CHAPTER XVII
ANOTHER STEP
"'Varsity beaten! What do you know about that?" gasped Ricky Hanover, asthe crowd that had watched the game swarmed out on the diamond.
"And Joe Matson did it!" added Spike. "Jove! but I'm glad for his sake!And him only a Freshman, playing on a scrub class team. I'm glad!"
"So am I," added Jimmie Lee, who joined them.
"Will this get him a permanent place?" asked Ricky. "He's entitled toit."
"Well, he's got his foot on the first rung of the ladder anyhow," wasJimmie's opinion. "But it'll be a good while before he pitches for the'varsity. He's got to show the coaches that it was no freak work.Besides he's got a year to wait."
"And he can do it!" declared Spike. "I haven't been catching him theselast two weeks for nothing. Joe isn't a freak pitcher. He's gotcontrol, and that's better than speed or curves, though he has them,too."
On all sides there was talk about the result of the practice game. Ofcourse the second nine had, in times past, often beaten the 'varsity,for the element of luck played into the hands of the scrub as well asinto those of its opponents.
But the times were few and far between when the first nine had to godown to defeat, especially in the matter of a scrub Freshman pitcheradministering it to them, and Joe's glory was all the greater.
"Congratulations, old man!" exclaimed Avondale, the scrub twirler whomJoe had temporarily displaced. "You saw your duty and you done it nobly,as the poet says. You didn't let 'em fuss you when you were in a tightcorner, and that's what tells in a ball game. Shake!"
"Thanks!" exclaimed Joe. He knew just what it meant for his rival to dothis, and he appreciated it. "You can have a whack at them next."
"I'm afraid not," returned Avondale. "You did so well that they'll wantto keep you at scrub, and you'll be on the 'varsity before you know it."
"I wish I could think so," laughed Joe. As he spoke he saw Ford Westonpassing behind him, and the 'varsity pitcher had heard what was said. Ascowl passed over his face. He did not speak to Joe, but to CaptainHatfield, who was with him, the pitcher murmured, loudly enough to beheard:
"It was just a fluke, that was all. We could have won only for theerrors the fielders made."
"Maybe--maybe not," agreed the captain. "I think we were outpitched, andI'm not afraid to acknowledge it. We've got to do better!"
"Do you mean me?" There was challenge in Weston's tone.
"I mean all of us," was the quiet answer. "Matson, you did us up brown,but you won't do it again," and the captain laughed frankly.
"I'll try--if I get the chance," was the grim retort.
Meanwhile the coaches had singled out some of the 'varsity members whoseplaying had shown faults, and were giving instructions how to correctthem. Merky Bardine, who played on third, had sprained his leg slightly,and the trainer, McLeary, had taken him in hand to treat him. Mr.Hasbrook walked up to Joe.
"You did very well," the chief coach was good enough to say, "and I'mglad you had your chance. You have a number of faults to correct, but Ithink you can master them. One is that you don't get enough into thegame yourself. A pitcher must do more than merely deliver the ball.Twice in this game you didn't get after the bunts as you might havedone."
Joe felt a little discouraged. He had hoped for unqualified praise fromthe head coach, but he was sensible enough to realize that it was allsaid for his benefit, and he resolved to profit by it. In fact it wasthis quality and ability of Joe's--enabling him to receive advicegraciously--that made him the wonderful pitcher he afterward became.
"You must play into the game more," went on Mr. Hasbrook. "Outside ofthe catcher, you're the only man on the team who can handle certainbunts--I mean the pitcher. For that reason you want to study a style ofdelivery that won't leave you in a bad position to look after the ballif it is hit your way. You have the right idea now in throwing, but youcan improve, I'm sure."
"I'll try," spoke Joe.
"I know you will, and that's why I'm taking the trouble to talk to you.Then you've got to be on the watch for base stealing. There are somecatchers who can pretend to throw to second, and yet so suddenly changeas to deliver the ball to the pitcher. This deceives the man on third,who starts for home, and if you have the ball you can nip him. So far wehaven't had a catcher who can work this trick, but we may develop onebefore we get through."
"Then Kendall isn't sure of his place?" asked Joe eagerly, thinking ofthe desire of his chum Spike to fill the position behind the plate lateron.
"Well, he's reasonably sure of it," went on the head coach cautiously."But we never can tell what will develop after the season opens. Anotherpoint I'd like to impress on you is, that sometimes you've got to helpout on first base. Particularly is this the case when a bunt comes thatthe first baseman can take care of. Then it's your duty to hustle overto first."
"Yes, sir," answered Joe. It was all he could think of to say at thetime. In fact he was rather dazed. There was a deal more to thisbaseball game than he had imagined. He was beginning to get an inklingof the difference between the amateur sport and the professional way ofplaying.
