Читать книгу Jimmy Kirkland of the Cascade College Team - Hugh Stuart Fullerton - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Candidates for the Baseball Team

Report at the Athletic Field

at Three o’Clock To-day.

Bring Uniforms.

HAXTON, Coach.

The announcement, plastered prominently upon the bulletin board in the main hallway of the administration building, attracted a swarm of youths who read in it the opportunity for winning fame upon the athletic field.

The returning students had waited impatiently through four days of rain and fog for the call for volunteers to defend the honor of the college on the diamond. Since the opening of the term the chief topics of conversation among the lower classmen had been as to the material from which the team was to be made. Only five of the veterans of the preceding spring were on hand, and the students demanded that a team be organized that could regain the laurels lost in the annual game with Golden University, the great rival school.

Larry Kirkland stood before the bulletin board. He was struggling between his desire to rush forward and announce himself a candidate and what he conceived to be his duty to his studies. He was behind with his classes, and carrying a heavy burden of conditions that were yet to be worked off. He had determined not to make any of the athletic teams until he was abreast the others in his studies. Three years of careless and unsystematic studying at the ranch under a tutor and in a fashionable but not thorough private school, had left him in arrears to his books. The discovery, made soon after he entered college, that he was behind other boys of his age, had aroused his pride, and during the autumn and winter, he had worked hard, and made rapid progress. In spite of this, however, there remained a burden of extra work to carry before he could leave the Freshman class, and he was debating whether or not he dared take the time for baseball. But spring was in the air; the California spring with its fogs and chills, broken by fevers of sunshine and summer. The trades were blowing, sweeping the hills clean to let the brightness and sunshine develop the flowers and renew the greenness, then bringing the fog and chill from the sea to lay a gray blanket over all.

But where winter and spring meet eternally, it is always spring in the veins of the youth of the land. The baseball season was at hand, and the delayed call was out. Larry was longing to get into his uniform, which he had worn ever since Krag, the great Giant pitcher had presented it to him, and flaunt Shasta View in the face of the college youths. The thought that he would not be able to make the team never came to his mind. He felt confident that he could win his way, and the only problem was as to whether or not it would be the right thing to do. He was still hesitating when Katsura came leaping down the steps of the hall.

“Are you going to try for the team?” he inquired laughingly. “Of course you are.”

“No,” said Larry with sudden decision. “I’m afraid I won’t have the time this spring. I’m behind in math, and have two conditions to work off, and it will keep me grinding.”

“I hoped you would try,” said Katsura admiringly. “Shasta View ought to be represented.”

“Why don’t you try, Katty?” asked Larry. “You ought to be able to make it, with practice.”

“I have serious duties,” replied the brown boy gravely. “Besides I would fear to arouse the feeling against my race. It is strong here among some of the students.”

“Oh, I guess Haxton wouldn’t be that narrow, if you could pitch,” said Larry. “He wants to win.”

“I distrust Mr. Haxton,” said Katsura. “He always is with the sporty crowd. Those who have money are his friends.”

“That’s bad for the school,” replied Larry. “Let’s walk over and watch the practice, anyhow.”

The two boys found a vantage spot on the grass at the edge of the wide playing field and, reclining at ease, watched the efforts of the youths who were straining every muscle to prove their ability and right to play for the honor of the school. Both Katsura and Larry felt keenly the renunciation they had made, and each laughingly accused the other of purposely dragging him into temptation.

Boys of every height, of many ages, and many colors, creeds and races, attired in makeshift uniforms, were working desperately to attract the attention of the coach or his advisors. Some wore white shirts, with the wreckage of old football or baseball trousers. Some wore trousers abbreviated by the simple operation of cutting off at the knees. Many wore socks, with great lengths of bare leg showing. Roommates possessing one uniform had divided the treasure, one taking the trousers and one the shirt. There were track suits, golf suits, white ducks, and one youth drew a laugh by appearing in an undershirt and a wide pair of Chinese trousers that flapped with every move. But all were in deadly earnest.

Haxton, the coach, strolled around among the perspiring, eager candidates, stopping frequently to watch the movement of some one. Occasionally he caused some youngster to thrill by inquiring his name and jotting it upon a pad of paper. He smiled at the awkwardness of some who possessed more zeal than skill. At times he talked with the veterans of the preceding season, directing them to watch certain of the boys who had shown symptoms of skill in catching or throwing.

Larry, remembering his own trials in selecting the teams at Shasta View ranch and at preparatory school, watched Haxton’s methods with keen interest. He observed with a feeling of resentment that Harry Baldwin walked with the coach offering advice, and sometimes pointing to some youngster.

“Baldwin seems to be his right-hand man,” remarked Larry.

