“Who is she? Why didn’t we see her?” queried the laughing boys as they pressed around Larry, affecting to sniff great delight from his nosegay. Larry’s face beamed as he told them that this was a reminder that every Irishman must do his duty, and that he was going to carry the little bouquet to the field of victory for the Catalpas.
“Those pansies grew in Judge Howell’s garden,” said Ben Burton, surlily, from his seat. Larry’s eyes flashed at the covert insult that he thought he saw under Ben’s sneer. But he said not a word.
“For shame, Ben Burton!” cried Al Heaton, “for shame to call names like that!”
There was a little cloud over the sun for a fleeting moment. But Larry’s bright face and cheery voice soon dispelled the transient shadow, and the talk was turned into merrier channels. Ben Burton grumbled to himself, and, as he saw how his fellows clustered around Larry, whose brown and shining curls were only now and again visible among the lads who pranced about him, he said to Bill Van Orman, “Thinks he’s the biggest toad in the puddle; don’t he, Bill?” Bill, whose nickname was “The Lily,” because he was so big, and red, and beefy, only opened his eyes in surprise.
The telegraph office in Catalpa was in the second story of Niles’s building, a brick structure on the main street of the town and chiefly occupied by lawyers and doctors. The narrow stairway was found too narrow for the throngs of people who flocked thither, next day, to learn the news from the contest in Sandy Key. Arrangements had been made by The Catalpa Leaf, the only daily paper in the place, to publish bulletins from the baseball ground, as fast as received. To all inquirers, Miss Millicent Murch, “the accomplished lady operator,” as the local newspapers called her, stiffly replied that the telegraph office had no news to give away and that the editor of The Leaf would distribute his intelligence as soon as received.
Even to so great a personage as Judge Howell, who early appeared in search of information, the young lady gave her one unvarying answer. But public excitement ran high when, about two o’clock in the afternoon, a despatch from Al Heaton was received by his father, saying that the game had been called and that “the boys were in tip-top condition.” Mr. Heaton signified his intention of staying at the office or thereabouts, until the game was over, in order to receive Al’s despatches.
“Is Albert going to send despatches from the ball ground, all day, Mr. Heaton?” asked Alice Howell, who, with sparkling eyes, was eagerly waiting for news from the absent company.
“Indeed he is, Alice,” said Mr. Heaton. “That is what he went down to Sandy Key for, and I think you know my boy well enough to believe that he will keep us informed. Al is as much of an enthusiast in baseball matters as you and I are, my dear, and if he is alive and well we will hear from him until the fortunes of the day are decided.” Mr. Heaton smiled in a kindly way as he looked down into the bright face of the young lady, and added, “And I believe and hope that he will send us a pleasant message before the day is done. Depend upon that.”
“I hope so too, Mr. Heaton,” Alice replied, with a slight cloud passing over her countenance, “but somehow, I feel as if we were to be defeated this time. I don’t know why. But that is my superstitious notion about it.”
Meantime, the telegraph machine had been industriously ticking and Miss Millicent writing as industriously, while the bystanders were talking in low tones.
“A message for Mr. Heaton,” said the operator, with perfect composure, as she folded and placed in an envelope, duly addressed, a telegraph despatch which she handed to Mr. Heaton.
“Hateful old thing!” murmured Miss Ida Boardman, “she has had that message all the time and said nothing about it until she got good and ready.”
“Hush!” said Alice, in a sort of stage whisper, “let us hear the news.”
Mr. Heaton, having glanced hurriedly over the despatch, cried, “Good news from the boys! Hear this!” A dead silence prevailed in the office as the beaming miller read:—
Hurrah for our side! First two innings over. Catalpas score two. Black Hawks none. Great excitement in Sandy Key. Everything lovely.
“Hooray!” broke from many lips, and the waiting crowd below the windows, hearing the cry, took it up and a fusillade of irregular and scattering hurrahs scattered along the street. Judge Howell, who had lingered during the noonday recess of his court, admonished the crowd that the lady at the telegraph desk would be embarrassed by the confusion, whereupon the company went out and added their joy to that of the assemblage that crowded around a bulletin that was at once posted by the door of The Catalpa Leaf office.
“What did I tell you, Alice,” said Miss Ida, regardless of the fact that she had told her nothing. “Didn’t I say that the Catalpas would win?”
“But the game has only just begun,” said Alice. “I am still hoping and fearing, and I am not going to be put off of my base, so to speak, by the first news which happens to be good. Only two innings, Ida; remember that.”
The cheering of the small boys and the excited comments of the still smaller girls, however, proved infectious. One would think that a great battle had been fought, and that victory was already assured to the household troops. The dry-goods man laid down his yardstick; the carpenter dropped his plane, and even the old bridge-tender forsook his post long enough to stroll into the nearest barbershop and ask for the news from “the boys” in Sandy Key.
“Another bulletin!” cried Hank Jackson, the burly shortstop of the Dean County Nine, as the tall