"I don't want to burden you with too much advice at the start," went onMr. Hasbrook, "for I want you to remember what I tell you. From time totime, as I see your weak points, I'm going to mention them to you."
"I'll be glad if you will," spoke Joe earnestly.
"On the whole you did very well to-day," concluded the head coach, "andI'm glad we gave you the chance. Report for light practice to-morrow,and the next day we'll try another game. Look after your arm. You usedit a good bit this afternoon."
Joe felt in rather better spirits after Mr. Hasbrook had finished thanwhen he began.
"I'm going to get a fair chance to show what I can do, anyhow,"declared our hero, as he went to his room. On the way he was joined bySpike, who had dropped back when the head coach started hisinstructions.
"Well?" asked Joe's room-mate.
"Fairly well," was the answer. "Say, I believe you've got a chance,Spike."
"Me? How?"
"Why, it isn't settled that Kendall will catch all of next season."
"Oh, I guess it is as much as anything is settled in this world. But Ican wait. I've got four years here."
Joe was elated at his triumph, and little was talked of in baseballcircles that night but how the scrubs had "put one over" on the'varsity. There was some disposition to criticize the first team forloose and too confident playing, but those who knew gave Joe credit forwhat he had done.
And so the baseball season went on until the 'varsity was fullyperfected and established, the class teams improved and the schedulemade up. Then came hard and grilling work. Joe was doing his best on hisFreshman class team, and often played against the college nine, eitherin conjunction with his mates, or, when it was desired to give one ofthe other Freshmen pitchers a chance, taking part with a mixed "scrub"team, composed of lads from various classes in order to give the'varsity good opposition.
And Yale swept on her way. Of course Joe bewailed the fact that he wouldhave to lose a whole year before he could hope for a chance to be on thefirst team, but he bided his time. Weston was doing fairly well, and thefeeling between him and our hero had not changed.
The Spring term was drawing to a close. Yale and Princeton had mettwice, and there was a game apiece. Yale had also played other colleges,losing occasionally, but winning often enough to entitle her to claimthe championship if she took the odd game from the Tiger. But she didnot, and though her players insisted, none the less, that Yale was atthe top of the heap, and though the sporting writers conceded this,still Princeton won the third game. And Yale was bitter, though shestood it grimly,--as she always does.
"Well, we'll see what next year will bring forth," said Spike to Joe, atthe wind-up of the baseball season. "You're coming back; aren't you?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything now. Though, as a matter of fact, Ididn't expect to. I thought I'd take one year here, and if I could geton
the 'varsity nine long enough to say I had been on it, I'd quit, andgo in for the professional end of it. But, since I can't, I'll comeback and make another stab at it."
"That's the way to talk. Well, I hope to be here, too."
The Summer vacation came, and Joe had passed his examinations. Notbrilliantly, but sufficiently well to enable him to enter the Sophomoreclass.
"And if I don't make the 'varsity next Spring, it will be my own fault!"he cried, as he said good-bye to his chums and packed up for home.
The Summer passed pleasantly enough. Joe's family took a cottage at alake resort, and of course Joe organized a ball team among the temporaryresidents of the resort. A number of games were played, Joe pitching infine style. One day a manager of one of the minor leagues attended acontest where Joe pitched, and when word of this was carried to ourhero he had a nervous fit. But he pulled himself together, twirledmagnificently, and was pleased to see the "magnate" nod approvingly.Though later, when someone offered to introduce Joe to him, the laddeclined.
"I'll wait until I've made a better reputation," he declared. "I wantthe Yale Y before I go looking for other honors;" and he stuck to that.
"Joe seems to care more for college than you thought he would, father,"said Mrs. Matson, when it came time for her son to go back as aSophomore for the next Fall term. "I think he'll finish yet, and make usall proud of him."
"Joe will never do anything that would not make us proud of him," saidhis father. "But I rather fancy the reason he is so willing to go backto Yale is that he didn't make the 'varsity baseball nine last season.There's a rule against Freshmen, you know."
"Oh dear!" lamented Mrs. Matson. "I did hope he would like college forits own sake, and not for baseball."
"It's hard to separate baseball and football from college likings, Iguess," conceded her husband.
And so Joe went back. It was quite different from entering New Haven asa Freshman, and even in the old elms he seemed to have a proprietaryinterest. He took his old room, because he liked it, and a number of hisother Sophomore friends did likewise, though some Freshmen held forththere as usual.
Then came the football season, and, though Joe took an interest in this,and even consented to try for the scrub, he was not cut out for thatsort of work, and soon gave it up.
Yale made her usual success on the gridiron, though the far-famed gamewith Princeton resulted in a tie, which made the baseball nine all themore anxious to win the championship.
