Read Ebook: Finkler's Field: A Story of School and Baseball by Barbour Ralph Henry Heath Howard Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 936 lines and 43411 words, and 19 pages

"But when Old Fink woke up he had a few things to say, didn't he?" laughed Chesty.

"And the way he lashed out with his old busted whip was a caution! He got Tyler around the legs all right; he showed me the welts next day."

"Just the same," said Joe Williams, "he didn't have any right to say we burned his haycock last September."

"No, and he will think we did it as long as he lives. Nothing Benny could say made any difference with him."

"Was it really burned?" asked Jack Borden.

"Oh, I guess it was burned all right," answered Sam, "but none of us fellows knew anything about it. It was tramps, probably. We might have a little fun with the old codger, and swipe a few of his apples, but we don't do things like that, you know."

"It's too bad he thinks that, though," mused Jack Borden. "It seems to me that if we want to get the field we'd ought to be decent to him."

"Huh! It's too late for that now," responded Drake gloomily. "He thinks we're a pack of thieves and pirates."

"He wouldn't believe it," Chesty laughed. "You might drop around and see him some day, Borden, and tell him that. Just mention my name and it will be all right."

"And if you get a chance at that fool dog," said Williams, "just give him a kick for me, will you?"

"And another for me," added Drake.

Jack was silent for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the meadow over his shoulder. Finally:

"Finkler," corrected Sam.

"Finkler might be brought around if we set out to do it." Jack smiled half apologetically. "Of course, I don't know very much about it, fellows, but it looks to me like a situation demanding diplomacy."

"Sort of fancy yourself as a diplomat, Kansas?" asked a boy on the wall. Jack shook his head.

"No, I don't. But if you fellows really need that field as badly as you say you do you're going the wrong way about it. I know that much."

"Out in Kansas," interrupted Jack calmly, "we don't punch a fellow's head when we want him to do us a favor."

No one found anything to say to this, although Williams growled something to his neighbor regarding "fresh Western kids." And before the subject could be proceeded with the Coach called the players in and turned toward the bench.

"All ready now," he said. "We'll try a few innings. Second Team in the field. Prince and Drake, battery. Wales on third, Borden in left field. Get out there and throw around, boys!"

"KANSAS"

It wasn't snobbishness that caused Maple Ridge to at first look askance at Jack. It was rather a spirit of clannishness, due to the fact the school was essentially New England, and that in almost every case when a new student entered the other fellows either knew him personally or knew who he was. Very likely he was fresh from one of the four or five lower schools that fed Maple Ridge; quite possibly he was the second or third or even fourth of his name to enter. Jack was an outsider whom nobody had ever heard of, who had attended no school that anybody knew of and who, as though to emphasize his oddity, came not only from a place outside New England but from the West, a region treated of in geographies and occasionally briefly visited by adventurous youths, but a region quite outside the philosophy of Maple Ridge! And so at first Jack was accorded an uneasy curiosity not unlike that which might have been displayed toward an Indian or a cowboy.

Eventually, however, as the Kansan neither scalped Doctor Benedict, indulged in war-whoops or behaved vastly different from themselves, the others got over their alarm and accepted the newcomer if not unreservedly at least with toleration and a display of respect. For a time the name of Kansas had been applied to him, not at all in a sense of ridicule, however, but that appellation was gradually being dropped. In a manner Jack was, I fear, something of a disappointment to his schoolmates. They were quite prepared to be shocked and scandalized by the Westerner, and when no shocks were forthcoming they doubtless lost much of their faith in the stories they had read about the Wild West.

