CHAPTER XIV
THE MASS-MEETING
On the Wednesday for which the mass-meeting was called Jack returnedto the house at quarter after five, and, as was his custom, stoppedin at Anthony's room to spend half an hour before dinner. Anthonyhad improvised a window-seat out of a packing-case, covering it withan old red table-cloth and installing upon it his one cushion, a notover-soft and very flamboyant creation in purple and white. When Jackentered he found Anthony perched thereon before the open casement. Theseat was not very long and so the occupant was obliged to either lethis legs hang over the edge or fold them up beneath him. At present hehad adopted the latter tactics, and a ludicrous figure he presented.Jack subsided on to the edge of the bed and giggled with delight untilAnthony tossed the book he was studying at his head.
"What are you crying about?" he demanded.
"I'm not cr--crying," gurgled Jack. "I'm la--laughing at you."
"What's the matter with me?"
"You look so--so funny!"
"Do I?" Anthony grinned and unfolded himself. "I was thinking a whileago that I was like a pair of scissors I saw once. The blades tuckedback against the handles. How'd the game come out?"
"Pretty well; seven to nothing. Millport came pretty near getting arun in the fourth, but after that she didn't have a ghost of a show.I didn't, either. I didn't get in for a minute; just sat on that oldbench and looked on and nearly froze to death."
"Too bad," sympathized Anthony.
"Wasn't it? However, I don't care very much. Hanson sat with me a whileand we had a long talk. He knows a whole lot about baseball; stuff Inever thought of; scientific part of the game, you know."
"Hanged if I do!" answered Anthony. "I don't know a baseball from alongstop."
"A what?" gasped Jack.
"Longstop; isn't that it?"
"Shortstop, you mean."
"Well, knew it was some kind of a stop. Might as well call it one thingas the other, I guess."
"Why don't you come out and see a game some day?"
"Going to some afternoon, when I've nothing to do."
"Huh! I guess you'll never come, then. You're always grinding."
"Oh, I'll take a vacation some Saturday and go and watch you play."
"Don't know whether you will or not," said Jack dolefully. "King playedin left-field all the game to-day. Pretty nearly every sub except mewent in. I wish they'd give me a place to try for and let me see ifI can't make it. I hope, though, they don't put me out in the field.Perkins told me yesterday that there's no use in my trying for pitcherthis year, and I guess he's right. Gilberth played a great game to-day;struck seven men out and gave only two bases."
"How are you and he getting on nowadays?" Anthony asked.
"All right. He never has anything to say to me, and I let him alone."
"Guess he won't trouble you any more," said Anthony.
"Perhaps not. Sometimes, though, I think he's saving up for somethingparticularly unpleasant. I don't care, though. He can go hang."
Anthony closed the window, drew down the stained green shade, andlighted the gas-stove. Jack lay back on the bed for a time and watchedthe dinner preparations in silence.
"What's the _piece de resistance_ to-night?" he finally asked, as therecame a sputtering from the pan.
"Hamburger steak with onions," answered Anthony.
"Ugh!"
"Don't you like it?" asked his host in surprise.
"Not a bit; and I don't like the beastly smell, either. So I'm goinghome." He stretched his arms luxuriously and sat up. Then, "Did youever wish you were rich, Anthony?" he asked.
Anthony paused a moment with fork outstretched, and looked thoughtfullyacross the room. Finally, he shook his head.
"No, I don't believe I ever did. What's the use?"
"No use, I suppose. But I have, often. I wish so now. Do you know whatI'd do if I had fifty thousand dollars?"
"No; but something silly, I guess," answered the other, prodding thesteak till it sizzled.
"Well, I'd throw that foolish, lying clock out of the window and getyour watch back. Then I'd take you to--to--Boston, I guess, and buyyou a ripping good dinner for once in your life. We'd have quail andasparagus, and-- Do you like chocolate eclairs?"
"Don't know; never ate any. What are they like?"
"Well, we'd have them, anyway. Wish I had one now. And-- But I'mgetting hungry, myself."
"Better stay and have some Hamburger and onions," advised Anthony, witha smile. But Jack fled toward the door, ostentatiously holding his nose.
At half past seven they set out for the mass-meeting together. Whenthey had crossed the Common and had entered the yard they foundthemselves in one of a number of little eddies of laughing, chatteringfellows that flowed across the campus and merged in front of Grace Hallinto a stream that filled the doorway and staircase from side to side.
"Going to have a full house," observed Anthony.
