Chapter XXIII: Coach Keegan Converses

A week before the first game of the Cumbridge Hall series Coach Keegan began morning practice at the batting net. Final examinations, rigorous as they were, presented one advantage: they offered much spare time which, unless one needed to use it in preparation for the subsequent ordeal, could be profitably spent in exercise. As a rule only two or three players appeared at the field together, but in the course of the forenoon all the members of the team managed to get in a half hour or more of work.

One morning Jerry appeared at the field when only Coach Keegan was on hand. The latter was sitting on the bench in the early sunlight, hands thrust into the pockets of a disreputable brown sweater and his gaze fixed peacefully on the toes of his scarred shoes. In that attitude he was something of a surprise to Jerry, for never before had the boy seen the coach really quiet! Observing that, although bats and other paraphernalia lay ready near the batting net, none of the pitchers were there, Jerry was minded to turn back or wander on towards the road. But at that moment Mr. Keegan glanced up and saw him and so Jerry kept on.

“Have to wait awhile, Benson,” said Mr. Keegan. “Train was to be here, but he hasn’t shown up. Guess he will be along soon, though. Sit down. How are you getting on with exams?”

“Right well, I reckon,” answered Jerry. “I mean I reckon I’ll pass all right. ’Course I haven’t been here very long and I ain’t――haven’t got started yet, as you might say.”

“You entered in January, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir. You see, Pap couldn’t get any one to take my place in the store back home and so I couldn’t come no――any sooner.”

“Your father has a store? Where do you live, Benson?”

“Huckinsburg, North Carolina. ’Tain’t my father, though, has the store. I ain’t got any father. Pap Huckins, he took me when I was a little feller and looked after me.”

“I see. Like it here at North Bank?”

“Yes, sir, I like it mighty well. There’s a right fine lot of fellers here, Mr. Keegan.”

“Yes, that’s true. Where did you learn to play baseball, Benson?”

“Right here, sir, I reckon. I didn’t know much about it before I come――came here. ’Course I’d played at it, like. We fellers at home had a team and we’d visit around and play other teams, but we didn’t go in much for fancy doings. Just hitting the ball and running around the bases was about all we did, and the fellers that pitched didn’t know anything about ‘hooks’ and ‘drops’ and so on. They were pretty easy and I got so’s I could lambaste the ball pretty hard.”

“Well, it’s stood you in good stead, son. You’re certainly hitting with a wallop now. I understand the fellows have dubbed you ‘Three-Base Benson.’”

Jerry smiled. “Yes, sir, I reckon they have. Seems like I can’t hit anything but three-baggers――that is, when I do hit.”

“Which is pretty frequently,” remarked the coach, dryly. “You may have noticed, Benson, that I’ve never insisted on your learning to bunt. And I’ve let you keep your own style of batting. It isn’t quite the style we aim at here, but I was pretty certain that if I tried to teach you our way you’d make a mess of it. And I didn’t want to ruin a good free hitter by trying to teach him to cramp his bat. There are others who can lay down a bunt or crack a nice little base hit, Benson, and so I’ve let you alone and you’ve developed just as I expected you would and wanted you to. You’ve got a fine eye for the ball and a mighty good wallop, and when you hit them they travel, son. Don’t you worry because they’re always three-baggers. I don’t!”

“No, sir, I won’t,” agreed Jerry gravely. “Reckon I might just as well keep on specializing, Mr. Keegan.”

“Right! You keep on specializing on three-base hits, Benson, and you’ll do finely,” laughed the coach. “I’d like to have a couple more specialists on the team! How do you like playing center field?”

“Fine, sir. Sometimes it gets sort of tiresome standing around out there and not doing much, but I reckon when we play Cumbridge there’ll be more action. ’Course, I ain’t expecting I’ll play in them――those games, sir, but whoever does’ll be kept busy, likely.”