Sam Phillips held his new and undesired room-mate at arms' length for quite a week. Sam was the third of his line who had attended Maple Ridge and he was thoroughly imbued with the traditions of the school. That the West should, as he slangily put it, "butt in" there filled him with alarm and disgust. But Jack, who had far more tact than is usually possessed by a boy of his years, refused to show that he was aware of the school's doubts and aloofness, went about his work and play in a quiet, self-possessed manner and made no overtures to any one, even Sam. He was never fresh, didn't talk about the West or Kansas unless questioned, and accepted the customs and manners of the school without the lifting of an eyelash. In short, he showed himself to be a thoroughly likeable chap, good-looking, wide-awake, self-respecting, and not without a certain half-serious sense of humor that made a big hit with Sam. At the end of the week Sam capitulated and, being a warm-hearted, good-natured youth, his capitulation was thorough. At the end of a fortnight the two were fast friends. It was that fact that helped Jack with the rest of the school. Sam vouched for him and that went a long way, for Sam was more or less of a school idol. You can't pitch your school nine to victory over its rival without being placed on a pedestal, you see. If Sam liked Kansas and said so, why, Kansas must be a pretty good sort, after all. Doubtless the wild and woolly West wasn't so wild and woolly as it was painted in the story books. Secretly Jack was at first a trifle angry and later not a little amused over the attitude of the school toward him. But at no time did he lose either his temper or his sense of humor; a fact which proves him at the outset an extremely level-headed, sensible chap!

After practice Jack and Sam returned together to the gymnasium, pausing a moment on the terrace to watch a game of tennis that was in progress.

"How did you get on?" asked Sam as they continued up the path.

"All right, I think," replied Jack. "I only had two chances in the field and got them both."

"That's good, but let me tell you something, Jack. When you threw to the plate on that short fly that time, you sent the ball to the right. Never do that, my boy. Always put it to the left of the plate; that is, your left. It's better to put it yards too far to the left than three feet too far the other way. You've got to consider the catcher, you see. It's a heap easier for him to step to his right for a throw-in than to his left. Get that?"

"Yes. But the trouble is, Sam, that when you're in a hurry and you've got a long throw you can't always put the ball just where you want it."

"No, but the oftener you do the better chance you stand of making the team. That's the point, Jack. Every fielder slips up sometimes, but it's the fellow that slips up oftenest that sits on the bench when the real games come along. When you throw in to the plate--which isn't very often, of course, since you'll usually throw to an infielder--just glue your eye to the catcher's left and put your mind on getting the ball there. And, by the way, never take your eye away from where the ball's going until it's left your hand. Some fellows shift their eyes while they're throwing, and those chaps are never sure. We had a fellow on the team last year named Crowder. Shay was trying him at third. He was a hustling chap, all right, and a good batter; could stop almost any ball within ten feet of his position, too; and about four times out of five he threw to first as straight as a die; used to do some of the prettiest throwing I ever saw. But when the fifth time came along, why, the ball would go ten feet to one side or the other or six feet over first baseman's head; and by the time the ball was found the runner would be sitting on third! Shay couldn't make out what the trouble was at first, but after awhile he found out. It seemed that Crowder would get the ball, turn and find first and then throw like the mischief, and always as his arm shot out he'd turn his head away. Ever play golf, Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "No, but I've seen it played."

"Well, it's the same idea. You swing your club back and you keep your eye right on the back of the ball--or just behind it--until you hit it; and then you keep on looking at it until you've finished your stroke; and then you keep on looking at it until it's reached the ground somewhere. You're thinking two things. First, you're thinking that you're going to bring the head of your club square against the ball, and you do it. Then you're thinking that that ball is going to travel in a certain direction and land in a certain part of the course, and it does. That's where mind gets in its work, Jack. But just try taking your eyes off that ball while you're making the stroke. Result is you hit behind it, or you top it, or maybe you just plumb miss it altogether. Same way with throwing a baseball. Look where you want the ball to land and then put your mind on it. I'd make a peach of a pitcher if, every time I sent a ball away, I looked over my shoulder, eh?"

"I see what you mean, of course," replied Jack as they entered the gymnasium. "I hadn't just thought of that before, though. I'm much obliged."

