the Young Pitcher (1992) (3 page)

They put on coats and hats and went out. Evidently the coach was thinking hard, for he had nothing to say, but he kept a reassuring hand on Ken's arm. They crossed the campus along the very path where Ken had fled from the sophomores. The great circle of dormitories loomed up beyond with lights shining in many windows. Arthurs led Ken through a court-yard and into a wide, bright hallway. Their steps sounded with hollow click upon the tiled floor. They climbed three flights of stairs, and then Arthurs knocked at a door. Ken's heart palpitated. It was all so sudden; he did not know what he was going to say or do. He did not care what happened to him if Arthurs could only, somehow, put him right with the captain.

A merry voice bade them enter. The coach opened the door and led Ken across the threshold. Ken felt the glow of a warm, bright room, colorful with pennants and posters, and cozy in its disorder. Then he saw Dale and, behind him, several other students. There was a moment's silence in which Ken heard his heart beat.

Dale rose slowly from his seat, the look on his frank face changing from welcome to intense amazement and then wild elation.

Whoop! he shouted. Lock the door! Worry Arthurs, this's your best bet ever!

Dale dashed at the coach, hugged him frantically, then put his head out of the door to bawl: Sophs! Sophs! Sophs! Hurry call! Number nine!... Oh, my!

Then he faced about, holding the door partially open. He positively beamed upon the coach.

Say, Cap, what's eatin' you? asked Arthurs. He looked dumfounded. Ken hung to him desperately; he thought he knew what was coming. There were hurried footsteps in the corridor and excited voices.

Worry, it's bully of you to bring this freshman here, declared the captain.

Well, what of it? demanded the coach. I looked him up to-night. He's got a great arm, and will be good material for the team. He told me about the little scrap you had in the lecture-room. He lost his temper, and no wonder. Anyway, he's sorry, Cap, and I fetched him around to see if you couldn't make it up. How about it, Kid?

I'm sorry awfully sorry, Captain Dale, blurted out Ken. I was mad and scared, too then you fellows hurt me. So I hit right out.... But I'll take my medicine.

So oh! ejaculated Dale. Well, this beats the deuce! That's why you're here?

The door opened wide to admit half a dozen eager-faced youths.

Fellows, here's a surprise, said Dale. Young Ward, the freshman! the elusive slugging freshman, fast on his feet, and, as Worry here says, a lad with a great arm!

Ward! roared the Sophs in unison.

Hold on, fellows wait no rough-house yet wait, ordered Dale. Ward's here of his own free will!

Silence ensued after the captain spoke. While he turned to lock the door the Sophs stared open-mouthed at Ken. Arthurs had a worried look, and he kept his hand on Ken. Dale went to a table and began filling his pipe. Then he fixed sharp, thoughtful eyes upon his visitors.

Worry, you say you brought this freshman here to talk baseball? he asked.

Sure I did, blustered Arthurs. It was plain now where he got the name that Dale called him. What's in the wind, anyhow?

Dale then gravely spoke to Ken. So you came here to see me? Sorry you slugged me once? Want to make up for it somehow, because you think you've a chance for the team, and don't want me to be sore on you? That it?

Not exactly, replied Ken. I'd want to let you get square with me even if you weren't the varsity captain.

Well, you've more than squared yourself with me by coming here. You'll realize that presently. But don't you know what's happened, what the freshmen have done?

No; I don't.

You haven't been near the university since this afternoon when you pulled off the potato stunt?

I should say I haven't.

This brought a laugh from the Sophs.

You were pretty wise, went on Dale. The Sophs didn't love you then. But they're going to understand?

Ken shook his head, too bewildered and mystified to reply.

Well, now, here's Giraffe Boswick. Look what you did to him!

