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

Jack colored and looked distressed.

“I didn’t mean to, honestly!” he protested. “Of course, I don’t object to your company. I – I only thought – ”

“Well, come on, then.” They went down the steps together, just as the door opened to emit a handful of players. “Don’t get it into your head, Weatherby, that we’re all cads,” King continued, “just because Gilberth occasionally acts like one. The fact is, there are plenty of fellows back there who are quite ready to be decent if you’ll give them half a chance. The trouble is, though, you look as though you didn’t care a continental for anybody. Perhaps you don’t; but it isn’t flattering, you see. I dare say it sounds pretty cheeky for me to talk like this to you, especially as we’ve never been properly introduced and haven’t spoken before, but I’ve been here a year longer than you have, and I know how easy it is to make mistakes. And it seems to me you’re making one.”

“I don’t think you’re cheeky,” answered Jack quite humbly. “I don’t mean to have folks think I’m – think I’m indifferent, either.”

“That’s all right, then,” replied King heartily. “They say you’re coming out as a pitcher,” he went on, changing the subject, to Jack’s relief. “Bissell was telling me to-day.”

“I’ve been pitching some on the second nine,” answered Jack.

“Where did you play before you came to college?” asked the other. Jack told him about the high-school nine at Auburn, and the rest of the way back the talk remained on baseball matters. He parted from his new acquaintance at the corner of the Yard, and went on alone through a soft, spring-like twilight to his room. He had gained one more of the enemy to his side, he reflected, and that alone was a good day’s work. But besides that he had been taken on to the varsity squad, and altogether the day was a memorable one. He climbed the stairs happily, the sting of the incident in the locker-house no longer felt.

Anthony was quite as pleased with his news as Jack had expected him to be, and the two sat together until late that evening discussing the unexpected stroke of fortune.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they let you play in Saturday’s game,” said Anthony. Jack laughed ruefully.

“I should,” he answered. “But it’s something to sit on the varsity bench.”

The next morning Jack dressed himself under mild excitement at the thought of making his appearance at the training-table. He had notified Mrs. Dorlon the evening before of his departure from her hospitable board and that lady had sniffed disappointedly at the notion of losing her only boarder. But Jack had no regrets for the separation. Pearson’s was only about a block from Mrs. Dorlon’s, but, nevertheless, Jack reached there several minutes late. The baseball players had been given the big dining-room on the front of the house in which last fall’s successful football team, winner of the remarkable 2 – 0 game with Robinson, had eaten their way to glory.

When Jack entered, the table at first glance appeared to be filled. The next moment he saw that there were three empty seats, two at the farther end of the table and one near at hand, between Gilberth and Northup. He reflected that it might look cheeky to parade the length of the room, and so, returning the nods of several of the fellows, he slipped into the chair beside Gilberth, fervently hoping that the latter would take no notice of him. Gilberth was busily recounting an adventure which had befallen him the day before while out in his automobile – he was the proud possessor of the only motor vehicle in the town of Centerport – and it is probable that he did not observe Jack’s entrance.

“It was just at that narrow stretch before you get to the blacksmith’s shop,” he was saying. “The fellow had a load of bricks. Well, he stopped, and I stopped, and we looked at each other. Finally, he called out, ‘Say, you’ll have to back to the corner, I guess. We can’t pass here.’ ‘Back nothing,’ I said. ‘These things aren’t taught to back.’ ‘They ain’t?’ said he. ‘But you don’t expect that I’m going to back with this load on, do you?’ ‘It’s a good deal to expect,’ I answered, looking sorry, ‘but if you don’t, we’re likely to stay here until Christmas.’ You’d ought to have heard him swear! It was as good as a circus! Well – ”

“How are you, Weatherby?” asked Joe Perkins at that moment.

As Jack replied, Gilberth turned and saw him. Stopping short in his narrative, he silently gathered up his plate, cup, and saucer, and pushing back his chair, arose and walked around the table to one of the other empty seats. The talk died out abruptly, and the fellows watched the proceedings in dead silence. Gilberth’s action had taken Jack completely by surprise, and for a moment he could only stare amazedly. Then, as the full force of the insult struck him, the color flooded his cheeks until they burned like fire. His eyes, avoiding the faces across the board, fell upon the sympathetic countenance of the captain, and it was the look of concern he found there that upset him. The tears rushed into his eyes and the hand on the table trembled. He put it in his lap, where it clenched its fellow desperately, and stared miserably at the white cloth. Suddenly upon the uncomfortable silence a voice broke calmly. Gilberth, having settled himself in his new seat, was going on with his story, just as though there had been no interruption.

“After he’d called me everything he could think of,” he continued, “he got down and started to back. It took him ten minutes to get to the blacksmith shop, and maybe he wasn’t mad! After I got by him, I gave him a little exhibition, free of charge. I backed the machine all over the place, and pretty nearly stood it on end. You ought to have seen his eyes; they almost popped out of his head. And just when he was beginning to recover his voice, I waved good-by to him, and lit out. Funniest thing you ever saw!”