“They are friends,” said Katsura. “It is said that Baldwin goes with him around the cities, and spends large sums of money.”

“The sports seem to control athletics here.”

“There was much complaint last year,” remarked Katsura gravely. “The rich and the sporty ran the teams—and we were beaten. Many blamed Haxton.”

Haxton blew his whistle at that moment and ended further discussion. The candidates gathered around the big coach, and he quickly divided them into teams, pairing off pitchers and catchers, and telling them to work easily. The fielders whose names he had taken were placed in double lines for infield and outfield, and two of the veterans were set to batting balls for them to field.

The dozen or more pitchers and catchers had lined up near where Larry and Katsura were sitting and the boys watched with considerable amusement the efforts of some of the boys, and commenting upon the speed and ability of others. They laughed as they talked of their own first efforts.

“We probably would have looked greener than these fellows,” said Larry. “Yet we thought we were good.”

“I remember,” Katsura replied, smiling, “that when you told me to bat, my idea was to stand on the plate and face the ball.”

“We learned rapidly, though,” laughed Larry. “Mr. Krag’s letters of advice were worth a month of ordinary coaching.”

“Do you ever hear from Mr. Krag now?”

“No.” Larry’s face became troubled. “He never has written me since the day the Giants released him. He wrote that his arm had snapped while he was pitching and was useless. Then he stopped writing.”

“I wish I could have known him,” said the little brown boy. “To think of a famous pitcher taking an interest in us, way out here!”

“I’m afraid he is in ill luck,” said Larry. “He never saved money—he was too generous. The papers said he had little saved when the accident ended his career. I wrote and offered to help him, but he never replied.”

“Trying to make it curve?” Larry broke off his recital quickly and called to a tall, slender young fellow who was working hard, and who caught as if playing patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man.

“Yes, but somehow I can’t do it. I seem to have lost the knack. I’m sure I made it curve a few days ago.”

“Let me show you how,” Larry volunteered, springing to his feet and running forward, unable longer to resist the impulse to play. “Come on Katty. Catch a few minutes and we’ll show them how.”

He took the ball and explained to the tall youth the proper manner of gripping it for the different curves, and the method of releasing it from the hand.

“For the real curve—the fast breaking one that darts down and out—let it go this way,” he said, hooking his arm in a wide swing, that ended with a sudden snap of the wrist that sent the ball darting down and outward into Katsura’s hands.

“Now watch him,” he remarked, as Katsura lazily floated a slow twisting curve back at him.

“I can’t do much until my arm warms up,” said Larry. “Must start easy. I was foolish to throw that curve first, but couldn’t resist the temptation.”

For five minutes he explained and demonstrated, showing the tall youth little tricks and motions, until finally the slender boy sent a curve to Katsura.

Both Larry and Katsura were warmed, and as their muscles unlimbered they entered into the spirit of the sport, and instead of retiring to their seats on the grass, they continued throwing and catching with vast enthusiasm, while the two candidates watched them with respectful admiration and accepted their advice.

“Oh you Katty,” cried Larry. “That curve certainly is better. You ought not waste it. That slow curve twists more, I believe.”

“I am stronger,” called Katsura, “and my hand grip is more powerful.”

“Get out of here!” rasped a voice sharply behind them.

The boys whirled quickly. Half the players overheard the sharp rebuke.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Coach Haxton angrily. “Neither of you reported as candidates.”

“I—I—We”—Larry hesitated, confused and angry. “We didn’t intend to try for the team. I was just trying to show this pitcher how to throw a curve, and I got interested and forgot I was intruding.”

“When I want any assistant coaches I’ll let you know,” snapped the coach angrily. “Either come out and try for the team, or keep off the grounds.”

“Very well,” said Larry, flushed, angry and yet, knowing himself in the wrong, unable to reply as he desired to do, “I will not trouble you again.”

“Hold on, don’t go off mad,” said the coach, relenting a little. “You look as if you could play. If you’re in college why don’t you come out and try?”

“I have conditions to make up,” replied Larry, soothed by the change in tone. “I’m sorry I intruded.”

“You owe it to the school to play if you can,” retorted the coach. “We need some fellows who know something. Where did you ever play?”

“We played together on a team up in Oregon,” responded Larry. “Katsura here was the pitcher”——

“Oh,” said the coach, his voice changing again as he looked at Larry sneeringly, “I’ve heard of you. You’re that fresh young fellow Baldwin was telling me about. We need players, but not yellow ones of your kind.”

He turned quickly, leaving Larry standing in helpless anger.

“Come,” said Katsura. “You see how it is.”

“It is a good thing we decided not to try for the team,” laughed Larry mirthlessly. “Baldwin evidently expected we would.”