CHAPTER XVIII DISAPPOINTMENTS

It was "Patterson, Patterson," all over the locker rooms while the ball men were dressing, with frequent mention of Ames, who had especially pleased the crowd, and an occasional word for Owen. The disappointment caused by the poor work of the First glorified by contrast the success of the Second. Rob had many questions to answer or evade. Wasn't he surprised at the way Patterson showed up? Was the pitcher really as good as he seemed? Could he hold his own against a strong nine? How was it that nobody knew anything about him before to-day? Before he escaped from the gymnasium Rob had replied to the same question a dozen times.

Patterson was a good man—he told the questioners—who might always be trusted to give a good account of himself if he had a fair show. Rob did not explain that a fair show involved a[Pg 189] suggestive and resourceful catcher, one who could guide and cheer the pitcher, as well as hold the ball and throw to bases. That would have been tantamount to asserting that Patterson's success had been due to his catcher, and Rob would never have taken this attitude even in his secret thoughts. Patterson certainly had the skill and the power; the difficulty was that he didn't understand how to use them.

Outside the gymnasium Owen was hailed by Poole and Lyford.

"You fellows gave us a shock to-day," said Poole. "I didn't enjoy it myself, but it's going to do us a lot of good. Lyford and I have talked things over and have agreed that we've got to make a place for you on the nine."

Rob's heart was fluttering with a delightful anticipation which was reflected in his face. Were they really going to recognize the merit of his work?

"Did you ever play in the outfield?" continued Poole.

From joyful expectation to hopelessness, Rob's plunge was sudden and cruel. Only by a strong[Pg 190] effort of will and by turning his head quickly away could he prevent his face from betraying him.

"No, never. I've always caught or played first."

"Well, you see, we've got a good catcher in Borland, who's had lots of experience and is a mighty steady man in a game; and with Weaver, who played first last year, and big Ames, who showed up so well in the game to-day, we're pretty well fixed for first basemen. So the only way seems to be to work you in somewhere in the outfield—say at right—as a regular thing; and then use you when necessary for substitute catcher."

"You'd better take Rorbach," said Owen, almost sullenly. "He hits well and is used to the job."

"We will, if he turns out to be better," returned Poole, with a smile, "but we'll try you first anyway. We shall have to ask you to turn Patterson over to Borland. If he gets on well with Patterson, we may want you to see what you can do with O'Connell."

[Pg 191]

"If you could help him along as you did Patterson," said the coach, "you might make a good deal of him."

Rob pressed his lips tight together, with a firmness that pursed them out and left wrinkles in the corners. It was a habit of his when angered, as some boys grow red, and others white, and still others gape and glare. On this occasion his set lips served him well, for they kept back the retort which in cooler moments he must have regretted. What he did not say but wanted to was that it would be many moons before any one would find him wasting himself on a mule like O'Connell, and that he didn't propose to train pitchers for Borland to use. So he said nothing, but merely nodded a rather ungracious adieu as the coach and captain left him and went on down to the basement floor of the gymnasium. On the way in, Poole remarked that Owen had a queer streak in him, but was a good fellow all right; and the coach, that the boy seemed rather sullen. It was too bad, for he was evidently a ball player.

Rob stamped up to his room and flung himself[Pg 192] down into his Morris chair. There, stretched out, with his hands in his pockets and his cap slipping down over his nose, he gave himself a prey to most disagreeable reflections. So they were bound to make him play in the outfield! He could do it, he supposed, as well as the next man, but it was like taking a fellow who had always played quarter-back and setting him to play end. He must learn an entirely new game, crowd out a better man—Rorbach could field the position twice as well as he could—and in the end probably do the poorest work of the lot. And to take away Patterson, who had practised with him all winter and really owed to his catcher his whole improvement as a pitcher, to take away Patterson and give him to Borland, who had never done a thing for anybody, was outrageous. Why couldn't Poole give him as fair a show as he did Borland? Hadn't he caught just as good a game that afternoon? The details of the record were still vivid in his memory: against Borland one passed ball, two missed third strikes, one high throw to second; for himself not an error, and two as good snaps to bases as he had ever made in his[Pg 193] life, even if that chump, McGuffy, didn't cover! Good work evidently went for nothing in this place.

And then he fell to thinking of Patterson and his point of view. Would Pat throw him over without a protest, as Carle had done, when the chance came to pose as first string pitcher with last year's catcher to back him? Not if he knew Patterson! Patterson knew where his strength lay. Pat would be loyal to his catcher to the end. But this, after all, wasn't the worst feature in the prospect. Supposing they should make him pitch to Borland against his will, and Borland shouldn't know how to manage him, and just at the time when encouragement and guidance and right method were especially important, Pat should slump, would he be able to recover his courage and speed and skill again? Rob had his doubts. Pat needed careful nursing.

A knock at the door broke in on these dismal thoughts.

"Come in!" sang out the dejected one from the chair, without troubling himself to remove his hands from his pockets or lift the cap from his[Pg 194] nose. It was Laughlin's big body that filled the doorway.

"Hello! Seen anything of Lindsay?"

