seem to have money to burn. Well, good night. Glad to have met you. Come over and call as soon as you can.”

And Anthony Z. Tidball nodded, blew a parting cloud of smoke in Jack’s direction, and went out, closing the door softly behind him.

“Well, it wasn’t such a bad showing, was it?”

Joe Perkins tossed his purple cap adorned with a white E on to the table and threw himself among the cushions of the window-seat in the manner of one who has earned his rest. He was a jovial-looking fellow of medium height, rather inclined toward stoutness. His hair was undeniably red, and despite that his features were good, none would have called him handsome. But his blue eyes were alert and his mouth firm. He had the quick temper popularly believed to accompany red hair, but it was well under control, and Joe’s usual appearance was one of extreme good nature. He was popular, perhaps the most popular fellow in college, and he knew it, and was not spoiled by the knowledge. His friends believed in him and he believed in himself. Perhaps it was the latter fact that made him such a wonderful leader. Ever since his freshman year he had been among the foremost in all college affairs. Last spring, after the disastrous 7 – 0 baseball game with Robinson, the selection of Joe, whose catching had been a feature of the contest, as captain, was unanimous and enthusiastic, and the supporters of the Purple, mourning overwhelming defeat, felt their sorrow lightened by the knowledge that Joe Perkins, in accepting the office, had pledged himself to retrieve Erskine’s lost prestige on the diamond. The whole college firmly believed that what Joe Perkins promised he would perform.

Joe’s companion was Tracy Gilberth. Like Joe, he was a senior and a member of the nine. Unlike Joe, he did not impress one as being particularly good-natured; nor did he resemble that youth in appearance. He had straight dark hair and black eyes. His cheeks were ruddy and his mouth straight and thin. He was of middle height and weight, and pitched the best ball of any man in college. In age he was a year Joe’s senior, being twenty-three. He had none of the other man’s popularity, although he was not disliked. Acquaintances suspected him of arrogance; in talking he had a tone that sounded patronizing to those not used to it. His parents were immensely wealthy; rumor credited his father with being a millionaire several times over. At all events, Tracy had the most luxuriously furnished rooms at Erskine, and spent more money than the rest of his class put together.

At the present moment he was sitting in Joe’s Morris chair with his hands in his pockets and his golf-stockinged legs sprawled before him. He replied to Joe’s question with a negligent nod that might have meant either assent or denial. Joe took it to express the former, and continued:

“A heap better than last year, anyhow. Thirty candidates at this time of year means sixty when we get outdoors.”

“Yes, but it isn’t quantity that counts, Joe,” said Tracy. “Look at the sort of greenies you had to-day. I’ll bet there isn’t a decent player among them, outside of the few last-year men that were there. If I were captain I’d rather have fifteen good players than fifty would-bes.”

“You’re an awful croaker, Tracy. For goodness’ sake, let me be happy while I can. To-morrow I shall be quite ready to believe that to-day’s bunch is merely a lot of hopeless idiots; but this evening I am an optimist; I see phenomenal pitchers, star catchers, wonderful first-basemen, in short, an aggregation of brilliant players destined to wipe Robinson off the face of the earth. Leave me to my dreams, old man.”

“All right; only when you wake up you’ll find you’ve fallen out of bed,” answered Tracy. “Have you heard from Hanson?”

“Yes, he’s coming up Wednesday to look around.”

“I hope he’ll like what he sees,” said Tracy, grimly. “I suppose you saw that fellow Weatherby there to-day? That chap must have the sensibilities of a goat. Think of his having the cheek to show up in the cage as a baseball candidate after what happened Friday! Why, if I were he I wouldn’t have the courage to show my face outside of my room. Not a fellow spoke to him to-day, but he didn’t seem to mind a bit.”

“I spoke to him,” said Joe.

“Oh, you had to!”

“And I think you’re mistaken about his not caring. He kept a pretty stiff upper lip, but I have a hunch that he wasn’t happy.”

“Happy! I should say not. If he expects to be happy as long as he stays at Erskine he’s going to be awfully fooled. The chap ought to be driven out of college.”

“It’s an unfortunate affair,” answered Joe dispassionately, “and I don’t pretend to understand it. But I must confess that I’m a bit sorry for the chap. It may just be that there was some reason for his not going in after that boy. Maybe he got rattled; you can’t tell.”

“Oh, poppycock! Maybe he was blind or asleep! Why didn’t he spunk up, then, and say something? He just walked off with his head in the air, as proud as you please, without a word. The plain fact of the matter is that he’s a coward clean through.”

“Well – but if he is, why did he report to-day? Seems to me that took something a good deal like courage. He knows plaguy well what the college thinks of him. Great Scott, if I had been in his boots I’d no more have thought of coming there among all those fellows – !”

“That’s what I say. He’s got just about the same sensibilities as a billy-goat. I dare say he’s rather proud of himself. But don’t you worry, Joe, you won’t be troubled with him long; we’ll soon show him that the baseball team doesn’t want cowards. You leave him to us, old man.”

“No, you don’t, Tracy; you leave him to me. I’m bossing this outfit, and I’m quite capable of getting rid of any one I don’t want. The fellow says he can play ball, and it’s fellows who can play ball that I’m after, and not life-saving heroes.”

Tracy stared across at his friend in disgust.

“Well, I can tell you one thing, Joe, and that is that you’ll find that there will be lots of fellows who simply won’t go on to the team if you keep Weatherby; and one of ’em’s me!”

“Nonsense,” answered the other, quite undisturbed. “Your precious morals aren’t going to be hurt by playing on the same acre of green grass as Weatherby. Nor by sitting at the same table with him, for that matter. At any rate, don’t get excited yet; it’s a fair guess that Weatherby doesn’t know enough about the game to make the team. But as long as he’s trying for it I won’t have him bullied.” Joe sat up suddenly and punched a purple and white cushion viciously. “I tell you candidly, old man, I’m going to turn out a winning team this spring, and just as long as a fellow plays good ball and does as he’s told, I don’t give a continental if he’s ostracized by the whole State! I gave my solemn word to Tom Higgins last year, after the game, that I’d win from Robinson, and I’m going to keep that promise!”

“I’ll never forget old Tom that day. The poor duffer was crying like a baby all the way back to the yard. ‘You’ll be captain, Joe,’ he said, ‘and you’ve got to promise to wipe this out. You’ve got to give me your word of honor, Joe.’ ‘I’ll do everything that I can, Tom,’ said I. And we shook hands on it. ‘If you don’t beat them next year, Joe,’ he blubbered, ‘I’ll come back here and I’ll lick you until you can’t stand. I swear I will!’ And he would, too,” laughed Joe.