CHAPTER IX

“THE OLD WILL POWER”

They reached school well before Loring. He didn’t return until nearly four, revealing that even a “Rolled Rice” can have tire troubles. After greetings and a few questions had been exchanged, Loring asked: “Look here, fellows, have you heard about Evans and Cox?”

Clif shook his head, while Tom said: “Sounds like a good ticket. I’ll vote for ’em. Who are they?”

Loring, though, was too much in earnest to appreciate persiflage. “Don’t you read the papers?” he demanded. “The _Times_ had it yesterday morning.”

“Do you mean Stu Evans?” asked Clif.

“Yes! He and Cox; Harold Cox, isn’t it? They got banged up over on Long Island Saturday afternoon. They were in Cox’s car, and a truck shoved them out of the road, and they went down into a ditch. Evans broke a couple of ribs, the paper said, and Cox got cut up sort of badly and hurt an arm!”

“Gosh!” said Tom. “Cox is the fellow with the long neck and whitish hair, isn’t he? Say, that’s too bad.”

“Have they come back?” asked Clif.

“Here? No, indeed. They were taken to a hospital and then to Cox’s home. They won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least, I fancy.”

“Too bad,” said Tom again, but he said it more slowly, and an expression of uneasiness came into his face.

“That surely ought to put you on second,” said Clif.

Tom nodded, but he looked troubled. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “I don’t like it! I wasn’t keen about that will power business when we started it, and after this I’m off it for life!”

“But, Great Scott――” began Clif.

“If it’s going to get fellows into trouble I’m through with it,” declared Tom emphatically.

“But you don’t mean that you think _we_ had anything to do with it!” gasped Loring.

“Sure, I do! Why not? Weren’t we all putting our minds on getting on the team? You and Clif and me? Well, look what happens! Stu Evans gets laid up so he can’t play! If that isn’t up to us and――and our ‘Work and Will’ stuff, I’ll eat my hat! And that guy Cox was an outfielder, wasn’t he? Huh?”

“I don’t know what he was,” replied Clif, frowning. “He never played much, I guess. He was generally on the bench. Anyway, you can’t say his accident helps me any! And, as for the other――”

“Sure, it helps you! You’ve got one less fellow to fight, haven’t you? How do you know Tusks didn’t have Cox in mind for one of the outfield jobs? No, sir, I’m through. There are some things――forces, or whatever you want to call them――that we don’t understand, and it’s a mighty safe thing to let them alone!”

“But, Tom, for the love of limes,” exclaimed Loring, “think a minute! We didn’t put our minds on Evans and Cox. We were willing Mr. Wadleigh to――”

“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Tom stoutly. “The thing got away from us, I suppose. It didn’t stop at Tusks. It went on and slammed those two fellows into a ditch. Why, heck, there’s no telling what it might do next! First thing we knew there might be an influx, or whatever you call it, of measles or――or typhoid or something and the whole blamed batting-list would be nix!”

By degrees they argued him away from his conviction, but it required time and eloquence, and even after they had succeeded it was evident that Tom retained mental reservations and was only partly reconciled with the psychology program. A few days later it was learned that neither of the absent players had been seriously hurt, but the fact remained that they were both lost to the second team for several weeks. On Tuesday Tusks tried both Roe and Tom at second, and each showed so poorly, Roe at fielding and Tom at batting, that there was little to choose between them. When the second met the first Roe scored two errors, one a fumble of an easy liner and the other a wild throw over Scott’s head. For his part, Tom accepted five chances well but was a miserable failure on his two trips to the plate.

The first team had met with two reverses during the recess, having been beaten by Hoskins and Goodwin. The two remaining contests had been won from Grayhold and Highland. So far, out of seven games, Wyndham had won four and lost three. Coach Connover, none too well satisfied, tried several new combinations in his infield during the week following vacation and, on Thursday, drafted Frost from the second to strengthen his pitching staff. The loss of Frosty left Mr. Wadleigh in something of a hole, for he had left only Purdy and a third-rate twirler named Ferry. Ferry usually played left field and confined his pitching to serving them up to the net in practice. Since the second had three games of her own scheduled for later on, Tusks began to look about for new talent, while the members of his team set up a loud howl of protest. None of them begrudged Frosty his good fortune, but they did wish he might have been left to the second. A boy named Fawkes, who had been pitching on one of the scrub nines, was given a try-out, but he showed small promise and was soon released. After that Ferry was taken in hand and groomed as an alternate for Billy Purdy. And Ferry, to the surprise of all and sundry, responded remarkably to the call to service. Relieved of the drudgery of pitching to the net every day, he remembered two or three tricky curves with which he had started out three years before to become a great twirler, brushed the cobwebs off them and, with Purdy standing by with advice, managed to make something of them. Ferry had no speed, but he had his curves and a fair degree of control, and on the first occasion of meeting with the big team puzzled the rival batsmen through three innings. The first got just four hits in those chapters. In the fourth, though, Van Dyke met one of Ferry’s curves and slammed it for three bases, and after that Ferry went from bad to worse and gave way to Purdy in the fifth.

