Morgan Scott - The New Boys at Oakdale

At this point Nelson suddenly threw back his head and laughed, although perhaps it was not a laugh of simple amusement.

“That has been your pose ever since you came to Oakdale,” he said. “Your pity for us poor, ignorant countrymen is wholly appreciated, Osgood. It may be that we’re very shortsighted in failing to perceive the splendid opportunity we have for learning something about real baseball from you and Shultz, but it seems that you might find a more delicate and less egotistical method of opening our sleepy eyes.”

For a single breathless moment it seemed that Osgood was on the verge of permitting this sarcasm to lead him into a touch of temper, at least; but he was crafty and far too clever not to realize that such a thing would be likely to put him at a disadvantage in the eyes of some members of the team whom he had reasons to think were inclined to sympathize with him.

“I didn’t come to Oakdale to teach baseball or anything else,” he asserted. “I think I’ve stated before this that Oakdale Academy was a school of my mother’s choice, not mine, and mothers who are fearful of the temptations which their sons may encounter in large and really efficient schools sometimes have peculiar ideas.”

“Fathers, too,” put in Shultz, with a curl of his red lips. “My old man was determined that I should get my preparatory education far from the evil influences of the really wide-awake world, and so he buried me in a forsaken graveyard.”

“Too bad abaout yeou poor fellers,” Sile Crane could not refrain from observing.

“I enjoy baseball,” Osgood hastily went on. “I love the game. I was glad when it seemed assured that I’d have a chance to play on the academy nine. However, I scarcely fancied it would be considered a fault or a detriment that I happened to know something about the game as it’s played to-day not only in big schools and colleges, but in big leagues. I’ve never missed an opportunity of seeing a Big League game and trying to wise up on the methods of the players. I’d like to see Oakdale win out this season, and my interest in our success is so great that if I thought for a moment I would produce discord and disaffection on the team I’d voluntarily withdraw.”

This assertion was made with an air of earnestness and sincerity, but the fellow had spoken craftily, with the design of spiking Nelson’s guns, being certain that the captain suspected him of the very purpose which he so ardently disclaimed. Shultz, who knew his friend’s secret motives better than any one else, really found it difficult to suppress a grin, while inwardly he was telling himself that Osgood certainly was a “slick duck.” Why, Nelson was not only flanked, but his line of defense was cut off completely!

In a vague way the captain seemed to feel something of this, but still his quick perception told him that to a large extent Osgood had created a favorable impression, which would only be increased were his motives doubted.

“Well, that’s all right,” said Jack, a bit bluffly. “That’s all we can ask of any chap. You’ve both shown that you can play baseball, and if you show a willingness to respect the wishes of your captain that should be sufficient. We want players loyal to the team and to the school.”

Right here Shultz made another break. “The school!” he laughed. “We’ll be loyal to the team all right if we’re given a show, but you must know that the school is almost a joke. It’s taught by a dead one, with a lot of decayed back numbers as directors. Right here at Wyndham they have got a professor who’s alive and who takes interest in some things besides books. Old Prof. Richardson has outlived his usefulness as a teacher. He’s let the times pass on and leave him about thirty years behind. Who ever saw him at a baseball game, or any similar sport? The Wyndham prof was out here to-day watching the go, and he seemed as interested as any one. When Professor Richardson gets through with the day’s session he toddles home to dressing-gown, slippers and tea. How a school with such a head can stand as well in athletics as Oakdale does certainly gets me.”

“It’s true,” admitted Nelson, “that Professor Richardson has never taken any real genuine interest in outdoor sports, but he’s a good principal and does his work well in the class room. His health isn’t always the best. Everyone who knows him well respects him, at least, and I’m sorry to hear you say what you have, Shultz.”

“I’ve simply stated a fact. Some day Oakdale will wake up to it, too, and the old man will lose his job. Some day before long you’ll see a younger, more up-to-date principal filling his shoes. It will be a mighty good thing if that time comes soon.”

“Let’s not discuss that,” interposed Osgood. “Whether Professor Richardson is efficient or not has nothing to do with the matter that threatened to produce a disturbance and some hard feelings on the team. That business is all settled now, and I think we understand that we’re a nine united and anxious to do our best to win the championship. Come, fellows, let’s forget it all. I’m going to.”

This magnanimity had its effect, and, as they completed dressing for the jaunt home, the boys were again chattering and jesting, as if no threatening cloud had risen.

Osgood’s manner during the tedious homeward jaunt would not have led any one unaware of what had taken place to fancy that there had been the slightest unpleasantness. He was polite and affable to every one upon the buckboard, and when the boys sang, as they did once or twice, his fine baritone voice was sufficient to command admiration and applause.

This fellow had entered Oakdale Academy in the midst of the term of the previous autumn, and had maintained for a time a certain reserve which prevented his schoolmates from seeking to pry into his personal affairs. It was some time, indeed, before the naturally curious boys learned from him that he was a native of New York, but that, on account of his mother’s health, his parents had removed to California some years before, where his father had suddenly passed away from an attack of heart disease. Of this bereavement he continued to be disinclined to say much, and it was noticeable that while he seemed distinctly proud of his mother, his father was never mentioned in that manner.

Nevertheless, Edwin Osgood took pains to impress upon his associates that there was genuine blue blood in his veins, and his claim was that he was upon his mother’s side a direct descendant of Lord Robert Percival, Earl of Harcourt. Little by little at various times he let drop a few words which, pieced together, told of the banishing of a younger son of Lord Percival, who had brought upon his head the displeasure of the old Earl through his wild and wayward ways. This younger son had come to America, where he married, and Ned asserted that he was of the third generation in this country.

All this was apparently dragged reluctantly from his lips, and he even made some pretense of disdain for ancestry, although his stationery bore a crest, and those chaps who were favored by invitations to his rooms stated that they had seen various portraits of Osgood’s noble forebears.

Unlike other students at Oakdale who came from out of town, Ned did not simply room or board; he lived in the home of a widow by the name of Mrs. Chester, who had been induced to take him in through what was said to be a surprisingly liberal money consideration. In Mrs. Chester’s house he had a sitting-room and a bedroom with an adjacent bath, and it was said that the widow, perhaps a bit impressed by having such a young swell in her home, permitted him to do about as he pleased in his rooms.

Now a fellow like this might through snobbery easily make himself unpopular in a country school, but Osgood’s seeming whole-souled, manly boyishness, combined with an unusual knack at all-round sports and baseball in particular, had overcome the prejudice of many chaps who were inclined at the outset to regard him with disfavor. His staunchest friend, however, was Charley Shultz, with whom he had taken up almost immediately, and who seemed so remarkably different from him in every way that wonderment over their chumminess was justified. Shultz was rough and brusque and not infrequently positively boorish; furthermore, he was something of a bully, although, finding this bent disapproved by Osgood, he plainly sought to hold the inclination in check.