Baseball Joe on the School Nine Part 15

"Oh, things are coming your way slowly," remarked Tom, as he and Joe reached their room, having successfully dodged a prying monitor on the look-out for rule violators.

"Yes, and now I've got to make good."

"You can do that easily enough. You always have. And when the three months are up I'm going to make my motion over again, and I'll bet we'll elect you as regular pitcher."

"I guess you forget that when the three months are up the Summer vacation will be here and the nine will be out of business," remarked Joe. "No, I've got to work my own way, I guess."

There were some murmurs of surprise when it was announced the next day that Joe Matson was to be the scrub pitcher. Friends of rival candidates urged their claims on Ward, but he stuck to his promise and the place went to Joe.

"Did Hiram or Luke say anything when you told them?" asked Tom of the scrub captain.

"Oh, yes--a little."

"What was it?"

"Nothing very pleasant, so don't repeat it to Joe, but Hiram wanted to know why I didn't pick out a decent fellow to pitch against the first team, and Luke remarked that Joe would be knocked out of the box in the first practice game, and that I'd have to get some one else."

"Oh, Luke said that, did he?" asked Tom, and there was a look of smothered anger in his eyes.

"Yes, and then some more."

"Just wait until the first game--that's all," requested Tom quietly. "If they knock Joe Matson out of the box it will be the first time it's happened since he found that he was a real pitcher."

"There are some pretty good batters on the first team," warned Ward.

"That's the kind Joe likes," replied his chum. "Just you wait; that's all."

It was the day for the first regular practice between the scrub and first teams. For several afternoons Joe had been pitching to Bob Harrison, who often acted as the scrub catcher, and as there was so much other individual playing going on no one had paid much attention to the work of our hero.

"Say, I think we've got a 'find' all right," announced Bob to Ward, just before the practice game was called.

"How so?" asked the scrub captain.

"Why, that Matson can sting 'em in for further orders, and he's got some of the prettiest curves that ever came over the plate. The Hiram-Luke crowd is going to sit up and take notice, take it from yours truly."

"I'm glad of it!" declared Ward. "We'll do our best to beat 'em, and it will be for their own good. They're soft, naturally at the beginning of the season, and so are we, but if we can wallop 'em, so much the better.

Have you and Joe got your signals down?"

"Yes, he's better at that than I am. He must have played some pretty good games."

"So Sister Davis says. Well, here they come. Now to see what we can do?"

There was a conference between Luke and Ward, and in order to give his team the most severe kind of a try-out, Luke arranged to let the scrub bat last.

The first practice game was important in more ways than one. Not only did it open the season for Excelsior Hall, but it would show up the weak players, and, while the first team was practically picked, there might be a change in it. At least so every lad who was not on it, but wanted to be, thought, and he hoped against hope that his playing might attract the attention of the manager.

Another thing was that Dr. Rudden, the coach, sometimes took a hand in the baseball affairs and occasionally he had been known to over-ride the judgment of Hiram and Luke, insisting that some player whom they had not picked be allowed to show what he could do on the first team. So there were many hearts that beat high with hope, and among them was Joe's.

And there were hearts that were a bit anxious--to wit, members of the first team who were not quite sure of themselves.

There was a large crowd in the grandstand and on the bleachers when the gong rang to start the game--a throng of students mostly, for the general public was not admitted so early in the season.

It was a good day for the game, albeit the ground was a trifle soft, and the Spring wind not as warm as might be. The boys in their spick and span new uniforms made a natty appearance as they trotted out on the diamond.

According to custom, Dr. Fillmore, the venerable head of the school, pitched the first ball formally to open the season. It was a sort of complimentary ball, and was not expected to be struck at.

"Play ball!" yelled the umpire as he took the new horsehide sphere from its tinfoil wrapping and handed it to Dr. Fillmore. The president bowed as though about to make a speech, and Joe, who was in the box, stepped back. Our hero's heart was thumping under his blouse, for at last he was about to pitch his first game at Excelsior Hall, even if it was but on the scrub.

CHAPTER XIII

JOE'S GREAT WORK

"Let her go, Doctor!"

"Make him hit it, Professor!"

"Strike him out!"

"Give him an old Greek curve!"

These were some of the cries that reached Dr. Fillmore as he stood in Joe's place in the pitching box. The president of the faculty smiled pleasantly. He was used to this mild "jos.h.i.+ng," which was always indulged in by the lads of Excelsior on the occasion of the opening of the season. Not that it was at all offensive; in fact, it rather showed the good feeling existing between the instructors and their pupils.

"Are you all ready?" asked Dr. Fillmore, as though he was inquiring whether a student was prepared to recite, and as if he really expected to pitch a ball that was to be hit.

"Play ball!" called Harvey Hallock, who was umpiring.

"Not too swift now, if you please, Doctor," stipulated Nat Pierson, who was first up.

Then the venerable president delivered the new, white horsehide sphere.

He threw rather awkwardly, but with more accuracy than might have been expected from a man who had a ball in his hands but once a year. Right over the plate it went, and though usually the initial ball was never struck at, Nat could not resist the opportunity.

He "bunted," and the ball popped up in the air and sailed back toward the pitcher's box. To the surprise of all, Dr. Fillmore stepped forward and neatly caught it.

"Hurray!"

"That's the stuff!"

"Put him on the team!"

"Why didn't you say you were a ball-player, Doctor?"

"Let him play the game!"

These and many other cries greeted the president's performance. He bowed again, gravely, and smiled genially as he tossed the ball to Joe, who was waiting for it. A little round of applause came from some members of the faculty who had accompanied the doctor to the grounds, and then the head of the school walked off the diamond amid a riot of cheers. The baseball season at Excelsior Hall had opened under auspicious occasions everyone thought, and more than one lad had great hopes that the Blue Banner would come back there to stay for a while.

"Play ball!" called the umpire again, and this time the game was on in earnest.