CHAPTER VII

A STRANGER LOOKS ON

The first team defeated Granleigh High School in a slow game marked by many errors on both sides and then played Murray School and lost, 7 to 2. Murray had a field day with the Wyndham pitchers, knocking Jeff Ogden out of the box in the third, by which time four markers had been put on the scoreboard, and hitting Sam Erlingby so hard that he, too, was wisely retired in the seventh. Although Murray made only three runs off Sam, he yielded six hits and three passes and was only saved from a worse fate by some really fast fielding at times. Sam was a right-hander and had been offered on the supposition that, since the enemy had severely punished Ogden, a left-hander, it would find a starboard artist more difficult. But Murray showed that he could hit them all, right or left, and gathered in thirteen hits in the process. Bud Moore, who pitched the game out, didn’t escape unscathed, but he managed to keep the clouts scattered and witnessed no tallies. Wyndham looked feeble that afternoon as an offensive team, making but five hits off the opposing pitcher, two of which were credited to Captain Leland. Of Wyndham’s brace of runs, one was put across in the second inning as a result of Wink Coles’ single, an error by shortstop and Hurry Leland’s two bagger into right. The other tally didn’t materialize until the ninth, when the home team attempted a rally and, after Raiford had been thrown out at first, got Talbott and Van Dyke on second and first. Cobham, the Blue’s catcher, bunted along the first base line and made the second out, advancing the runners, however. Pierce, batting for Bud Moore, drove a liner at second baseman, who fumbled long enough for Talbott to score. Van Dyke, though, was beaten by a few inches in his race for the plate, and the rally flivvered.

It was on the Monday following the Murray game that the second took the first into camp in a six-inning contest by a score of 6 to 5. The first’s line-up was rather patched and was subjected to frequent alterations, but still it was the first team just the same and the second derived much satisfaction from that victory. Frost pitched for the scrub and did a good job, getting into many bad holes only to pull himself out by cool-headedness and canny judgment. Every one on Mr. Wadleigh’s roster got into action at one time or another, and Clif made his first hit against an opposing team in the eighth when he smashed a red-hot liner past Tyson, at third. Tom was again tried at the last corner and made two assists, but his only trip to the plate resulted in a fly-out to shortstop. Needless to say, he forgot all that Tusks had tried to teach him as soon as the first ball had been pitched to him and his batting form reverted to his famous imitation of Clouter Hearn.

Reminded of this by his fellow members of the Triumvirate that evening, Tom was at first impatient and then dejected. “It’s no use,” he declared finally in extenuation. “I mean well, but I just can’t get the hang of it.”

“But you don’t remember,” said Clif. “You start all right, and then you forget and back away and crouch. You don’t keep your mind on the job, Tom.”

“Well, why won’t he let me hit the way I want to? Heck, if I ever coach a baseball team――”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” interrupted Clif. “Tusks may be all wrong, but he’s the boss and it’s up to you to do what he tells you to do.”

“But I forget!”

“You mustn’t forget,” Loring assured him earnestly. “When you forget it’s because you’re not doing as you agreed to do. You’re not putting your mind to work. Now what were you thinking about when you were at bat this afternoon?”

“Thinking about?” Tom ran his fingers through his hair in puzzlement. “Why, part of the time I was wondering what Moore was going to shoot at me, and part of the time I was wondering if I could hit it, and part of――”

“There! That’s just it! You had the wrong thoughts all the while. You should have been concentrating on the thought: I am going to hit it! You shouldn’t have wondered about anything. Wonder means doubt, and you don’t doubt, you _know_!”

“Oh, I do, do I? Is that so? Well, let me tell you I didn’t know! And you wouldn’t have known, either. That guy’s got a mean hook, and if you don’t know when it’s coming you’re a gone coon! Besides that, suppose I’d done all that concentrating you talk about; all that ‘I-know-I’m-going-to-hit-it’ stuff; how would that have helped me to stand up-close to the plate and put my feet together and all the rest of it? Huh?”

Tom was a dull student, and frequently very trying to Loring and Clif. Much valuable time was spent in pounding the philosophy of the “Work and Will” idea into his marble dome. To-night, as on several preceding occasions, Tom agreed to mend his ways and promised to “trot out the old Will Power.” So far no appreciable results had accrued to the Triumvirate from its campaign of “Work and Will,” but, as Loring pointed out, a week was too short a time to prove anything. Besides, it was probable that none of them was yet concentrating and willing as effectively as he might with more practice. It doubtless took some time to warm up a fellow’s will power and get it “hitting on all six.”

