CHAPTER XXV
AT WEST POINT
"We'd a right to that game!"
"Sure we had."
"And we did have it in the refrigerator, only it got out through thedrain pipe, I guess."
"It's tough luck!"
The Yale team and its admirers--no, in this case its sympathizers--werecoming off the field after the Harvard defeat. All sorts of comments,excuses, philosophical expressions, and revilings at fate, were heard.Joe said but little, though he thought much. Every error--every littlepoint he had missed--seemed to stand out glaringly.
"Never mind, old man!"
It was Spike who spoke, putting his arm affectionately around his chum'sshoulders.
"I--I can't help it," replied the pitcher, bitterly. "We lost the game."
"That's just it--we did--not you. Caesar's ghost, man! You can't carrythe whole blame of losing the game, any more than you can claim thewhole credit when we win. It's all in the day's work."
"I know, but----"
"'But me no buts,' now Joe. Just brace up. This is only one of thechampionship games. There are more to come, and we'll get enough to putus on top of the heap. I only wish I had your chances to perform inpublic."
"I wish you had, Spike. But I guess this was my last chance."
"Nonsense! They'll play you again. Why Weston--or Avondale either, forthat matter--wouldn't have done half as well, I think."
"Oh, so that's your opinion; is it?" snapped a voice behind them. Therewas no need to turn to know that Weston was there, and it took but aglance to show that he was frowning and sneering.
"It sure is," retorted Spike, sturdily, for he was not afraid to air hisopinions.
"Well, you've got another think coming," snapped Weston. "I'll pitch agame pretty soon, and show you what's what."
Joe did not make reply, but he wondered if Weston's words heldsignificance.
"Maybe they won't let me pitch after this," he mused. Spike, reading histhoughts, said:
"Now don't you go to thinking gloomy thinks, Joe. You're all right ifyou only believe so. Have some confidence in yourself."
"I have, but after the way things went to pieces in the last inning Idon't know what to think."
"Oh, bosh! If you'd had anything like decent support it never would havehappened. Hutchinson muffing that ball started us down hill."
"That's what!" chimed in Jimmie Lee, coming along just then. "This isonly one game--the fortunes of war. We'll beat 'em next time; wallopPrinceton, and take the championship."
"West Point is next on the list," went on Joe. "I wonder what sort of agame they play?"
"Like clockwork," explained Spike. "I saw one, once, and they put it allover Yale. But we've got to win this one."
"That's what!" declared Jimmie. "I say, I know a nice place where we canget a dandy rabbit. Let's stay over to-night. I can stand some cuts,we'll take in a show, and have supper after it. Come on, and we can goto New Haven in the morning."
"No, I guess I'll go back with the team," said Joe, slowly. "They mightthink I was trying to dodge if I sneaked off. I'll go back with therest."
"All right--then we'll go to Glory's and have a feed," insisted Jimmie."I've got to do something to raise my spirits."
They went to the dressing rooms, and soon the players and their friendswere moving to the hotel where they had stopped.
Yale had cheered her successful rivals, and had been cheered in turn,and now, as the team walked through the Cambridge streets they heard, onall sides of them, the jubilant expressions that told of joy over thevictory. To Joe it was gall and wormwood, for, in spite of the effortsof his friends to make him feel better, he half blamed himself for thedefeat.
On the way home in the special train he was gloomy and silent, butlater, when he and his chums went to the well-known resort, and heardthe Yale songs, and saw the jolly faces of the students--jolly in spiteof the defeat--he felt better.
"It's only once in a while that the bulldog loses his grip," declaredRicky Hanover. "We'll get a strangle hold on the rest of the games andcome out on top of the heap."
College life resumed its usual routine after this big game. There wereothers in prospect, though, and practice went on unceasingly.
Joe half feared he would be displaced from his position on the 'varsity,but he was not. True, Weston and Avondale were called on at times, forthe policy of the coaches was to have the best pitchers always inreserve. But Joe seemingly was the first one to be called on. Nor didMr. Hasbrook reproach him, personally, for the defeat.
All the players received a calling down for their loose methods in theHarvard game, and their faults were pointed out in no uncertain fashion.In a way the loss of the contest did good, for, following it, thepractice was snappier than it had been in a long while.
"We want to defeat the army lads!" exclaimed the head coach a few daysbefore the West Point game.
Contrary to the general custom the two who were to pitch and catch wereannounced the night before. It was at a meeting of the team, duringwhich the coaches gave some good advice. Joe saw Weston in closeconversation with Mr. Benson and Mr. Whitfield, and he had a fear thatthe deposed pitcher was trying to "pull strings" and make a place forhimself.
"Of course you'll pitch, Matson," said Mr. Hasbrook, in such amatter-of-fact voice that Joe was rather startled. "And Kendall willcatch."
There was a murmur, possibly at the remembrance of the Harvard game, butno one said anything. Joe, who sat beside Spike, whispered:
"I wonder when you'll get your chance?"
"Oh, some day, maybe," was the answer. "I can wait. I'm glad you've hadyours."
"I must make good, though," declared Joe, half fearful that he wouldnot.
They arrived at West Point to be enthusiastically greeted by the cadets,who took charge of the team, the substitutes and the "rooters" in rightroyal fashion. A big crowd had assembled, and as the day was a fine onethere was every prospect of a game that would be all that was desired.
"I wonder if we'll win?" mused Joe, as he got into his uniform andstarted out on the field. The cadets were already at practice, andshowed up well.
"A fine, snappy lot of fellows," observed Jimmie Lee. "We've got ourwork cut out all right."
"That's what," declared Hen Johnson.
As Joe left the dressing room, he saw Weston talking to Mr. Benson,who was having a conversation with the trainer. The former 'varsitypitcher--who was now second choice it seemed--was much excited, and asJoe passed he heard Weston say:
"Well, I want half the game, anyhow. Can't I have it?"
"I--I'll see what I can do," replied Mr. Benson. "I'll do all I can."
"I'm tired of playing second fiddle," snapped Weston, as he drifted outbehind a knot of players. Joe began to think of many things.