That afternoon Clif played a whole game through at center field. He made one difficult catch, misjudged another rather badly and, toward the end of the one-sided contest, heaved a fine throw from short center to Jack Cooper in time to catch a runner at the plate and retire the side. At bat Clif had no luck that day, knocking a short fly to third baseman his first time up, striking out the next time and hitting into a double the next. He would have come to bat again in the eighth, but there were two away and Connell was on second and Tusks sent Pringle in to pinch-hit. Clif somehow couldn’t feel very sorry when Pringle hit at the first delivery and dropped a fly into the hands of Greene in center field.

By that time――the spring term was eight days old――Tom was established on second, for the present at least. Neither he nor the other members of the Triumvirate really expected him to retain his position after Evans’ return, although they pretended to, for Stu not only fielded well but had a mighty good batting record besides. Tom’s batting was still negligible; and that is speaking charitably. Once on base――and he did have a lucky faculty for getting to first by one means or another other than by hitting the ball safely――he was a fast runner and a heady one, and the number of runs credited to him after a fortnight’s steady playing was quite out of proportion to his total of hits. On second base Tom played a snappy game, covering a good deal of ground and throwing well. He even enveloped himself in brief glory on two occasions, once by running well into right field for a Texas Leaguer that looked impossible and once by a sliding stop of a hard liner which he tossed over his head to Connell, covering the bag, and which Connell sped to first for a double play. He made errors frequently, but, as Loring pointed out, it was because he took so many chances.

Horner Academy was beaten, 4 to 2, in a well-played game, Ogden going the whole length in the box, and on the following Saturday Tollington High School was defeated in a contest requiring the services of Ogden, Frost and Erlingby. Frosty made his first appearance with the big team that afternoon and lasted only one and two-thirds innings, after going to the relief of Ogden in the fifth. Frosty seemed to have nothing on the ball, and he was hit to all corners of the field for two runs. Only some smart fielding and the fact that several of the batters hit flies to the outfield saved him from a worse fate. Sam Erlingby finished out and held the rampaging visitors to five more hits and two more runs. As Wyndham had started by stowing five runs away in her locker and had accumulated an average of one more for every succeeding inning, she escaped disaster, winning by 13 to 10.

If Tom’s position on the second nine was precarious, Clif’s was much more so. In fact, Clif could hardly be said to have a position. Ferry’s withdrawal from left field to pitcher’s box had resulted in the transference of Marler from center to left and the trying of various players in the middle garden. Burke, Deeker and Clif were experimented with. Deeker was eliminated in short order, leaving Burke and Clif to fight it out. There didn’t seem much choice. Burke was as good a fielder as Clif; had played on the second last season and in consequence was ahead in experience; was equally as certain a hitter. Usually Coach Wadleigh started one and finished with the other. Infrequently one of the rivals played a practice game through. Clif, in spite of psychology, had a sneaking suspicion that Burke would eventually land the position. Of course when the old will power was working just right he could vision himself holding down the job unchallenged, but the old will power had a mean habit of developing engine trouble at times!

Shortly after the beginning of the new term Clif and Tom arrived at Loring’s room one evening after supper to find another visitor ahead of them. The host, rather proudly as it seemed, introduced them to Mr. Cooper. Mr. Cooper appeared a trifle embarrassed as he shook hands, and for the succeeding ten or fifteen minutes had very little to say. Clif, recalling his father’s indorsement of Mr. Cooper, was very friendly. Tom, however, perhaps because he had tired before this of Loring’s frequent allusions to the gentleman, was less gracious. Without being in the least impolite, he nevertheless managed to suggest that he resented the presence of the outsider. Doubtless Mr. Cooper caught the suggestion, for more than once Clif found him observing Tom with studious intentness. Conversation limped for awhile. Even Tom was too courteous to introduce or pursue a subject which the stranger could not participate in or at least comprehend. Finally it was a chance word of Loring’s that removed the restraint. Searching for a fresh line of conversation, Loring asked: “How did psychology work to-day, Clif?” Clif shook his head. That afternoon Burke had had rather the better of it. Then he turned to Mr. Cooper to ask: “I wonder if you believe in that stuff, sir?”

“Psychology?” said the man inquiringly.

Clif explained. “Yes, sir. Loring thinks you can get what you want by setting your mind on it and willing it to――to happen. You know, sort of out-thinking the other chap; making your will stronger than his and――that sort of thing.”

“You ask if I believe in it? Why, yes, I do. After all, Mr. Bingham, there’s nothing new in it, you know. History’s full of it.”

“Well,” pursued Clif, “now here’s a case, sir. Suppose you’ve got one person set on doing a certain thing a certain way and you’ve got three other fel――persons set on having him do it another way. Do you think that the three can make the first fellow do it their way by――by mental suggestion, or whatever you call it? I guess that’s sort of mixed-up, the way I put it, but maybe you understand what I’m getting at.”

