CHAPTER X MR. CARLE WANTS TO KNOW

The winter was wearing away. The third battery was plodding steadily along at its task in the cage, with few critical spectators and almost no interference from superiors. A more eager, trusting pupil than Patterson no teacher ever had. So ready was the pitcher to take the suggestion of his catcher as a maxim, that Rob had to set a watch upon himself, that he might not overload the docile learner with useless or questionable directions. He kept to a simple system of coaching, told Patterson nothing of which he was not himself sure, trusted him to throw his curves in his own way, but held him inexorably to accuracy. Owen never would allow practice to begin unless with plate in position and pitcher's distance well marked; he made his pitcher warm up thoroughly before he began with curves; he would not permit a pitch without a distinct understanding as to what the ball was to be.

[Pg 101]

At the beginning Patterson had but a single ball of which he was sure,—which he could deliver as he wanted it, and when it was wanted. On two or three others he was uncertain, sometimes successful, more often wild. Owen's task was to construct out of these possibilities the "three bread and butter balls" which form the chief stock in trade of the good pitcher. Stated thus simply the task would seem simple; in fact, it was most difficult, although Patterson's implicit confidence in his catcher and absolute eagerness to take his advice smoothed many obstacles from the path.

Few boys are willing to believe that the great pitchers achieve their greatest success through the clever manipulation and variation of a very small number of curves. When Owen repeated McLennan's assertion that three or four good balls, with brains, were enough for any pitcher to use, Patterson believed him and strove for the three good balls; when Owen explained that the most deceptive ball for a good batsman is not a new one with an unexpected curve, but a familiar one with speed disguised, Patterson set to work to acquire a change of pace with the same apparent method of[Pg 102] delivery. In the beginning Owen would hold his hands where the ball was to come, and hold them there again and again until the right ball did come. When a certain accuracy with the three bread and butters was attained, the catcher would place his hands over the plate shoulder high, and require a certain ball to be thrown at them, repeating the exercise a foot to the right and to the left at the same height, and in the three corresponding positions just above the level of the knee. Sometimes he got in a batter to add distraction to the problem. Having early discovered that Patterson could throw a very good jump ball, he made him practise on the "initial cutter," a ball which just skims the breast of the batsman, and which even an expert is frequently tempted to strike at, though he knows he cannot hit it safely.

The mere fact of Patterson's implicit dependence would have been enough to impress Rob with a sense of responsibility. As the weeks went by, however, another fact which gradually forced itself into recognition added seriously to this feeling. Patterson was splendid raw material, which the catcher was either developing or spoiling in[Pg 103] the course of his lessons. To become a superior pitcher, one must be physically capable of applying great power suddenly and convulsively. This ability may be expected only in an intensely nervous temperament, in which muscles are doubly powerful under excitement, or in one of absolutely cold blood, which grows colder and more tense and more silently fierce as the strain of the contest increases. Patterson was of the former class, quick and snappy in movement, with concentrated impulse and muscles answering instantly to stimulus. In addition to the right temperament he was blessed with the ability to "get up," that is, to start the ball with a full arm swing which makes it possible to bring the body into the movement and increase greatly the radius of the throwing arc. His curves, moreover, came easily, and his arm did not readily lame.

Over against these excellences were to be set lack of experience in the field, and an inclination to nervousness and faint-heartedness which only a series of unquestioned successes or the quiet support of a trusted battery mate would be likely to dispel.

[Pg 104]

While the third string battery was thus busy with its serious but unregarded work, Carle was riding hard along the road of popularity. He was rarely by himself these days, except when he slept. He loafed away many study hours in other fellows' rooms, spoke contemptuously of serious work, trotted his lessons whenever possible, loved to show himself in the company of supposed swells, was frequently seen lounging in druggists' windows or standing in a group of noisy fellows at the crossings with hands bulging the pockets of his wide trousers, talking loudly and swaggering. Though Carle as a scholarship man was expressly debarred from smoking, Poole neither by admonition nor exhortation could succeed in keeping the cigarette wholly from the pitcher's lips—and why indeed? Did not most of the great professionals smoke even in their playing season!

"He's a dead sport, that Carle!" remarked Duncan Peck one day during an interval between plagues. "I don't see how he can pitch."

"But he can," replied Owen, to whom the remark was made, "or at least he could last year."

"Oh, I know he can," Duncan made haste to[Pg 105] reply. "Haven't I seen him do stunts in the cage. It's great, but he doesn't seem quite the kind of fellow that makes a fine athlete, like Laughlin, for example, or Lindsay, or Strong, or any of those fellows."

Owen did not reply. He held no brief for his townsman. Carle had long since ceased to manifest any desire for Owen's society, and Owen, in natural pique, would make no advances on the basis of their old friendship. Their ways seemed destined to lie apart.

One day early in March a letter was delivered at Rob's room, addressed in an unfamiliar hand, yet bearing the well-known postmark "Terryville, Pa." He had just come in from the gymnasium, where Strong had announced to him the final decision as to the make-up of the relay team which was to compete in Boston on the following Saturday. Owen was the choice for fourth man over Jacobson, who, though perhaps no slower, had been adjudged less capable of holding up under strain. With thoughts fluttering excitedly under a variety of emotions, among which half-hearted regret and a sort of dread had place with elation,[Pg 106] Rob gazed at the address on the envelope, and vaguely wondered who could be the sender. He felt for the moment actual resentment at being compelled to exchange the temporarily glorified Seaton atmosphere for the uninteresting common air of Terryville. The letter, however, had much more to do with Seaton than with Terryville. It ran as follows:—

    "Dear Robert,—

    "Is anything the matter with Ned? We are worried about him. I have just had a letter from the secretary of Seaton saying he has been put on study hours, whatever that is, for unexcused absences and for neglecting his work. The dining hall also sent me another notice that the last bill had not been paid. I sent Ned the money for it more than two weeks ago. He keeps writing for money, but don't say much about himself, and can't seem to answer any questions at all. We've lived awful close this winter to keep Ned away to school, and the last money I had to take from the bank, which I really hadn't ought to do. What makes the school cost so much more than[Pg 107] they said it was going to? Are they sticking us, or ain't Ned doing right? I've talked with your father, but he don't seem to know. I wish you'd talk with Ned and put him straight if there's anything the matter. He thinks a lot of you. When he was home Christmas everything was fine; but there's been a change somewhere. I'm a poor man, and can't do for him like your father does for you, so I wish you'd be careful not to put him up to being extravagant. He's free-handed and easy led, and likes to do the same as his friends. Now, Robert, just remember his ma and me kind of hold you responsible for the boy, and try to help him and us.

    "Yours truly,"

    John H. Carle.

Throwing the letter with a violent snap into the corner of the room, Rob rested his elbows on the table, dropped his chin into his two hands, and contemplated the rows of books in the case with eyes that saw nothing and a mind upheaved in indignant protest. Relay team and baseball were forgotten, and along with them the French verbs[Pg 108] which he had failed on at the last exercise, and the appointment for an English conference which it was hazardous to miss. Vehement thoughts like his insist on sole possession. He tempt Carle to extravagance, have influence with him, be responsible for him! What an utterly false and unfair assumption! What right had Mr. Carle to send him that kind of a letter, or suppose any such thing, when for two months Ned had done no more than nod to him when they chanced to meet in the street? It was outrageous! It would be better to write the father plainly the facts in the case, incredible as they might appear, rather than suffer longer under the unjust imputation.

To this the feeling of loyalty, strongest and most unreasoning of all healthy student instincts, interposed its veto. He could not write the father of the shortcomings of the son, any more than he could declare them to the school authorities. Indeed, it was not necessary to do so. He had given Mr. Owen in his yesterday's letter a tolerably full account of conditions, and his father might tell Mr. Carle as much as he chose. It was tough business for Mr. Carle.

[Pg 109]

Rob rose and went to the window, his thoughts now diverted from his own side of the matter to the sacrifice and disappointment of the Carles. It was certainly hard on the parents; he felt sincerely sorry for them. How could Ned play them so false!

Rob turned from the window, picked up the crumpled letter, took his hat, and went out. Mr. Carle had asked him to have a talk with Ned. He hated above all things to do it, but sooner or later his conscience would drive him to it, and it was better to have the disagreeable task over at once than to worry for days and then do it.—Besides, there was very little probability that Carle would be at home.

Haynes White was just coming out of Carter 13 as Rob approached. White was a clever senior who did tutoring in upper middle subjects. The query flashed into Rob's mind, as he knocked at the door, whether White was there to help Carle get ready for the history examination which was due on the following day. There was nothing wrong in this, to be sure, though it was hardly to be expected that scholarship men would have money to spend in tutoring.

[Pg 110]

Carle greeted him with politeness and visible surprise; then waited to learn the reason of his visit. Rob also, suddenly confronted by the necessity of putting his plea into fitting words, stood for some seconds speechless, unable to think of any diplomatic way of broaching an unpleasant subject. The constraint at last grew too painful to be endured. Abandoning all hope of devising a proper opening, he held out Mr. Carle's letter and said: "Read it!"

In silence, but with flushed face and a defiant hardening at the corners of his mouth, as if he expected reproof, Ned took the letter and read it through. When he had finished, the flush was deeper, and anger as well as defiance displayed itself in his face.

"What does he want to write you all that stuff for! I don't see what business it is of yours."

"He seems to hold me responsible."

"The old man is all off; I should think you'd know enough to let the thing alone."

"But, Ned, he isn't all off," answered Rob, sailing blindly in. "He's wrong if he thinks you're following my lead, but he's right about the[Pg 111] main thing. You're living the wrong kind of a life here. A fellow in your place can't run with the fast gang you're going with. You simply can't do it; you'll ruin yourself trying to."

"That's easy enough for you to say," retorted Carle, hotly, "when you can have whatever money you want, and aren't in with anybody. If you're in the swim you've got to spend something. My old man ought to have kept me at home if he didn't mean to give me what's necessary. I'm no long-haired grind."

"But he can't give you more; he says so in the letter. He hasn't it to give."

This was an unfortunate fact against which argument was as powerless as acid against oil.

"Is that all you've got to say?" asked Carle, sullenly, after a brief period of silence. "Because if it is, I've got something I'd like to do."

Yes, that was all. Owen could think of nothing else to say, and took his dismissal willingly. It had been an unpleasant scene, but brief; he had tried to do his duty in the matter, and even if he hadn't been wholly skilful, he felt relieved that it was all behind him. Poor Mr. Carle!