Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball

“Well, you aren’t, are you?”

Jack glanced up startledly.

“Why – why – no, I’m not a coward!” he cried.

“Didn’t think you were. You don’t look it.”

Jack experienced a grateful warmth at the heart and looked shyly and thankfully at the queer, lean face across the room.

“But – but they all think I am,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t prove them right, then, if I were you.”

“Prove – What do you mean?”

“Mean I wouldn’t run away; mean I’d stay and fight it out. Any one can run; takes a brave man to stand and fight.”

“Oh!” Jack stared wonderingly at Tidball. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“’Tisn’t too late.”

“N – no,” answered Jack doubtfully. “You – think I ought to stay?”

“Yes, I honestly do, Weatherby. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of; ’twouldn’t have done any good if you’d gone into the river; guess you’d been drowned – ’tother chap, too. White jumped at conclusions and landed wrong. Can’t much blame him, though. You see, the fellows here at Erskine come from the country, or the coast, or some small town, and swimming’s as natural as eating, and I guess it didn’t occur to them that maybe you couldn’t swim. But when they learn the truth of the matter – ”

“But they won’t know,” said Jack.

“Bound to. I’ll see White myself, and I’ll tell all the chaps I know; ’twon’t take long for the facts to get around.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind,” said Jack. “It’s awfully kind of you – ”

“Didn’t what?”

“See Professor White.”

“Well – of course, I know you’re feeling kind of sore at him, Weatherby, and I don’t much blame you; still, there’s no use in allowing the misunderstanding to continue when a word or two will set things right.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” said Jack, bitterly.

“All right,” replied Tidball calmly. “How about the others?”

Jack studied his hands in silence for a minute. Then he threw back his shoulders and got up.

“You’re mighty kind,” he said, “to want to take all this trouble on my account, and I’m awfully much obliged to you, but – if you don’t mind – I’d rather you didn’t say anything to anybody.”

Tidball frowned.

“Then you mean to run away?” he asked disappointedly.

“No, I’ll stay and – and fight! Let them think me a coward if they like; only some day I’ll show them I’m not!”

“That’s the stuff,” said the other approvingly. “I guess you’re making a mistake by not explaining, but – maybe you’ll change your mind. If you do, let me know.”

“Thanks,” answered Jack, “but I sha’n’t.” He took up his valise and holding it upside down emptied the contents on to the cot. “I wish you’d tell me one thing,” he said.

“All right.”

“Did you – I mean – Well, did you just happen to come in, or – did you know I was – The Coward?”

“Well,” drawled the other, smiling gently at a cloud of smoke, “Mrs. Thingamabob told me yesterday when I engaged that room that she had a very nice young man, a freshman named Weatherby, living with her. The name isn’t common, I guess, and so when I heard it again down at the wharf I remembered. And I just thought I’d come in and see what silly thing you’d decided to do. Kind of cheeky, I guess, but that’s my way. Hope you’re not offended?”

“No, I’m awfully glad. If you hadn’t come I’d have gone away, sure as anything.”

“Glad I came. Hope we’ll be friends. You must come over and see me. You won’t find things very palatial in my place, but there’s an extra chair, I think. I don’t go in much for luxuries. I was rooming in a place on Main Street until to-day; very comfortable place it was, too: folding-bed, lounge, rocking-chair, and a study desk with real drawers that locked – at least, some of them did. My roommate was a fellow named Gooch, from up my way. His father died a week or so ago, and yesterday I got a letter from him saying he’d have to leave college and buckle down to work. Couldn’t afford to keep the room alone, so I looked round and found this. Well, I must be going.”

He pulled his long length out of the chair, and, producing from a chamois pouch a handsome big gold watch, oddly at variance with his shabby attire, held it nearsightedly to the dim light.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” begged Jack. And then, “That’s a dandy watch you have,” he added. “May I see it?”

“Yes,” answered Tidball, holding it forth at the length of its chain, “it’s the only swell thing I own. It’s a present.”

“Oh!” said Jack. “Well, it’s a beauty. And it’s got a split-second attachment, too, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, and when you press this thing here it strikes the time; hear it? Guess it cost a heap of money.”

“It must have. Was it a prize?”

“Something like that. A New York fellow gave it to me summer before last. He came up to Jonesboro in a steam-yacht about a thousand feet long. Well, I’ve got a lot of studying to do yet.” He moved toward the door.

“But why did he give it to you?” asked Jack. “But maybe I’m asking impertinent questions?”

“Oh, no; there’s no secret about it, only – Well, you see, this steam-yacht man had his son with him, a kid of about eleven or twelve, I guess, and one day the kid fell out of the naphtha-launch. There was a good sea running, and they couldn’t get the launch about very well. I happened to be near there in a dory, and so I picked the youngster up. His daddy seemed a good deal tickled about it, and after he got home he sent this to me. That’s all. Some people seem to have money to burn. Well, good night. Glad to have met you. Come over and call as soon as you can.”

And Anthony Z. Tidball nodded, blew a parting cloud of smoke in Jack’s direction, and went out, closing the door softly behind him.

CHAPTER IV

CATCHER AND PITCHER

“Well, it wasn’t such a bad showing, was it?”

Joe Perkins tossed his purple cap adorned with a white E on to the table and threw himself among the cushions of the window-seat in the manner of one who has earned his rest. He was a jovial-looking fellow of medium height, rather inclined toward stoutness. His hair was undeniably red, and despite that his features were good, none would have called him handsome. But his blue eyes were alert and his mouth firm. He had the quick temper popularly believed to accompany red hair, but it was well under control, and Joe’s usual appearance was one of extreme good nature. He was popular, perhaps the most popular fellow in college, and he knew it, and was not spoiled by the knowledge. His friends believed in him and he believed in himself. Perhaps it was the latter fact that made him such a wonderful leader. Ever since his freshman year he had been among the foremost in all college affairs. Last spring, after the disastrous 7 – 0 baseball game with Robinson, the selection of Joe, whose catching had been a feature of the contest, as captain, was unanimous and enthusiastic, and the supporters of the Purple, mourning overwhelming defeat, felt their sorrow lightened by the knowledge that Joe Perkins, in accepting the office, had pledged himself to retrieve Erskine’s lost prestige on the diamond. The whole college firmly believed that what Joe Perkins promised he would perform.

Joe’s companion was Tracy Gilberth. Like Joe, he was a senior and a member of the nine. Unlike Joe, he did not impress one as being particularly good-natured; nor did he resemble that youth in appearance. He had straight dark hair and black eyes. His cheeks were ruddy and his mouth straight and thin. He was of middle height and weight, and pitched the best ball of any man in college. In age he was a year Joe’s senior, being twenty-three. He had none of the other man’s popularity, although he was not disliked. Acquaintances suspected him of arrogance; in talking he had a tone that sounded patronizing to those not used to it. His parents were immensely wealthy; rumor credited his father with being a millionaire several times over. At all events, Tracy had the most luxuriously furnished rooms at Erskine, and spent more money than the rest of his class put together.

At the present moment he was sitting in Joe’s Morris chair with his hands in his pockets and his golf-stockinged legs sprawled before him. He replied to Joe’s question with a negligent nod that might have meant either assent or denial. Joe took it to express the former, and continued:

“A heap better than last year, anyhow. Thirty candidates at this time of year means sixty when we get outdoors.”