“Maybe, though, if our pitchers work the way they should there won’t be much hitting, I guess. And I think you can count on playing in center in one of those games, Benson. You’ve tried hard and you’ve learned a lot of ball in a short time and I appreciate it, son. And I’ll see that you get your chance. When you do get it, see that you stand by me, Benson, and come through with the wallop!”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jerry earnestly and gratefully. “I’m aiming to do the best I can.”

“I’m sure of it, Benson. You saved that St. John’s game, I guess, and you may have a chance to save another before we’re through with Cumbridge. Here comes Train and a couple of the fellows. Now we’ll get to work. By the way, that Cumbridge pitcher, Tanner, uses a slow ball with a lot of stuff on it, and I’m going to get Train to imitate it the best he can so you fellows will know it when you see it. You want to be careful not to hit too soon at it, Benson.”

Four days later Coach Keegan’s foresight counted heavily in the result of the first game with the Dark Blue at Holly, for Tanner, Cumbridge’s first-choice twirler, pitched the contest through to the bitter end and that slow ball of his, which could either drop mysteriously out of the way of a swinging bat or hook out in a truly surprising manner, would have proved far more deadly had not the visiting team learned something of it beforehand. The whole school accompanied the nine to Holly and witnessed a remarkable game of ball that went to fourteen innings and resulted in a 3 to 3 tie.

A pitchers’ battle from start to finish, with Jack Grinnel opposing the lanky Tanner, the game had few stirring moments, perhaps, but never once lacked in the kind of suspense that keeps the players keyed up to the top notch of efficiency and the spectators on the edges of their seats. All the scoring came in the first three innings, and after that, until the limit of time was reached that would allow the visitors to get the train back to North Bank, it became a test of endurance with the contest certain to go against the team that “cracked” first. Perhaps had the game gone to another inning the “crack” might have come, but as it was, although both Tanner and Grinnel had their weak moments when it seemed to their anxious adherents that the deluge was about due, both pitchers came through in triumph, Tanner with a record of nine strike-outs and Grinnel with seven. Each pitcher issued four passes and each hit two men with the ball. Sharp fielding did the rest. North Bank secured first blood in the second inning when Jackson led out with a scratch hit, Lord sacrificed him to second and McGee, after Conway had been thrown out, hit past third. In the last half of the same inning Cumbridge took the lead. Jack Grinnel passed the first man up. He struck out the next two, but couldn’t keep the runner on first, and two hits in succession, the latter for three bases and followed by a wild throw to third by Conway, gave the enemy three tallies. In the next inning North Bank, by a combination of two one-base hits, a pass and two infield errors, tied the score. And that ended the game, although no one guessed it. After that what hits there were, were short and well sprinkled over the remaining eleven innings and only one man reached second base. The Light Blue made eleven hits off Tanner, only one of the extra-bases sort, and the Dark Blue got eight off Grinnel, one a three-bagger and one good for two bases. North Bank made four errors and Cumbridge three. And in such disappointingly indecisive fashion ended the first game of the big series, and North Bank took the train and departed in a downcast mood. But before school was reached the fellows had considerably cheered up, for some one had sagely pointed out the fact that all the Light Blue had to do was to win next Wednesday’s game in order to capture the series and the season’s championship. And even Jerry, who had never a look-in that afternoon, found life suddenly much brighter.

That night, in Number 7 Baldwin, Pop Lord and Wayne and Tom and Tub Keller looked the situation in the face and found much that was encouraging.

“We ought to be mighty glad we didn’t get licked,” declared Captain Lord. “As it is, if we win Wednesday, to-day’s game is as good as a victory, for the series goes to the team winning the first two games.”

“But we shan’t have won two games,” objected Tom.

“It amounts to the same thing, Tom. I talked with Keegan and he says so. Says the same thing happened four years ago, only the second game was tied instead of the first. We played them at Holly and they won and took the series. And that’s what we’ve got to do Wednesday.”

“They won’t start Tanner again, either, I reckon,” said Tub. “And that other pitcher of theirs, Thorogood――――”

“What’s his name?” demanded Wayne Sortwell.