“Yes, I understand, but I can’t say yes or no to it. You see, it might depend on several things. First of all, I dare say, on whether what the three wanted was something very much opposed to the one man’s――er――inclinations, something that in the natural order of events he wouldn’t consider doing. For instance, there are three of you chaps. I might get out of this chair with the intention of walking to the door and going back to the Inn. If you three willed that instead of walking to the door I should crawl on my hands and knees you’d doubtless lose out for the simple reason that I am not accustomed to taking my departure in that fashion and would consider it――er――both uncomfortable and lacking in dignity. In that case a contest of wills would result in a victory for the minority.”

“Yes, I see that,” said Clif. “But suppose we just willed you to――let me see――to drop your hat and pick it up on the way to the door?”

“The odds would be shorter,” replied Mr. Cooper, smiling. “I frequently do drop my hat, or my stick, or my gloves. In that case the result would probably depend on how strong your wills were. You might win if only because I, not knowing what was up, wouldn’t actively oppose you. Care to try it?”

“Heck,” said Tom, “you’d _know_, and of course we couldn’t do it!”

“Yet I might,” responded the other soberly. “I’ve seen several cases where mental suggestion, for want of a better name, has seemingly done strange things. I’ll tell you of one, if you like.”

“Yes, sir, please!” said Clif and Loring in chorus. Tom remained silent, but he looked as interested as the others. Perhaps Mr. Cooper had determined to overcome the slight antagonism still entertained by Tom, for all along he had seemed to address himself to Tom rather than to the others, and he continued to as he went on.

“This happened several years ago at a place called Canghall in the north of Scotland. A lot of us were stationed there after the War. We had a golf course of sorts near the garrison and played a good deal. Our best man was a chap named Brosser, a Major. He could wallop any of us, which wasn’t so bad, but he got himself eternally hated by always reminding us of it. As a soldier he was a fine fellow, but as a sportsman he was a rank outsider. If you took him on he not only beat you hard but he kept bragging about it, before, during and after. I guess he was the most thoroughly detested player who ever sank a putt. It got so, finally, that no one would play with the swanker, and he had to offer all sorts of handicaps and odds to get a game. Things went on like that for a year or more. Then a few of us saw that something had to be done. One of the mess knew a young chap named Bedford who was then on leave of absence down in Kent. This Bedford, a subaltern, was a good golfer, but just how good we didn’t know. Just the same, we decided to have a try with him. Well, we wrote to him and told him the lay and called on him in the name of all that was holy to come up for a week and slay the dragon.

“He came, and I liked his looks from the first. Rather a wispy lad, he was; long-limbed and awkward until you put a club in his hands. Very modest, too, and not at all sure he could turn the trick for us, but willing to try. It didn’t take more than five minutes to arrange the match. The Major was tickled to death and went around telling what he would do to the youngster. Bedford played the course two or three times and then the match was on. The whole garrison turned out to see it. I don’t suppose, unless it was his caddie, the Major had a ‘rooter’ in the crowd. But that didn’t bother him a bit. I fancy he preferred things that way. Bedford didn’t get his stride until they’d played four holes, and by that time the Major had him two down. Bedford wasn’t in the Major’s class with the driver, but he was a wizard with an iron, and not far behind the other on his putts. He got into his swing after a while and at the end of nine holes he was even up. From there on it was a ding-dong battle. They were both playing wonderfully good golf. If the Major won one hole Bedford won the next, and so it went to the fifteenth. Bedford won that. They halved the sixteenth. The seventeenth was long but not hard if you kept in the fairway. Your first shot laid you down in the narrows, as we called it. There was a point of forest coming in on your right and some ugly ground on the left, rocks and gorse. The Major had sailed through there a hundred times without trouble, and we all knew it. But we hoped. Afterwards, talking it over, we found that every last one of us had prayed that the Major would slice into the woods. You see, the rough on the other side wouldn’t have done so well. With luck you could wangle out of there and be not much the worse for it. We’d all of us seen the Major get in there with a bad lie and still reach the green in par. So we all put our minds on the woods, and, since there wasn’t a sound when the Major laid his brassie behind his ball, I fancy there was a deal of mental suggestion going on. Bedford had shot clean and sweet over the rise, and we knew he was all right. The Major looked a bit grim as he prepared to swing, but he didn’t show any nerves. And then he hit.”

“Well――well――” stammered Clif eagerly when the narrator stopped, “what happened, sir?”

“Why,” answered Mr. Cooper, smiling, “what could happen? There was only one of the Major and a whole rabble of us. He sliced into the trees, lost ball, stroke, hole and match, two down and one to play!”

“Great!” approved Clif.

“And do you really think, sir,” asked Loring, “that mental suggestion did it?”

“You’ll have to decide that for yourself. That is, _I_ think so, but the Major doesn’t. He says he took his eye off the ball!”