One or two of his audience laughed half-heartedly, but the most looked gravely disgusted.

“You have a wonderfully keen sense of humor,” observed Joe Perkins dryly. Then the conversation began again, and the waitress brought Jack’s breakfast. He ate it silently, or as much of it as he could; the coffee scalded his throat, and the steak very nearly choked him. King, sitting near-by, spoke to him once, and he answered. But his voice wasn’t quite steady, and so the other wisely refrained from further attempts at conversation. One by one the fellows left the room, and as soon as he dared, Jack followed. He kept his head very high all the way back to his room; but in each cheek there was a bright disk of crimson and his eyes stared straight ahead. A tramp slouching along, with hands in pockets, moved aside to let him pass, but Jack never saw him.

When he had entered the front door, he moved very quietly, mounting the stairs as though contemplating burglary. Anthony’s door was ajar, and Jack tiptoed toward it and looked into the bare and shabby room. It was empty, and the fact seemed to relieve him. Crossing to his own room, he turned the key in the lock and began feverishly to pack his valise. The task did not take him long, and when it was completed, and the bag stood beside the door secured and strapped, he went to the desk and, seizing a sheet of paper, wrote hurriedly. When the composition was finished, he read it through.

“Dear Friend [it ran]: There’s no use trying any more. I thought I could stand it, but I just can’t. After what happened this morning, there’s only one thing for me to do, and I’m going to do it. I’m very sorry to go away from you, because you have been awfully kind to me, and you are the first one I ever knew who seemed like a chum. But I’m going home, and not coming back any more, because I can’t stand every one thinking I’m a coward, and Gilberth treating me like mud. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise to you, if it was really a promise, and please don’t think I haven’t tried, because I have tried very hard. Please don’t remember it against me. I’m very, very sorry. Maybe I will meet you again some time.

    “Your sincere friend,
    “John Weatherby.

“P. S. Please keep this charm to remember me by, if you don’t mind. You wear it on your watch-chain. Good-by. J. W.”

He placed the note and the watch-charm in an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and crossed with it to Anthony’s room. When he returned a moment later, he held something concealed in his hand. He unstrapped his valise, and as he did so a noise in the hall outside caused him to glance nervously at the door. Quickly opening the bag he dropped the object he held into it, and again secured it. Going into the hall, he listened. All was still. Returning, he took up bag and overcoat and cautiously crept down the stairs and out of the house. Fearful of being seen, he turned to the left and made his way to the station by Murdoch Street and the railroad.

CHAPTER IX

ANTHONY STUDIES A TIME-TABLE

Anthony returned to his room after the first recitation. He had discovered while in his class that he had forgotten his watch, and remembered that he had left it lying on his study table. The first thing that caught his eyes when he entered his room was an envelope bearing the inscription in a round, boyish hand, “Anthony Tidball. Present.” Wondering, he tore it open. Something fell from it and rolled to the floor. When found it proved to be a brown Florida bean with a little gold-plated swivel at one end. Anthony stared from the bean to the envelope; then the thought that the latter probably held a note came to him and he went back to it.

He read the note very slowly, a frown deepening the while on his face. He read it the second time and then carefully restored it to the envelope, thrust his big hands into his trousers pockets and lurched to the dormer-window. For a minute or two he stood there looking out across the Common into a tender green mist of quickening branches. Finally he sighed, shook his head, and turned back to the room.

“Poor kid,” he muttered.

But perhaps, he reflected, it was not too late to intercept him. When did the trains leave? He pulled out a table drawer and found a time-card. There was one at 9.22; that had gone. There was another, an express, at 10.16. If Jack had missed the first it was possible, thought Anthony, to reach the station in time to bring him back. It was now —

He felt for his watch, and for the first time since finding the note recollected the reason of his return. He glanced quickly over the table. The watch was not in sight. He distinctly remembered placing it on the blotting-pad while he changed the rather heavy vest he had been wearing all winter for a lighter one. He pushed aside books and papers and searched the table from end to end. Then he went through his drawers and finally, while realizing the uselessness of it, unlocked and searched his trunk. After he had felt in the pockets of what few clothes he possessed he accepted the fact that the watch was gone. But where? Who could have taken it? Who had been in the room – besides Jack? Jack – !

He sat down in the rocker and stared blankly, frowningly, at the window. It was the stupidest thing in the world to suspect Jack. And yet – ! With a mutter of disgust at himself for the entertainment of such a wild suspicion, he jumped up and surveyed the room. But the bed was still unmade and the momentary hope that Mrs. Dorlon might have come across the watch and put it away for him had to be relinquished. He hurried down-stairs and found his hostess in the kitchen. No, she told him, she hadn’t been up-stairs yet and hadn’t seen the watch. Had any one been up there? Well, she didn’t know of any one. Still, the door had been open all the morning and – Why, yes, come to think of it, she had thought once that she heard footsteps up-stairs and presumed that they were Mr. Weatherby’s, though to be sure she hadn’t seen him come in or go out. Could she help Mr. Tidball look for it?