Ken's glance followed the wave of Dale's hand and took in the tall, bronze-haired sophomore who had led the chase that afternoon. Boswick wore a huge discolored bruise over his left eye. It was hideous. Ken was further sickened to recollect that Boswick was one of the varsity pitchers. But the fellow was smiling amiably at Ken, as amiably as one eye would permit. The plot thickened about Ken. He felt his legs trembling under him.

Boswick, you forgive Ward, don't you now? continued Dale, with a smile.

With all my heart! exclaimed the pitcher. To see him here would make me forgive anything.

Coach Arthurs was ill at ease. He evidently knew students, and he did not relish the mystery, the hidden meaning.

Say, you wise guys make me sick, he called out, gruffly. Here's a kid that comes right among you. He's on the level, and more'n that, he's game! Now, Cap, I fetched him here, and I won't stand for a whole lot. Get up on your toes! Get it over!

Sit down Worry, here's a cigar light up, said Dale, soothingly. It's all coming right, lovely, I say. Ward was game to hunt me up, a thousand times gamer than he knows.... See here, Ward, where are you from?

I live a good long day's travel from the university, answered Ken, evasively.

I thought so. Did you ever hear of the bowl-fight, the great event of the year here at Wayne University?

Yes, I've heard read a little about it. But I don't know what it is.

I'll tell you, went on Dale. There are a number of yearly rushes and scrapes between the freshmen and sophomores, but the bowl-fight is the one big meeting, the time-honored event. It has been celebrated here for many years. It takes place on a fixed date. Briefly, here's what comes off: The freshmen have the bowl in their keeping this year because they won it in the last fight. They are to select one of their number, always a scrappy fellow, and one honored by the class, and they call him the bowl-man. A week before the fight, on a certain date, the freshmen hide this bowl-man or protect him from the sophomores until the day of the fight, when they all march to Grant field in fighting-togs. Should the sophomores chance to find him and hold him prisoner until after the date of the bowl-fight they win the bowl. The same applies also in case the bowl is in possession of the sophomores. But for ten years neither class has captured the other's bowl-man. So they have fought it out on the field until the bowl was won.

Well, what has all that got to do with me? asked Ken. He felt curiously light-headed.

It has a little to do with you hasn't it, fellows? said Dale, in slow, tantalizing voice.

Worry Arthurs lost his worried look and began to smile and rub his hands.

Ward, look here, added Dale, now speaking sharply. You've been picked for the bowl-man!

Me me? stammered Ken.

No other. The freshmen were late in choosing a man this year. To-day, after your stunt holding up that bunch of sophomores they had a meeting in Carlton Club and picked you. Most of them didn't even know your name. I'll bet the whole freshman class is hunting for you right now.

What for? queried Ken, weakly.

Why, I told you. The bowl-fight is only a week off and here you are. And here you'll stay until that date's past!

Ken drew a quick breath. He began to comprehend. The sudden huzzahs of Dale's companions gave him further enlightenment.

But, Captain Dale, he said, breathlessly, if it's so if my class has picked me I can't throw them down. I don't know a soul in my class. I haven't a friend. But I won't throw them down not to be forever free of dodging Sophs not even to square myself with you.

Ward, you're all right! shouted Dale, his eyes shining.

In the quiet moment that followed, with all the sophomores watching him intently, Ken Ward instinctively felt that his measure had been taken.

I won't stay here, said Ken, and for the first time his voice rang.

Oh yes, you will, replied Dale, laughing.

Quick as a cat Ken leaped for the door and got it unlocked and half open before some one clutched him. Then Dale was on him close and hard. Ken began to struggle. He was all muscle, and twice he broke from them.

His legs! Grab his legs! He's a young bull!

We'll trim you now, Freshie!

You potato-masher!

Go for his wind!

Fighting and wrestling with all his might Ken went down under a half dozen sophomores. Then Dale was astride his chest, and others were sitting on his hands and feet.

Boys, don't hurt that arm! yelled Worry Arthurs.

Ward, will you be good now and stop scrapping or shall we tie you? asked Dale. You can't get away. The thing to do is to give your word not to try. We want to make this easy for you. Your word of honor, now?

Never! cried Ken.

I knew you wouldn't, said Dale. We'll have to keep you under guard.

They let him get up. He was panting, and his nose was bleeding, and one of his knuckles was skinned. That short struggle had been no joke. The Sophs certainly meant to keep him prisoner. Still, he was made to feel at ease. They could not do enough for him.

It's tough luck, Ward, that you should have fallen into our hands this way, said Dale. But you couldn't help it. You will be kept in my rooms until after the fifteenth. Meals will be brought you, and your books; everything will be done for your comfort. Your whereabouts, of course, will be a secret, and you will be closely watched. Worry, remember you are bound to silence. And Ward, perhaps it wasn't an ill wind that blew you here. You've had your last scrap with a Soph, that's sure. As for what brought you here it's more than square; and I'll say this: if you can play ball as well as you can scrap, old Wayne has got a star.

The Call for Candidates There were five rooms in Dale's suite in the dormitory, and three other sophomores shared them with him. They confined Ken in the end room, where he was safely locked and guarded from any possible chance to escape.

For the first day or two it was irksome for Ken; but as he and his captors grew better acquainted the strain eased up, and Ken began to enjoy himself as he had not since coming to the university.

He could not have been better provided for. His books were at hand, and even notes of the lectures he was missing were brought to him. The college papers and magazines interested him, and finally he was much amused by an account of his mysterious disappearance. All in a day he found himself famous. Then Dale and his room-mates were so friendly and jolly that if his captivity had not meant the disgrace of the freshman class, Ken would have rejoiced in it. He began to thaw out, though he did not lose his backwardness. The life of the great university began to be real to him. Almost the whole sophomore class, in squads of twos and threes and sixes, visited Dale's rooms during that week. No Soph wanted to miss a sight of a captive bowl-man. Ken felt so callow and fresh in their presence that he scarcely responded to their jokes. Worry Arthur's nickname of Kid vied with another the coach conferred on Ken, and that was Peg. It was significant slang expressing the little baseball man's baseball notion of Ken's throwing power.

The evening was the most interesting time for Ken. There was always something lively going on. He wondered when the boys studied. When some of the outside students dropped in there were banjo and guitar playing, college songs, and college gossip.

Come on, Peg, be a good fellow, they said, and laughed at his refusal to smoke or drink beer.

Molly! mocked one.

Willy-boy! added another.

Ken was callow, young, and backward; but he had a temper, and this kind of banter roused it easily. The red flamed into his cheeks.

I promised my mother I wouldn't smoke or drink or gamble while I was in college, he retorted, struggling with shame and anger. And I I won't.

Dale stopped the good-natured chaff. Fellows, stop guying Ward; cut it out, I tell you. He's only a kid freshman, but he's liable to hand you a punch, and if he does you'll remember it. Besides, he's right.... Look here, Ward, you stick to that promise. It's a good promise to stick to, and if you're going in for athletics it's the best ever.

Worry Arthurs happened to be present on this evening, and he seconded Dale in more forceful speech. There's too much boozin' and smokin' of them coffin nails goin' on in this college. It's none of my affair except with the boys I'm coachin', and if I ketch any one breakin' my rules after we go to the trainin'-table he'll sit on the bench. There's Murray; why, he says there are fellows in college who could break records if they'd train. Half of sprintin' or baseball or football is condition.

Oh, Worry, you and Mac always make a long face over things. Wayne has won a few championships, hasn't she?

The varsity ball team will be a frost this year, that's sure, replied Arthurs, gloomily.

How do you make that out? demanded Dale, plainly nettled. You've hinted it before to me. Why won't we be stronger than last season? Didn't we have a crackerjack team, the fastest that ever represented old Wayne? Didn't we smother the small college teams and beat Place twice, shut out Herne the first game, and play for a tie the second?