CHAPTER XII

THE OLD PRINCETONIAN’S ADVICE

“Oh! I hope not!” exclaimed Ralph, in dismay, as he eagerly pounced on the arm Frank had been rubbing.

“Come in with me, and I’ll see what some liniment can do for it,” remarked the other, calmly; but it was evident from his manner that he believed there might be something more serious the matter than a slight bruise.

When Frank had stripped, so that his arm could be examined, it was found that he had a nasty black and blue mark as a result of coming in contact with a rock in his impetuous dash into the river.

“The worst of it is that the muscle is affected. Every time I close my hand it causes intense pain. I couldn’t do that hundreds of times during the afternoon. Ralph, it’s positively up to you to-day!” he said, finally.

Ralph sighed deeply.

“I’m awful sorry. Not that I won’t do my level best to take your place; but only for this I believe we would have won that pennant to-day. It’s fortunate there’s another game to follow,” he said, trying to cheer up.

“We’ll get this game, all right, don’t worry about that. Before the sun goes down perhaps every fellow will be shouting the praise of the new pitcher. I’m just anxious to see those Bellport batters try to size up that spit ball of yours.”

“That’s mighty white of you to say so, Frank. And you can depend on it I’ll do my level best,” returned the other, firmly.

“No fellow can do more. And now, suppose we return once more to that affair of yours. Twice we were interrupted when I started in to tell you,” and Frank pushed his guest down into a comfortable sleepy-hollow chair.

“Oh! yes. Do you know I’d forgotten that entirely, with so much other excitement going on. You said your uncle wrote he intended paying your folks a visit soon, and would meet me. I hope he makes up his mind to tell me all he knows. It means everything to me, you see,” returned Ralph.

“I intend to make him tell. He just can’t go back to the city again without letting either father or else myself know all he does. But perhaps that may not amount to much after all, Ralph.”

“What do you mean, Frank?”

“Why, you see, perhaps this mysterious person who wants to do you some good, and yet hide his, or her, light under a bushel, may have taken measures to send the money each end of a month to my uncle, and that he doesn’t know himself who really hands it over to him,” Frank continued; for he feared that his friend might allow his hopes to soar too high, only to meet with grievous disappointment.

Ralph sighed and shook his head.

“I see what you mean, and I’ll try not to be too sanguine. But I do hope something will come up soon to relieve this awful suspense. And now I want to forget all about that, and remember only the game--and Columbia High!”

“Good boy, Ralph! You’re made of the right stuff. And never let it occur to you once that we’re going to lose this game, no matter if the score is five to one at the end of the seventh inning. Depend on the boys to do their part in slamming out the ball, while you pitch steadily away like a machine.”

Ralph soon took his departure.

The news would soon creep around Columbia, and many of the enthusiastic supporters of the school team must feel a quiver of apprehension when they learned that reliable Frank Allen could not pitch that afternoon.

His enemies would crow over the fact. Doubtless some of them, inspired by the malicious tongues of Lef and his cronies, might even whisper that Frank had been overtaken with a case of “cold feet,” and shirked his duty.

Ralph went straight to the home of Paul Bird.

The morning was still young and there would be plenty of time for the new battery to practice together, and arrange all needed signals. Ralph had not as yet played a regular game with Paul behind the plate, so that it was necessary they should come together, since so much depended on their acting in concert.

As it happened, Buster was out walking with the visitor at his house, and seeing a couple of boys hard at work in a lot, they drew near. To his surprise he discovered that it was Ralph and Paul.

“Here, what does this secret work mean? Going to spring a surprise on the enemy when they show up this p. m.?” he demanded.

“Then you haven’t heard?” asked Paul, eagerly.

“About what? Goodness gracious! don’t go telling me that anything’s happened to Frank!” ejaculated Buster.

“He won’t be able to pitch this afternoon, and Ralph has to go in. That’s why we are tossing a few here, so as to get in touch,” replied the catcher.

“What happened? Has Frank fallen sick? Did he get waylaid last night on the road home from the meeting. I’ve known pitchers to be pounded in order to keep them out of a game. Tell me, won’t you, fellows? I’m quivering like a bowl of jelly with eagerness. This _is_ a nasty mess.”