“Thorogood. And he is good, but he isn’t in Tanner’s class, and I’ll bet we can hit him.”

“Yes, but we’ll have to use Thacher,” said Tom. “Keep that in mind, old son.”

“What of it? Look at the records of the two. Thacher has won as many games as Jack Grinnel――――”

“He’s pitched oftener, you chump!”

“Never mind, he’s all right. I know, too, for I’ve caught them both all season. Don’t you worry about Hal. Besides, if he wobbles, Jack will be ready to take his place. If we can hit Thorogood, fellows, we’ll cop the prize.”

“If!” muttered Wayne. “There’s a whole lot in an ‘if’!”

Pop Lord laughed. “Keep your head up, Wayne! We’re going to do it! Remember we’ll be on our own grounds, with our own crowd behind us.”

The visitors had gone when Jerry returned from The Cabin that night. Tom, in pajamas, was stretched on his bed, propped by all the pillows he could find, writing a letter home. “Well,” he greeted, “did you have another successful society function at The Cabin?”

Jerry flopped tiredly into a chair, stretched his long legs in front of him and nodded. “Yes, I reckon so. They all seemed to like it. I’m powerful tired, though. Andrews brought out two extra fellers and we went short of eggs.”

“Going short of eggs does make one tired,” agreed Tom gravely.

Jerry grinned and shied his cap across the table. It landed on Tom’s chest and Tom removed it delicately with the tips of his fingers and dropped it to the floor. “Ugh,” he muttered, “it smells of fried ham!”

“What you doing?” asked Jerry wearily.

“Writing to dad. There’s something about you here, but I won’t tell you what it is. You might get a swelled head.”

“I ain’t wrote to Pap for more’n a week,” said Jerry dejectedly. After a minute or two he interrupted the busy scratching of Tom’s pen. “Tom!”

“Yeh?”

“Why you reckon Mr. Keegan didn’t let me play any to-day?”

Tom poised his fountain pen in air and frowned intently at it a moment before replying. Then: “Why, I figure it out this way, Jerry,” he said. “Keegan felt a lot like a fellow walking along the top of a fence. Just as long as he keeps going he’s all right. But if he stops to take a breath or change his feet or anything, over he goes! That game got to be mighty tiddly toward the end. Of course, if Keegan had run in some new chaps in the ninth, say, we might have broken through Cumbridge’s defense and copped a run or two, but on the other hand it might have worked the other way. To put new men in Keegan would have had to take others out and that might have broken the charm. You see, along toward the last of it about all he was hoping for was an even break, for Grinnel was getting pretty tuckered.”

Jerry nodded relievedly. “I thought maybe he reckoned I wasn’t good enough,” he said. “If that’s the way it was I don’t mind.”

“Well, that’s the way it was, boy,” answered Tom cheerfully. “By the way, you and Keegan were having a lot to say to each other going over on the train. Getting quite thick, aren’t you?”

“Reckon I might as well tell you about that,” replied Jerry after a moment’s hesitation. “You see, Joke was saying awhile back that the fellers on the team always had a sort of a――a banquet the night of the game.”

“I see. You were asking Keegan to let you have his ice cream if he didn’t want it!”

“And I thought,” continued the other, “it might――they might like to come out to The Cabin and have it there.”

“By Jove! Corking scheme, Jerry! What did Keegan say?”

“He said he’d fix it for them to do it.”

“But, gosh, there’ll be a regular mob!”

“Sixteen, he said, counting him. Cicero’s going to make two trips each way. He and I are going out an hour ahead and start things.”

“Cicero?”

“Mr. Keegan. He says he can cook. I didn’t want he should, but he said he’d like it. And, of course, with sixteen meals to get I’ll have to have help.”

“I should say so! Jerry, that’s a bully scheme, boy! And you’ll make a nice little bunch of money, too.”

“No,” answered Jerry, “I ain’t aiming to make no――any money on it, Tom. You see, I――I’m sort of giving the party.”