Loring attended practice nearly every day. With the excellent Wattles as chauffeur, the chair was wheeled across to the second team diamond and installed in a sunny corner near the end of the stand and about opposite first base. It was a location from which Loring could watch the plate and the infield equally well, and its one disadvantage was due to the frequency with which foul balls invaded it. Loring himself was not at all troubled by that disadvantage, but Wattles was on tenterhooks constantly. Wattles was almost certain that he could catch a baseball if it came within reach, and there were moments when he would have welcomed a chance to prove his ability. But there were many more moments when he devoutly prayed that no such opportunity would be afforded him. Wattles was a dignified person, and the fear that he might, in spite of what was almost a conviction to the contrary, fail to make the catch and thus lose his dignity and become a laughing stock filled him with dread. Every time a ball glanced from a bat Wattles shot a hand to the brim of his black derby, stiffened with suspense and prepared to sell his life dearly.

During practice Loring had many visitors. He was well liked and thoroughly respected. There was, however, in spite of his friendly countenance, something about him that deterred merely casual acquaintances from claiming the privileges of friendship. Mr. Wadleigh always walked over and talked a moment, and so did several of the others from the bench. Frequently one or more friends would occupy the bench at his elbow and keep him company during part of the practice. Later, when he and Wattles followed the second team to the first team diamond, Coach Connover approached for a few words, or Hurry Leland or Pat Tyson paused a moment coming off the field. To-day, the Thursday after the Murray game, a warm, sparkling mid-April afternoon, a stranger to Loring seated himself a few feet away on the first row of the stand. He was a fairly tall, bonily-thin man attired in a loose suit of gray tweed that had undoubtedly seen service and seemed somehow to have gained honor and distinction in the process. Loring’s glance of uninterested inquiry became a somewhat prolonged study. The stranger’s face, like his body, was thin, with high cheek bones and a rather more than adequate nose. The skin was sallow, pronouncedly so, yet did not suggest unhealthiness. Nor did the many tiny wrinkles about the eyes and around the corners of the mouth suggest age. The stranger was, Loring decided, no more than thirty-six, or, well, thirty-eight at the most. It was difficult to guess with certainty the age of those wiry, thin men. This particular specimen looked as if he had seen a good deal with those bright, brown, half-veiled eyes, and Loring could imagine him looking quite as much at home on the back of a swaying camel or huddled in an Arctic shelter as he did here, leaning forward, slowly revolving a cane between his knees with thin, brown hands and gravely surveying the efforts of Jack Cooper to get a hit. The stranger interested Loring from the first glance, and he found himself hoping that the other would presently offer an excuse for conversation. But that hope seemed due to frustration, for the minutes passed and the sallow man watched the scene in silence. More than once, after that first look, Loring stole glances at his neighbor, something which, since the neighbor was looking away from him, was possible without detection. After one such glance Loring turned back puzzled by the absurd thought that, despite utter dissimilarity, there was――was――well, there was something about the stranger that reminded Loring of Wattles!

Of course it was absurd, for when he stole a look at Wattles there was no single feature of the latter which in the slightest manner suggested any feature about the stranger on the stand; and Loring’s fancy was dissipated. But three minutes later, the stranger proving more of an attraction for him than batting practice at the net, and, Loring having stolen another surreptitious glance out of the corners of his eyes, the fancy returned with full force. Yes, sir, while you couldn’t put your finger on the point of resemblance――although resemblance was too strong a word for it――you just couldn’t look at the stranger without recalling Wattles! It was mighty funny!

Presently the second was called across to the other field, and Wattles folded up the seat which he had occupied, hung it on the handle-bar of the chair and followed sedately with his charge. The stranger arose, paused to fill a pipe with tobacco and made his way from the stand in the wake of the wheel chair. Once out of his hearing, Loring spoke eagerly to Wattles.

“Did you notice the man sitting near us, Wattles?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Wattles.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No, Mr. Loring, I can’t say that I do.”

“You can’t say? Well, geewhillikins, Wattles, you either know him or you don’t know him! Which is it?”

Wattles cleared his throat deprecatively. “Beg pardon, sir. What I meant to convey was that I do not know the gentleman’s identity but that it’s barely possible I’ve seen him before, sir.”

“You have? Where?”

“That’s just it, Mr. Loring. I can’t seem to recall the occasion.”

“You’ve probably seen him around here then.”

“Quite likely, sir,” agreed Wattles obligingly.

“Well, but――but do you think you did see him here? Or was it somewheres else?”

“I fancy it might have been somewheres else, sir.”

“Wattles, you certainly are the prize package!”

“Thank you, sir.”

The subject of this discourse chose a seat high in the third base stand, and Loring’s opportunities for further observation were few since Loring and Wattles were well beyond first base and across the diamond. In the course of the five innings that ensued――the game went only to five since the first had a batting fest in the fourth and delayed matters――Loring forgot the interesting stranger. Recalling him again during supper, he decided to ask information of Tom and Clif, but other matters sidetracked his curiosity.

On Friday the stranger again made his way along the length of the stand and again established himself close to where Loring’s chair was placed on the grass. Again, save for a gravely smiling glance of recognition on the stranger’s part, nothing passed between them. The man seemed to like to watch the practice, and yet Loring would have sworn that he was fairly ignorant of baseball; little puzzled frowns, momentary expressions of blankness convinced him of that. Once Loring caught Wattles observing their neighbor intently, and later he asked: “Well, solved the mystery, Wattles?”

Wattles shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Still think you’ve seen him before, though?”

Wattles hesitated. Then he answered evasively: “Well, Mr. Loring, it’s hard to say. One encounters so many persons, sir. And sometimes a likeness deceives one, sir. Oh, very frequently.”

“What I like especially in you, Wattles,” said Loring dryly, “is your frankness of speech, your――your communicativeness, I might say. One has only to suggest a subject to you, and you fairly burst into artless prattle. Nothing――er――secretive about you, eh, Wattles?”

Wattles merely coughed.

On Saturday rain descended in torrents from eight in the morning until well after eleven, and the first team’s trip to Minster to play the Minster High School team was abandoned. Although the rain ceased before noon the field was too wet for practice, and so first and second team players found themselves with an unexpected holiday confronting them. A few scrub nines did slip and paddle around on the diamonds that afternoon, but the regulars sought other forms of recreation. There was a Douglas Fairbanks picture at the movie theater, and, after Tom had excitedly broached the scheme, he and Clif and Loring――without Wattles in attendance――went. Tom pushed the wheel chair, and, fearing to be late, whizzed Loring along at a reckless clip, with Clif reminding him of the existence of such things as speed laws. Loring might well have experienced nervousness during that journey had it not been that the sidewalks for most of the way were practically deserted. In fact, the only person encountered between the entrance of East Hall and what Tom called “the heart of the metropolis” was Loring’s sallow and fascinating stranger. They passed him near the Inn, strolling imperturbably along with pipe in mouth, swinging his crook-handled cane. That tweed suit looked baggier about the knees than ever, but it still challenged criticism. As he passed he darted a twinkle of recognition at Loring before his gaze moved on to Tom, but made no other sign. For an instant Loring thought he was going to speak or at least nod, and he was disappointed when he didn’t. He turned eagerly to Clif for information, and Clif, who had recognized the passer-by, supplied what he could.

“That’s Mr. Cooper,” said Clif. “Jack Cooper’s father. You know Jack.”

Loring found the information disappointing, and his interest in the stranger waned. One simply couldn’t associate romance with the second nine’s catcher, round-faced, freckled and eminently commonplace. After a moment he asked: “Is he living here?”

“Must be,” was the answer. “I saw him dining at the Inn more than a week ago.”

“Oh,” said Tom, “is that the man your father pointed out? I remember him. But, listen, why doesn’t Jack look after him? I’ve seen him mooning around alone two or three times. He passed me on the drive the other day, and blamed if he didn’t look like he was downright lonesome!”

Further pursuit of the subject was prevented by their arrival at the theater, but that evening, recalling it, Loring announced to Wattles: “Well, another mystery is solved, Wattles. That man we were wondering about turns out to be the father of one of the fellows, the heavy chap who plays catcher for the second team, Jack Cooper.”

Wattles paused in the act of smoothing Loring’s light coat preparatory to putting it away and turned an expressionless countenance to the speaker. “He might be, sir,” he said after a space.

“Might be! Hang it, Wattles, I’m telling you he is.”

“Very good, sir.”

Monday turned out to be no sort of day on which to watch practice inactively, and Loring remained indoors save for a brief journey to the post office to mail some letters. By Tuesday noon, however, the chill east wind of the previous day had departed, and the wheel chair was rolled again to the second team field, being overtaken and passed on the way by a violently careening Ford from the seat of which Mr. Wadleigh waved a greeting. Practice was well along when Loring, from his accustomed place behind first base, saw Mr. Cooper enter the stand and, although row after row of empty benches intervened, make his way to a seat some two yards distant from the chair. Loring experienced a return of the former interest, despite the fact that the stranger was no longer a mystery, and quite brazenly smiled a greeting. Mr. Cooper smiled back and nodded. No, it was more than a nod, it was a very courteous bow. But the gentleman didn’t speak, and Loring, regretting his overture, turned his gaze hastily away. Some minutes passed during which the rap of bat against ball and the cries of the players constituted the only sound. Then, at last, a pleasant voice came from beyond the railing.