"That's all right," responded Sam as they ran down the stairs to the locker room. "You've got the making of a good player, I think, Jack, and I want to see you get a place on the team. You bat mighty well for a chap who hasn't played much, and if you can do a little better at that and play a good, steady, reliable game in the outfield, why, I don't see why Shay shouldn't take you on. Anyhow, you can be pretty sure of a place on the second team, for you can bat all around Cook. Just you buckle down for the next two weeks and work hard, you wild Westerner, and you'll make good. Here, you, Ted Warner, move along and make room for two gentlemen on that bench!"

"Hello, Sammy. How's the Arm?"

"Fine and dandy," replied Sam. "You know Mr. Borden, don't you, Ted?" Ted shook hands with Jack.

"We've never been properly introduced yet," he answered smilingly, "but we've passed the time on the field, I think. How are you getting on, Borden?"

"He's doing finely," replied Sam, saving Jack the trouble of answering. "We're going to have him on the first in a week or so."

"I hope so, I'm sure," said Ted politely. "I say, Sammy, come over to the room tonight, will you? We want to fix up a batting-list for Saturday's game with the Towners. Dolph told me to tell you. Bring Borden along if he cares to come."

Ted slipped out of the last of his togs and, wrapping a bath towel about him, nodded, smiled and turned toward the showers.

"That's fine," said Sam with satisfaction. "I'm glad he asked you over."

"Why?"

"Because he and Dolph Jones room together, you see, and Dolph's captain, as you know. It doesn't do a fellow any harm to know the captain if he wants to make the team." Sam grunted as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Of course," he went on as his head reappeared to sight, "I don't mean there's any favoritism here; only that, all other things being equal, you know, being a friend of Dolph's might help a little. Even a baseball captain's human. See you later, Jack."

He picked up his own towel, draped it about him and strode across the locker room as resolutely as though baseball practice and not a hot and cold shower bath awaited him.

SAM IS MISSING

Number 4, North Dormitory, was a revelation to Jack. The room he shared with Sam Phillips in South was comfortable enough and not at all badly furnished, but Sam "didn't go in much for fancy gimcracks," to use his own expression. The room occupied by Ted Warner and his chum Dolph Jones was carpeted with a dark red Oriental rug, and all the furniture, even the wide study desk in the middle, was of black oak. Most of the chairs held leather cushions that you sank into as softly as into a feather bed. The drop-light was covered by a big opal glass shade that threw the light downward and left the upper part of the room in a pleasant twilight, through which the dozens of pictures and schoolboy trophies on the walls peered dimly and interestingly to the callers.

Jack was properly introduced to Dolph Jones--a ceremony he considered rather unnecessary, since he and Dolph in the r?les of candidate and captain had already spoken to each other on the baseball diamond more than once--and then sat comfortable and silent in one of the big leather cushioned chairs while Dolph and Ted and Sam drew up around the light and discussed the matter of the batting order for Saturday's game. Both Dolph and Ted were seniors, and, save in the matter of complexion, looked to Jack very much alike. Later, however, he realized that the resemblance was due more to the fact that they were each of the same type than to any real likeness of feature. Dolph was seventeen and Ted Warner eighteen, but there was scarcely a fraction of an inch difference in heights, and each was tall, well-built and lean, with the leanness of the boy who keeps himself in perfect physical condition. Dolph was dark of hair and eyes, while Ted was decidedly light, his hair being pale brown and his eyes something between blue and gray. On the nine Dolph, who was captain, caught, and Ted played first base.

"Here's the way; I had it fixed up," Dolph was saying, referring as he spoke to a paper in his hand. "Truesdale, Jones, Grady, Warner, Cook, Smythe, Cassart, Watkins and Phillips. What do you think?"

"I'd have Harry Smythe bat first," said Sam. "He's a heap better on the bases than Truesdale."

"He's faster," said Ted, "but he takes risks at the wrong times. Truesdale can draw a pass three times out of five, too. Then, with Dolph up next he's pretty sure of second on a sacrifice."

"All right," agreed Sam. "I see, though, you've got Cook down for left field. Why don't you give Jack here a chance? He's every bit as good as Cook."

Dolph glanced at Jack and hesitated. Ted smiled, and then went to the rescue.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet