CHAPTER XIII
EARLY PRACTICE
"What are you going to try for?"
"Have you played much before you came here?"
"Oh, rats! I don't believe I'll have any show with all this bunch!"
"Hey, quit shoving; will you?"
"Oh, Rinky-Dink! Over here!"
"Hi, Weston, we're looking for you."
"There goes Shorty Kendall. He'll sure catch this year."
"Hello, Mac! Think you'll beat Weston to it this year?"
"I might," was the cool reply.
The above were only a few of the many challenges, shouts, calls andgreetings that were bandied from side to side as the students, who hadbeen waiting long for this opportunity, crowded into the gymnasium.
It was the preliminary sifting and weeding out of the mass of materialoffered on the altar of baseball. At best but a small proportion of thecandidates could hope to make the 'varsity, or even a class team, butthis did not lessen the throng that crowded about the captain, managerand coaches, eagerly waiting for favorable comment.
"Well, we're here!" exulted Jimmie Lee, who had, the night before,brought to Joe the good news that the ball season had at least startedto open.
"Yes, we're here," agreed Joe.
"And what will happen to us?" asked Spike Poole. "It doesn't look to meas if much would."
"Oh, don't fool yourself," declared Jimmie, who, being very lively, hadlearned many of the ropes, and who, by reason of ferreting about, hadsecured much information. "The coaches aren't going to let anything goodget by 'em. Did you see Benson looking at me! Ahem! And I think I haveWhitfield's eye! Nothing like having nerve, is there? Joe, hold up yourhand and wriggle it--they're trying to see where you're located," and,with a laugh at his conceit, Jimmie shoved into the crowd trying to getnearer the centre of interest--to wit, where the old players who servedas coaches were conferring with the captain.
The latter was Tom Hatfield, a Junior whose remarkable playing at shorthad won him much fame. Mr. William Benson and Mr. James Whitfield weretwo of the coaches. George Farley was the manager, and a short stockyman, with a genial Irish face, who answered to the name of Dick McLeary,was the well-liked trainer.
"Well, if I can make the outfield I suppose I ought to be satisfied,"spoke Jimmie Lee. "But I did want to get on a bag, or somewhere insidethe diamond."
"I'll take to the daisies and be thankful," remarked Spike; "though Iwould like to be behind the bat."
"Carrying bats would do me for a starter," spoke a tall lad near Joe."But I suppose I'll be lucky if they let me play on the Freshman team.Anyhow as long as I don't get left out of it altogether I don't mind.What are you going to try for?" he asked of our hero.
"I would like to pitch. I twirled at Excelsior Hall, and I think I canplay on the mound better than anywhere else, though that's not sayingI'm such a muchness as a pitcher," added Joe, modestly. "I did hope toget on the 'varsity, but----"
"Pitch!" exclaimed the other frankly. "Say, you've got as much chance topitch on the 'varsity as I have of taking the Dean's place to-morrow.Pitch on the 'varsity! Say, I'm not saying anything against you, Matson,for maybe you can pitch, but Weston has the place cinched, and if hefalls down there's Harry McAnish, a southpaw. He stands about secondchoice."
"Oh, I've been disillusioned," said Joe frankly. "I know I can't get onthe 'varsity this year. But don't they have more than one pitcher inreserve?"
"Oh, yes, sure. But Bert Avondale comes next, and I have heard that he'seven better than Weston, but Weston is steadier--in most games. I don'twant to discourage you, but you'd better try for some other place thanpitcher."
"No, I'm going to try for there," said Joe in a low voice. "I may notmake it, but if I get a chance to show what I can do, and then falldown, I won't kick. I mean next year, of course," he added.
"Oh, you may get a chance all right. Every fellow does at Yale. Butyou're up against some of the best college baseball material that evercame over the pike. Sometimes I think I've got nerve even to dream of aclass team. But listen--they're going to start the fun now."
The manager was speaking, announcing more or less formally, that whicheveryone knew already--that they had reported to allow a sort ofpreliminary looking over of the candidates. There were several of theformer ball team who would play, it was said, but there was always needand a chance, for new material. All save Freshmen would be given anopportunity, the manager said, and then he emphasized the need of hardwork and training for those who were given the responsibility ofcarrying the blue of Yale to victory on the diamond.