At the door of the meeting-room they ran into Joe Perkins. He grabbedAnthony and sent him, under charge of Patterson, the manager, to a seaton the platform. Then he put a detaining hand on Jack's arm.
"Cheer like everything, Weatherby!" he whispered.
Then a six-foot sophomore, leading a flying wedge consisting of ahandful of his classmates, bucked Jack between the shoulders and hewent rushing up the aisle, tossing the crowd to either side, untilhe managed to avoid the men behind by slipping into a vacant seat.The big sophomore banged him on the shoulder as he charged on. "Bullyinterference!" he cried. Followed by his companions, he leaped over theintervening row of occupied seats and subsided in a heap among a littlethrong of delighted friends. "Down here!" he yelled. Some one imitateda referee's whistle and a falsetto voice called: "Third down and a yardto gain!"
Jack found himself seated next to a group of second-nine men. Thelittle freshman Clover was his immediate neighbor, and beyond thatyouth sat Showell, the fellow whom Jack had fooled with his pitching onthat first day of outdoor practise. They had met but seldom since then,but Showell had never missed an opportunity to annoy Jack, if possible,or, failing that, to show his dislike. His annoyances usually took theform of allusions to the incident at the river, plain enough, yet sopetty that Jack never regarded them as worth noticing. Clover greetedJack with evident pleasure. The latter returned his greeting and thennodded to the fellows farther along. Only Showell failed to respond.Turning to the man on the other side of him he asked:
"Been down to the river lately?"
"Oh, cut it out," growled his neighbor, scowling at him.
"Cut what out?" asked Showell, pretending great bewilderment. "Theriver?"
"Let him alone, can't you?" whispered the other.
"If you can't, take your old jokes somewhere else," advised Clover.Jack had not missed any of it, and for the first time Showell'spleasantries aroused his anger.
"What's the matter with you dubs?" Showell asked, grinning. "Can't Italk about the river? All right, then, I'll talk about the weather.Nice, dry evening, isn't it? Any of you fellows get your feet wet?"
Jack touched Clover on the shoulder. "Do you mind changing seats withme?" he asked. Clover looked doubtful a moment; then he got up and Jackslipped along into his place. Showell watched the proceedings withsurprise, and when he found Jack beside him turned his gaze uneasilyahead and for the rest of the evening attempted to look unconscious ofthe other's presence. But, what with the grins and whispering of hisfriends, it is doubtful if he enjoyed himself.
The senior president made his little speech and introduced the dean.The latter, who never was much of an orator, said just what everybodyknew he would say, and was succeeded by Patterson, the manager.Patterson explained the needs of the Baseball Association, andProfessor Nast, chairman of the Athletic Committee, followed and urgedthe students to come to the support of the team. Neither his remarksnor Patterson's awakened any enthusiasm, and the cheers which followedwere plainly to order. Some one at the rear of the hall started afootball song and one by one the a
udience took up the refrain. Perkins,who had stepped to the front of the platform, paused and glancedinquiringly at the head coach. The latter shook his head and Joe turnedaway again.
"Let them sing," whispered Hanson. "It'll warm them up."
But as soon as it was discovered that there was no opposition thesinging died away. King was on his feet then, calling for cheers forCaptain Perkins. They were given loudly enough, but lacked spontaneity.Joe's speech was short, but had the right ring, and several allusionsto past successes of the nine and future victories awakened applause.But when he had taken his seat again and the cheering, in spite ofthe efforts of King and Bissell and others of the team, had ceased,it was evident that the meeting was bound to be a flat failure unlesssomething was done to wake it up.
Hanson, who was down as the next speaker, called Joe to him, and for aminute they whispered together. Then Joe crossed the stage and spoke toAnthony. At the back of the room there was a perceptible impatience;several fellows had already tiptoed out, and there was much scraping offeet. Joe heard it and held up his hand. Then Anthony lifted himselfup out of the ridiculously small chair in which he had been seated andmoved awkwardly to the front of the platform. Instantly there was thesound of clapping, succeeded by the cry of "A--a--ay, Tidball!" Anthonysettled his spectacles on his nose and thrust his big hands into histrouser's pockets.
"Good old Tidball!" cried some one; the remark summoned laughter andclapping; men on their feet and edging toward the door paused andturned back; those who had kept their seats settled themselves morecomfortably and looked expectant. The senior class president jumped tohis feet and called for a cheer, and the response was encouraginglyhearty. Joe threw a satisfied glance at Hanson and the latter nodded.The tumult died down and Anthony, who had been facing the gatheringwith calm and serious countenance, began to speak.
Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball Page 14
