Our Baseball Club and How It Won the Championship

uncertain result of a baseball game. Added to this, it should be said, was Hank’s persistence in offering bets on the defeat of the home nine. That was an unpopular side. Almost everybody wanted the Catalpas to win the game. It would decide the championship; and, although it was almost too much to hope for, there was a feeling of confidence through the town that was quite inexplicable. So, Hank, after making a swaggering tour of the shops and stores, but without receiving much popular countenance, quietly dropped out of the throngs which gathered at the street corners and in other public places. It was in vain that he argued with rude logic that it was just as safe to bet on a baseball game as on a horse race. Very few who listened to him cared to encourage this new sort of gambling.

This time, it was Al Heaton who fired the heart of Catalpa with the first intelligence from the Diamond Field. It was nearly three o’clock when his first despatch arrived, and the game had been called at two o’clock. There was much grumbling in the main street of the town, where numerous groups stood in the shade of awnings and tall buildings, waiting for the news. The windows of The Leaf office opened on this street, as well as on the side street on which the telegraph office was situated. Editor Downey had announced that he had made arrangements with Albert to send news directly from the baseball grounds in Galena, and that he would display a bulletin from his office windows.

Accordingly, when there was hung out a big white sheet of paper, with black lettering thereon, the assembly below was hushed in expectation. The despatch ran thus:

Everybody confident. Larry Boyne says our nine will win the game. Weather hot, and the dust intolerable. Look out for fun.

Albert Heaton.

“What does he mean by looking out for fun; and who cares what Larry Boyne thinks?” growled Hank Jackson. “I should think he might send us something more bracing than that by this time.”

But the straggling cheer that greeted Albert’s encouraging message drowned Jackson’s grumbling, and the crowd showed by their excitement that they were ready to accept the slightest omen as proof positive that the Catalpa nine would carry the day. So, when Judge Howell’s carriage drove up and halted under the shade of the huge catalpa tree that grew in front of Dr. Selby’s drug store, from which the fair Alice could see the throng and watch for the bulletin from the newspaper office, there was a little hurrah from some of the younger lads. They seemed to think that the young lady, in some fashion, represented the absent Judge, who was now recognized as one of the steadfast friends of the band of heroes.

“That’s a good sign! I’ll swear to gracious!” said Rough and Ready, in a low and hoarse whisper, as he saw the Judge’s handsome bays, champing their bits, and prancing uneasily under the shade of the spreading catalpa. “It’s a good sign, for that gal never went back on the nine, and her coming will bring good luck. Mark my words, Jake!” Jake, the big butcher, nodded his head and only said “yaw,” when the bulletin was again flung out from the window of the printing-office.

The magical black letters were read in silence broken only by the stamping of the horses tethered along the street and worried by the flies. This is what the eager spectators read:

First inning⁠—Catalpas, 1; Galenas, 0.

“A big round goose egg!” screamed Lew Morris, with delight. Then he raised a hurrah, and the small boys took up the yell. Horses jumped and tore at their halters and vagrant dogs barked madly about the street. Then there were smiles and even broad laughter among the devoted supporters of the home nine. Almost everybody looked pleased, and Dr. Selby, with the easy confidence of an old friend, went to the side of the Judge’s carriage and shook hands heartily with Miss Alice who was waving her parasol with a vague notion that it was necessary to celebrate the auspicious opening of the game.

“I didn’t tell you, did I, doctor, that I dreamed, last night, that we had won the game? Well, I did. Aunt Anstress says that dreams go by contraries and that that means our nine will be defeated. But I don’t believe that; do you, doctor?”

“Well, I don’t believe in dreams, anyhow, Miss Alice, and so I hardly think that that counts. But we will keep on thinking that the boys will beat, today, and even if we are disappointed, we have yet one more chance.”

The doctor, accepting Alice’s invitation, took a seat in the carriage from which advantageous point he looked over the gathering throng, now reinforced by arrivals from the region roundabout the town, for the news had gone forth that despatches were coming in from Al Heaton, and every man, woman and child who had the least interest in the game (and these were many) and could leave the labors and duties of the day, was there to hear.

“It looks as it did in the war, when the news from Shiloh and Vicksburg was coming in; doesn’t it, doctor?”

“I don’t know about that, Alice. I was in the war, myself, you know; was at Port Hudson and Vicksburg. You were a baby then, and I believe your father was in Congress. Yes, I guess it does look like war times. But see! There comes another bulletin!”

Editor Downey had rigorously excluded from his office all outsiders, and was devoting his personal attention to the all-important business of the day. With his own hands, he hung out the paper sheet bearing these words:

2nd inning⁠—Catalpas, 0; Galenas, 1; 3rd inning, Catalpas, 0; Galenas, 0.

“Not so good as it might be,” remarked Dr. Selby, cheerfully, “but it will grow better, by and by.”

A little cloud passed over the face of Alice,