“Oh! I don’t know,” returned Paul, with a smile at Buster’s anxiety, and the look of grief on his red face, “it might be worse. Frank’s a dandy pitcher, but I guess he has little on Ralph here. If he gets that spit ball of his working right it’s going to be one, two, three for Bellport.”

“But is Frank hurt; I must know?” insisted the other.

“He got a bruise on his arm this morning while we were out walking. Nothing serious, but it interferes with his muscles when he grips a ball. He is going to be on the field, and if they knock me out of the box, why, Frank will have to go in, no matter how he feels. But I hope it won’t be so bad as that,” smiled Ralph.

“Well, suppose you let my friend, Coach Willoughby, give you a few pointers that may be useful. He’s seen a lot of pitchers in his time, and used to throw them in for the Tiger once himself,” suggested Buster.

“Oh! if he only would, I’d be ever so much obliged. You see, Mr. Willoughby, I’m only a tenderfoot at this thing, and I’ve got heaps to learn!” cried Ralph.

“No doubt of that, my lad, but if yesterday’s performance is a fair sample of your ability to puzzle the batter, I rather think you’ll have some of these heavy Bellport hitters knocking holes out of the atmosphere this afternoon. What you need fear most of all is lack of confidence. Get it in your head that you _can_ do a thing, and that you’re just _going_ to do it, and nine times out of ten you _will_ do it.”

And then the old Princeton “grad” began to put the young battery through a course of instruction that delighted their hearts. He even took a turn in the box himself and sent some sizzling hot ones down that rather staggered Paul.

“You may be a ‘has-been’ as you say, sir, but I wouldn’t like to stand up before you if you were in your prime,” remarked the catcher, as he blocked a ball that nearly took him off his feet.

“Thank you, Paul. That’s as sincere a compliment as I ever received. And now, Ralph, one more turn here in the box and I think you will have exercised that wing of yours quite enough for this morning. Be careful of it, so that you don’t take cold between now and ball time. I’m satisfied that the good people of Columbia will see a game worth the price to-day.”

Ralph felt ten per cent. better after having this talk and work with the veteran player. He knew that he could carry out his end of the arrangement if he only managed to keep up his courage and confidence.

So it was in that frame of mind he ate his lunch, and later on dressed for the expected game.

Although it was hardly yet half-past two o’clock, a steady stream of people had commenced to pour out in the direction of the big field where the Columbia sports were carried on, from baseball and running, to football in the autumn.

This level tract was at a considerable distance from the town. Being between Columbia proper and the town of Bellport down the river, it could be reached by the trolley, or vehicles. As many people did not care to ride, and the walking was good, the mile of road was covered with pedestrians, many of them boys in squads, all earnestly discussing the coming contest, and the chances of victory.

Hundreds were also pouring into the place from Clifford above. Cheated out of a show in the contest by a perverse fate, the fans of that town were just as anxious to see which of their rivals would come out ahead in the series.

Ralph was a very modest boy. He purposely took a roundabout course to the ball field, when starting forth, as he wished to avoid meeting with the crowds that thronged the trolley cars and the main road.

He knew he could easily make the grounds in good time, though his detour would cause him to pass over two miles instead of one. And just then Ralph really wanted to have a little more time by himself to brace up for the exciting event that was before him.

So, making a turn, he walked through the woods. The smell of the cool, shady spots under the trees seemed to soothe his nerves, and he was rapidly getting the firm grip on himself that he wanted, and which would be so essential to the success of his contemplated work.

He had no thought of anything happening to detain him on the way. Frank might have enemies bitter enough to attempt such mean tactics, but thus far Ralph did not know of any person who would have an object in keeping him out of the game, unless it might be that undesirable character, Watkins Gould, who staked his money on Bellport that other day, and lost.

So Ralph had covered about half of the distance, and was aiming for a spot where, emerging from the thick woods, he knew he could strike a road leading directly to the athletic field.

“What was that?” he asked himself, suddenly stopping in his quick walk, for he thought he had caught a sound not unlike the sobbing of a child.

It seemed to well up from the thicket on his right. Perhaps Ralph may have had one fleeting suspicion that there could be a trick connected with the matter; but when he heard the piteous cry a second time he plunged straight toward the spot.