Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball. Barbour Ralph Henry

haven’t got your breath back yet?” laughed Anthony.

      “But – aren’t you glad?” asked Jack.

      “I should say so,” answered the other. “So tickled that I don’t mind the money it cost.”

      Another event, important to a large part of the college, took place a day or two later. March, which had raged in with a big snow-storm, relented and attempted the rôle of April. The ground dried and became firm and springy and little warm breezes almost induced one to believe that he had somehow lost track of the months and had torn one too few leaves from his calendar. Erskine Field, given over during the winter to snow and winds, clothed itself in a new green livery and suddenly became the Mecca for more than half the college. One Thursday morning the following welcome notice hung in the window of Butler’s bookstore:

      University Baseball. – Outdoor practise on the Field at 4 sharp. Candidates must bring their own togs.

      Jack went out to the field early and, having got into his baseball clothes, threw his white sweater over his back, and sat down on the steps of the locker-house in the sunshine. Many fellows passed him, going in and out of the building, some according him a word of greeting, others a mere nod, while still others pretended not to see him. But Jack was beyond slights to-day. The spring was in his blood and he would have liked to throw himself down on the grass and roll over like a colt for mere joy of living. Instead, he only beat a restless tattoo with his heels and watched the passers. Presently the varsity squad trotted out; King, who played left field and was substitute pitcher; Billings, third-baseman; “Wally” Stiles, second-baseman; Knox, last year’s shortstop and substitute pitcher; “Teddy” Motter, crack first-baseman; Lowe, center-fielder, and several more, with Gilberth emerging last of all in talk with Joe Perkins.

      Jack watched Gilberth as he went by, much as a cat watches a mouse beyond its present reach. He had a score to even with Tracy Gilberth, and he was convinced that in good time the opportunity would come to him to even it. Meanwhile he waited patiently, observing Gilberth like a calm, inscrutable Fate. Gilberth had a firm grasp on the pitcher’s place, while Jack was only one of the second squad, and so, of late, their paths seldom crossed, and the senior had had no chance to give expression to his sentiments regarding the freshman. Of this Jack was glad, since Gilberth’s contemptuous glances roused his hatred as nothing else could.

      The varsity squad took possession of the diamond and began practising. Presently Bissell, the varsity center-fielder, made his appearance and took the second squad in charge. Bissell was out of the game for the while with a sprained ankle, and Hanson, the head coach, had placed the second squad under his wing. There were sixteen of them in all, for the most part upper classmen who had failed to make the varsity the year before, with a sprinkling of sophomores and two freshmen. The freshmen were Jack and a small, wiry chap, named Clover, who was trying for shortstop. Bissell led the way to the batting nets and soon they were hard at work. A third squad, made up of some twenty more or less hopeless candidates, many of them freshmen who would later form the nucleus of their class nine, were occupying an improvised diamond at the farther end of the football field. The scene was animated and interesting. The sharp crack of bat meeting ball, the shrill cries of the coachers, and the low thud of flying spheres against padded gloves filled the air.