Rob straightened up and brushed off his cap. "No, not since he left the campus. He spoke to me after the game. Come in, won't you?"

"I guess not," replied the football man. And then, having verbally declined, he contradicted himself by entering and planting his back against the door. "I wanted to see him about that debate between the Laurel Leaf and the Soule Society. You know we're on a committee to arrange it. Tell him I tried to find him, won't you, when he comes in?"

"Yes, I usually see him after dinner."

"I went up to see your game for a little while this afternoon," went on Laughlin, settling down into a stout arm-chair opposite Rob. "I couldn't stay long, for I had a job; but I saw some good back-stop work the little while I was there."

Rob waited expectant, his eyes on the floor. His pulse was beating a trifle faster, while under the pleasing warmth that stole into his heart the morbid depression had fled. Laughlin was not[Pg 195] a baseball authority, but he was a man looked up to and respected and followed not more for his achievement as captain of a winning eleven than for the strength of his personal character. His good opinion was in itself a compliment, all the more desirable as he was known to be a close friend of Poole.

"I thought both you and Borland caught well," continued Laughlin; "but while I was there it seemed to me that you were having the best of it. That throw of yours that Reddy was too slow for just took me. Why, the ball looked as if it was shooting along a wire! And how quickly you got it off, too! I don't see how you manage it."

"Oh, I don't always do as well as that," protested Owen, beaming with delight, "though I'm usually fairly good at getting a man at second. There's a knack in it, you know, and I've had considerable practice."

"Patterson is a kind of dark horse, isn't he? I hadn't heard anything about him until lately."

"He's been working with me in the cage all winter," replied Rob, with some complacency.[Pg 196] "I knew he was good, but no one else seemed to get on to him. He's improved a lot."

"Well, I hope he'll go right on improving. Perhaps it's you two who are going to win the Hillbury game for us!"

Alas for the catcher's self-complacency! This grouping of Owen and Patterson and the Hillbury game brought Rob suddenly back from the delightful vision of what might have been to the reality of the present. It wasn't to be Patterson and Owen now, but Patterson and Borland. Owen was relegated to right field, and to catching O'Connell! The sunlight suddenly disappeared from Rob's ingenuous face, and black discouragement replaced it. Laughlin observed him with curiosity.

"Only it'll be Patterson and Borland in the Hillbury game," Rob said, regaining his smile by main force. "Poole's going to have Patterson pitch to Borland after this."

"How's that?" demanded Laughlin. And Rob explained with an explanation which suggested a question, and the question in turn produced an answer involving another question,[Pg 197] and so there developed a chain of questions and answers linked together like the mathematical series Laughlin had been studying that week in his advanced algebra, but unlike them in having a definite limit and result. This result was that Rob threw aside his reserve and told the whole story of his ambition and disappointment, from the first weeks of the fall when Carle forgot him, through the months of independent cage work with Patterson, to the disheartening issue of that afternoon's game.

"It isn't that I'm such a wonder," he concluded, "or that I want to play whether I'm better than Borland or not; but I don't think it's right for 'em to assume that I'm no good, and pay no attention to what I do. And then to take Patterson away from me just when I've got him into shape, when he wouldn't be worth a cent if I hadn't coached him all winter—I call that dirty mean!"

Laughlin rose and went to the window, where he stood for a brief time gazing across the way at the village urchins noisily romping before their schoolhouse. Then he turned: "It does seem hard luck, but I've found out that things usually[Pg 198] turn out right if you're right yourself. I, for one, was glad to hear that Carle had gone. He isn't the stuff good men are made of. If he had stayed, he'd have played us some worse trick. Poole doesn't think so, but Poole doesn't know such fellows as well as I do. Another thing Poole doesn't know is that you're really a better catcher than Borland. It's up to you to go straight ahead and play your game as well as you can, and he'll see what you are before the season's over. When he does see, he'll chuck Borland in a minute. Poole is as straight a fellow as ever breathed, but he makes mistakes like the rest of us. I know from my own experience as captain that it's hard always to pick out the best man. There was Wolcott Lindsay last fall playing on the second eleven up to two weeks of the Hillbury game; and in the game, light as he was, he turned out the best guard on the field. Take my advice: just hold on, play your best game all the time, and keep your courage up."

They stood confronting each other—Laughlin, a square, powerful figure with sincerity and earnestness apparent in every tone of his voice and every[Pg 199] line of his rugged face; Owen, with eyes aflame and cheeks flushed, eagerly drinking in his visitor's words. It was appreciation like this that he had been pining for; it gladdened him and at the same time thrilled him through and through.

"There's another thing you can learn from Lindsay's experience," the football man went on. "It pays to work up. The best athletes in the school have almost always been those who had to make a place for themselves. The fellows who come with reputations and condescend to play usually slump early."

He held out his hand. "I must be going; well, good luck to you!"

"Thank you a lot," rejoined Owen, eagerly grasping the big, thick fist. "You won't say anything to Poole about this, will you?"

"Of course not; you've got to work your own way out."

Laughlin was just reaching for the door-knob, when a scurry of feet was heard from across the hall, and the door burst open to admit Simmons, who rushed into the room in a flurry of excitement most unusual in the quiet little student.