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

“Do you mean that you’ll leave the team, that you’ll throw me over and threaten the college with defeat for a mere whim?”

“It isn’t a whim,” growled Tracy. “It – it’s a principle.”

Joe smiled in spite of himself and the last of his ill-humor vanished.

“Oh, don’t talk poppycock, Tracy,” he said. “Look here, you must see how difficult you’re making it for Hanson and me. We can’t do what we want to do if there are dissensions among you chaps. Like a good fellow, promise me to leave Weatherby alone. He isn’t going to interfere with you; you know that. The other fellows aren’t kicking up a row about having him at table, so why should you? Besides, Tracy, consider what a thundering hard row the chap has to hoe. Maybe he acted the coward; I didn’t see it and don’t know; but even if he did it’s more than likely that he’s a lot worse ashamed of it than you are, and probably wants to make up for it. Give him a show, can’t you? Be generous, Tracy!”

“Well, let him keep away from me, then,” Tracy growled.

“How can he when you’re both on the team?” asked Joe impatiently. “We want him because he’s got the making of a good player; he’s sure, quick, and – honest.”

“Huh!”

“Yes, honest! We’ve watched him just as we’ve watched all you fellows – perhaps a bit more, because he’s under suspicion, as it were – and he’s played us fair every time. He’s done as he’s been told and done it just as hard as he knew how. And it’s all wrong to call a man dishonest until he’s done something dishonest.”

“How about that affair at the river?” asked the other sneeringly.

“A man may be a coward at a – a crisis and a brave man all the rest of his life. Physical cowardice isn’t dishonesty. For that matter, I can imagine a chap running from bullets and yet standing up like a little man in front of bayonets. I’m not sure I wouldn’t run away from bullets myself, and if I were you I wouldn’t be too sure, either.”

“I’m not a coward,” cried Tracy.

“I don’t say you are; I don’t think you are. And yet you’re not brave enough to let public opinion go hang and give that poor duffer, Weatherby, a fighting chance!”

Gilberth received this in silence, staring moodily at the table. The bell in the tower of College Hall began its imperative summons and Joe pushed back his chair and arose. Tracy followed his example.

“I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” said the former. He overtook the other at the door and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Don’t mind my ill-temper, old man. There’s no use in having a friend if you can’t bully him a little now and then. And – er – think over what I said, will you?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” answered Tracy grudgingly. “No harm done. See you later.”

Joe stood on the porch and watched him cross the road and disappear up the broad gravel-path toward the laboratories. Then Joe passed down the steps and through the gate with a little smile of satisfaction on his face.

“Yes, it is all right,” he told himself. “He’ll do as I want him to. But I wish – I do wish I hadn’t lost my pesky temper!”

He turned to the left toward Washington Street and as he neared the corner he caught sight of a tall fellow crossing the Common with long awkward strides. The ill-fitting clothes and the little stoop of the shoulders were sufficient to reveal the man’s identity at first glance, and Joe hailed him:

“O Tid-ball! O Tid-ba-a-all!”

Anthony paused, looked, waved a note-book responsively, and stumbling over a “Keep off the grass” sign, crossed the turf and clambered over the fence.

“How are you, Tidball?” asked Joe, shaking hands. For some reason fellows usually did shake hands with Anthony when they met him, just as they thumped other acquaintances on the back or punched them in the ribs or pulled their caps over their eyes. “You’re just the man I wanted to see,” Joe went on. “As usual, we’re just about stone broke; the Baseball Association, I mean. We’ve got to have a lot of money for the nine and we’ve got to raise it by subscription. The schedule has the team down for five games away from home, and that means a heap of expense. The Athletic Association has given us all they could afford to, about one hundred and fifty dollars, but that won’t last us any time. So we’re going to get up a mass meeting in about a week or so and try and raise the dust. And we want you to speak for us; whoop things up a bit, you know. Can you do it?”

“S’pose so,” answered Anthony doubtfully. “But I don’t know a blamed thing about baseball.”

“You won’t have to. We’ve got plenty of chaps who can talk baseball; what we want is some one who can open their pockets. We’re depending on you, Tidball, so say yes, like a good chap. Hanson is going to speak, and so is Professor Nast, and so am I. And we’re trying to get the dean to hem and haw a bit for us. But we need you like anything. What do you say?”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Anthony. “You let me know when it’s to be and tell me what you want me to say. Don’t believe, though, Perkins, the fellows will pay much attention to what I’ve got to say about baseball. ’Tisn’t as though I knew a ball from a – a – ”

“From another ball, eh? Don’t let that bother you. I’m awfully much obliged; it’s very nice of you. And I’ll let you know all about it in a day or two. By the way, though, where are you living now? Some one said you’d left the old joint.”

“Yes, I had to when Gooch went home. I’m at Mrs. Dorlon’s, down the row there.”

“Oh, are you? I was just going there. Doesn’t young Weatherby room there?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in now, do you know?”

Anthony settled his spectacles more firmly on his nose before he replied.

“No, he’s not in just now.” He hesitated a moment. Then, “Guess you might as well know about it,” he said musingly.

“About what?”

“’Bout Weatherby.”

“What’s he done?”

“Gone home.”

“Gone home?”

“Yes, left college.”

“But what for? When did he go?” asked Joe in surprise.

“This morning. He left a note for me. Don’t know whether it’s my place to tell folks or not. Maybe you’d better keep it quiet. He might change his mind, you know.”

“I see,” replied Joe thoughtfully. “Do you – do you happen to know why he left?”

“Yes, and I guess you do, too.”

“You mean – ?”

“Yes. He stuck it out as long as he could, but I guess things got too hot for him. His note made mention of something that happened this morning at training-table.”

“By Jove!” muttered the other. “It’s a blamed shame! You know, Tidball, I never quite believed him the – er – coward they say he is. What do you think?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t know,” answered Anthony uneasily, puckering his lips together. “Maybe he isn’t.”

Joe looked a little surprised.

“I don’t know just why,” he said, “but I had an idea you’d support my judgment of him. Well, perhaps it’s just as well that he’s gone. Although he had the making of – ”

“No, no,” cried Anthony in sudden contrition, the blood rushing into his thin face. “I didn’t mean that! I shouldn’t have said it, Perkins! I think he’s – I don’t believe he’s a coward!” He pressed the other’s arm convulsively with his long fingers as though seeking to give added weight to the emphatic assertion and hurried away. “Come and see me,” he called back.

Joe stared after him in bewilderment.

“Strange duffer, Tidball,” he reflected. “Wonder if he and Weatherby had a row? Sounds like it. Poor old Weatherby! I’m sorry he’s gone; by Jove, I am sorry! And I fancy I might have prevented it if I’d got after Tracy sooner. Hang him, he ought to be licked!”