"And, no less does this responsibility rest on the scrub, or secondteam," went on Farley. "For on the efficiency of the scrub depends theefficiency of the 'varsity, since good opposition is needed in bringingout the best points of the first team."
Farley, who was one of the old players, acting as a coach, went on toadd:
"I have used the word 'scrub' and 'second team,' though, as you wellknow, there is nothing like that here at Yale, that is as compared tofootball. When I say 'scrub' I mean one of the class teams, theFreshman, Sophomore or Junior, for, in a measure, while separate anddistinct teams themselves, they will serve us the same purpose as ascrub or substitute team would in football. They will give us somethingto practice with--some opposition--for you've got to have two nines tomake a ball game," and he smiled at the anxious ones looking at him.
"So," he went on, "when I use the word 'scrub' after this, or when anyof the other coaches do, I want you to understand that it will meanone of the class teams which, for the purpose of strengthening the'varsity, and enabling it to practice, acts as opposition.
"Sometimes the 'varsity will play one team, and sometimes another, forthe class teams will have their own contests to look after, to win,we hope; to lose, we hope not. I wish I could give you Freshmenencouragement that you could make the 'varsity, but, under the rules,none of you can. Now we'll get down to business."
He gave encouragement to many, and consoled those who might fail, or, atbest, make only a class team. Then he introduced the captain--TomHatfield--who was received with a rousing cheer.
"Well, fellows," said Hatfield, "I haven't much to say. This is my firstexperience at the head of a big college nine, though you know I'veplayed with you in many games."
"That's right--and played well, too!" yelled someone. "Three cheers forHatfield!"
They were given with a will, and the captain resumed.
"Of course we're going to win this year, even if we didn't last." Thiswas received in silence, for the losing of the championship to Princetonthe previous season had been a sore blow to Yale. "We're going to win,"went on Hatfield in a quiet voice; "but, just because we are, don't letthat fool you into getting careless. We've all got to work hard--totrain hard--and we've got to practice. I expect every man to reportregularly whether he thinks he has a chance to make the 'varsity or not.It's part of the game, and we've all got to play it--scrub and 'varsityalike.
"I guess that's all I've got to say, though I may have more later, afterwe get started. The coaches will take charge now and you'll have to doas they say. We won't do much to-day, just some catching and a bit ofrunning to see how each fellow's wind is." He nodded to the coaches andtrainer, 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 whichthe 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, asthey approached him, Joe felt his heart beginning to beat faster. Wouldhe have a chance? And, if he got it, could he make good?
These were the questions he asked him.
"Name?"
"Matson--Joe."
"Hum. Yes. Ever played before?"
&
nbsp; "Yes, on a school nine."
"Where?"
"Excelsior Hall."
"Hum! Yes. Never heard of it. Where did you play?"
"I pitched."
"Pitched. Hum! Yes. I never saw so many pitchers as we have this season.Well, I'll put you down for your Freshman class team, though I can'tgive you much encouragement," and Mr. Benson turned to the next lad. "Goover there and do some throwing, I'll watch you later," he concluded,and Joe's heart began to sink as he saw Spike motioning to him to cometo one side and indulge in some practice balls.
"How'd you make out?" asked his room-mate.
"Oh, I'm engaged right off the bat," laughed Joe, but he could notconceal the anxiety in the voice that he strove to make indifferent.
"So? Then you had better luck than I. Whitfield told me he didn't thinkI had the right build for a catcher."
"Well, maybe we can both make our scrub class team," spoke Joe.
"Say, it hasn't half begun yet," declared Jimmie Lee, who had a hankeringto play first base. "Wait until the main coach gets here, and we'll havea shake-up that'll set some people on their ears."
"What do you mean?" asked Joe wonderingly.
"I mean that the main gazaboo isn't here yet: Mr. Forsythe Hasbrook--oldHorsehide they call him. He's the main coach. These are only hisassistants."
"Is that so?" inquired Spike.
"It sure is. He's the real thing in baseball--Horsehide is. An old Yaleman, but up-to-date. Played ever since he was a baby, and knows the gamefrom A to Z. He never gets here until the preliminary practice has begunon the field, and then it doesn't take him long to size a fellow up. Ofcourse I only know what I've been told," he added, "but that goes allright."
"Well, if we didn't get picked for the team now, I don't believe we'llhave any chance after the main coach gets here," said Joe.
"Guess not," assented Spike. "Here we go." And they started to practice.