The Winter seemed endless, but soon there was the beginning of baseballtalk, as before, and this was regarded as a sign of Spring. There was noquestion now but what Joe was eligible for the 'varsity, though that wasfar from saying that he would be picked for it. All his old friends hadreturned to the university, and there was little change in the baseballsituation as regards new names. Most of the old ones kept their sameplaces.
Nothing definite had been learned about the red paint episode, andthough it was mentioned occasionally, and often in a censorious manneras against the perpetrator of it, the latter was not discovered.
Then there began to gather at Yale the oldtime players, who acted ascoaches. Mr. Hasbrook, who from long familiarity with the game, and fromhis intense love of it, and for his _alma mater_, was again named ashead coach.
"Well, we've got a pretty good nine, I think," said Weston one day,after hard practice against the Freshmen. How Joe did thank his starsthat he was not in the latter team, though he was first pitcher on theSophomore team.
"Yes, we have," admitted several. "It looks as if we could trimPrinceton this time." Joe had pitched for the 'varsity in some informalpractice games, though Weston was regarded still as first choice. AndJoe was fearful that his cherished ambition was yet far from beingrealized.
"We're playing good ball," said Weston. "I don't say that because I'mpitching," he added quickly, as he saw some looking at him curiously,"but because we have got a good team--mostly old players, too," and heglanced meaningly at Joe, as though he resented his entrance as anaspirant for the mound.
"One thing--we've got to tighten up considerably," declared CaptainHatfield. "We'll play our first match game with Amherst in two weeks,and we want to swamp 'em."
"Oh, we will," said Weston easily.
"Not unless you pitch better--and we all play better," was the grimanswer.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. You've got to strike more men out, and play alivelier game."
"Well, I guess I can," answered the pitcher, sullenly.
There was only light practice the next day, and Joe was told to perfecthimself in signals with the class captain. Then came another hardpractice contest, and, somewhat to Joe's surprise, he was not called onto pitch, as he fully expected. But he resigned himself cheerfully whenAvondale went to the mound. Had our hero but known it, Mr. Hasbrook haddeliberately omitted to start Joe, wishing to discipline him, not,however, because of anything Joe had done.
"I think there's championship material for one of the big leagues inthat lad," mused the head coach, to justify himself, "and he's got ahard row ahead of him unless he learns to take disappointment. I'llstart him on the right track, though I would like to pitch himsteadily."
And so Joe sat on the bench, while his rival pitched. Whether it was onthis account, or because the 'varsity had tightened, was not at onceapparent, but the fact was that the first team began to pound out runs,and the scrub did not.
"That's the way!" exclaimed the enthusiastic assistant coaches. "Eat 'emup, 'varsity!"
Mr. Hasbrook smiled, but said nothing. At the end of the seventh inningJoe was sent in to pitch, but it was too late for the scrubs to save thegame for themselves, since the 'varsity had it by six runs. Nor did Joeescape hitless, though from the time he went in no runs were made by hisopponents.
"Joe, you're a better pitcher than I am," declared Avondale, frankly. "Ican see where I've made mistakes."
"Well, it isn't too late to fix 'em."
"Yes, I'm afraid it is," and, as it developed, it was, for from then onJoe did most of the pitching for the scrub. Occasionally, when his armwas a bit lame, Avondale was sent in, or one of the other pitchingcandidates, but the result was nearly always disastrous for the scrub.
Not that Joe always made good. He had his off days, when his curves didnot seem to break right, and when his control was poor. But he wastrying to carry out Mr. Hasbrook's instructions to get into more plays,and this handicapped him a bit at the start.
The head coach saw this, and made allowances, keeping Joe on the moundwhen the assistants would have substituted someone else.
"Wait," advised the head coach. "I know what I'm doing."
The season was beginning to open. Schedules were being arranged, andsoon Yale would begin to meet her opponents. The practice grew harderand more exacting. The voices of the coaches were more stern and sharp.No errors were excused, and the scrub was worked doubly hard to make the'varsity that much better.
Ford Weston had improved considerably and then one day he went to piecesin the box, when playing a particularly close and hard game with thescrub.
There was surprise and consternation, and a hasty conference of thecoaches. An attempt was made to stem the tide by putting in McAnish, thesouthpaw, and he did some excellent work, but the scrub seemed to havestruck a winning streak and took everything that came their way. Joe waspitching, and held the first team well down.
There was gloom in Yale that night, for the game with Amherst was notfar off, and the Amherst lads were reported to be a fast and snappy lot.
There was a day of rest, and then came the final practice against thescrub. There was a consultation among the coaches in which the first andsecond captains participated before the contest. Then Mr. Hasbrookseparated himself from the others.
"Matson!" he called sharply. "You and Kendall warm up a bit, and get aline on each other's signals. Matson, you're going to pitch for the'varsity to-day!"