Anthony politely declined her proffered assistance and returned to his room. He searched again about the table, striving to convince himself that he had not left the watch there; that he had worn it to recitation, that the chain had become detached from his buttonhole and that the watch had fallen from his pocket. But it wouldn’t do. He remembered clearly just how the timepiece had looked lying in its chamois case upon the blotter, with the heavy gold chain curling away toward the ink-bottle. Perhaps Jack had come in to find out the time and had unconsciously taken the watch back to his room with him? Of course, that must be it!

He strode across the hall and into the other chamber. There were evidences of hurried flight; the little steamer trunk stood in the middle of the floor and a few odds and ends of rubbish lay about the bed and table. But the watch was not in sight. The latest explanation of its disappearance had seemed so plausible that Anthony experienced keen disappointment. Turning, he retraced his steps toward the door. Half-way there he stopped and stared as though fascinated at something lying at his feet. Stooping, he picked it up and looked at it carefully in the forlorn hope that it would prove to be other than what it was, a little chamois watch-pouch.

Finally he dropped it into his pocket and went back to his room, stepping very quietly, as though leaving a chamber of sickness. He stared aimlessly about for a moment, and then, with a start, took up his note-books and descended the stairs. Mrs. Dorlon, blacking the kitchen stove, heard the door open and looked up to see the lean, spectacled face of her new lodger peering through. He looked rather pale and sickly that morning, she thought.

“Just wanted to tell you that it’s all right,” he said. “I found my watch. It was in the – the washstand.”

After he had gone she suddenly paused and sniffed perplexedly. “Now that’s funny,” she thought. “How could he have found it in the washstand when the washstand hasn’t any drawer nor nothin’?”

At the luncheon-table Jack was conspicuous by his absence. The story of Gilberth’s action at breakfast had filtered through college in a dozen varied forms until by noon it was pretty widely known. The general opinion was that Gilberth had acted brutally; there were even some few who flatly called his behavior contemptible; there were others, fewer still, who thought that he had “given Weatherby just what he deserved.” There was considerable relief felt by the more charitably disposed members of the training-table when Jack failed to appear, for his suffering at the breakfast-table had not been a pleasant thing to watch. Gilberth, however, was in high feather. He believed Jack’s absence was a result of his treatment in the morning, and was quite proud of his abilities as a public prosecutor. But the rest of the table somehow did not appear to be quite so pleased with him. This fact was shown by a disposition to avoid entering into conversation with him. His remarks were received in silence, and after a while he gave up the attempt to entertain the company and finished his meal in ruffled dignity.

When luncheon was over “Baldy” Simson, the trainer, who occupied the seat at the foot of the board, called Joe Perkins’s attention to the fact of Jack’s absence.

“I know,” Joe answered, looking rather worried. “I’m going to look him up; you needn’t bother. By the way, Tracy, just wait a minute, will you? I want to see you.” Gilberth, in the act of leaving the room, returned and tilting a chair toward him slid into it over the back with a fine appearance of unconcern.

“Fire away, Joe,” he said. “But I’ve got a two-o’clock, and it’s getting late.”

Simson went out and left the two together and alone, save for the waitress who had begun clearing off the table. Joe pushed his plate away and looked gravely across at his friend.

“Look here, Tracy, this thing has simply got to stop, you know.”

“What thing?” asked the other, raising his eyebrows.

“Why, you know what I mean. I won’t have Weatherby persecuted the way you’re doing. I can’t turn out a decent team unless you fellows get together and work in harmony. You know that as well as I do. Whatever your sentiments toward Weatherby may be, you’ve got to treat him politely in his position as a member of the varsity nine. I won’t have any more scenes like the one you brought about this morning. You’re worrying Weatherby half sick. He may be what you think he is; I’m not in position to know; but it’s all nonsense for you to take on yourself the duties of judge, jury, and hangman. You attend to yourself and let Weatherby attend to himself. That’s what I want you to do.”

Joe’s voice had been getting sharper and sharper as he proceeded and when he had finished his eyes were sparkling dangerously. As always, when Joe’s temper threatened to get the better of him, Tracy’s usual aggressiveness disappeared and gave place to a sullen stubbornness. Now he traced figures on the stained cloth with a fork and was silent a minute before he made reply. Then:

“There’s no use in your lecturing me like that,” he muttered. “You can stick up for Weatherby if you want to, but you needn’t think you can make me coddle him too. The fellow’s a coward and a cad, and you’ve no business asking decent fellows to sit at table with him.”

“You’ll sit at table with him or you’ll get out,” cried Joe hotly.

“Then I’ll get out!”

There was silence for a moment, during which Tracy continued to mark up the cloth and Joe struggled more or less successfully to get command of his temper. Finally he asked, almost calmly: