The conversation was stopped by their entering a street car where they were entertained by the audible comments of the passengers on the wonderful game that had been played that afternoon. Baseball in Chicago is one of the favorite pastimes of the people. But there was so much of the element of unexpectedness in the result of that day’s game that it set the tongues of everybody to wagging. Unknown and in silence, the champions of the Catalpa Nine heard themselves and their playing discussed with great freedom and animation. The general verdict was that “The Cats” would, next day, receive their reward in the shape of a “basket of goose eggs” with which they would depart for home, sadder and wiser for their visit.
“What do you think of that for an opinion, Larry?” asked Hiram, laughingly, as they alighted from the car, one block from their destination. “What do you think of the woman in the corner who said that the Calumets were only encouraging us on to our defeat?”
Larry replied that that was precisely what Ben Burton thought, and Hiram ejaculated, “Oh, he does, does he? Then it seems that our shortstop and our adversaries, or the friends of our adversaries, agree as to what is going to happen tomorrow.”
“Perhaps they are right,” said Albert, cheerily. “But here we are,” and stopping before a handsome house, he darted up the steps and rang the door bell.
While the lads waited for admission, Larry turned and looked westward, with wistful eyes, and said,
“I wonder how they are taking the news in Catalpa, about now?”
Albert’s reply that they were probably having a jollification really described what was at that moment taking place. Tom Selby was the happy recipient of early telegrams from Larry, and the editor of The Leaf sustained his reputation by putting out bulletins from Al Heaton and his father, at frequent intervals during the progress of the game. The excitement waxed high as the contest proceeded, and when the final result was reached, the town was fairly mad with joy. The event had eclipsed everything of the kind that had happened during the season. Every man who had a flag hung it out to the breeze. Jedediah Van Orman, “The Lily’s” father, took up a collection from the willing shopkeepers and bought a supply of powder, with which he proceeded to fire a salute from four anvils, the only artillery then accessible in the town. Victory brooded over Catalpa, and in every house as the red sun went down, that night, there was but one theme of conversation—baseball.
XIII
Pride Has a Fall
Fog and dampness covered the city of Chicago, next day, when the Catalpa nine, shivering in the chilly air, loitered the time away before the hour came for their little preliminary practice in the baseball grounds. Somebody said, while Captain Hiram was marshalling his men, that the day was a bad one for Catalpa. At this Larry laughed heartily. “As if,” he said, “the gloom of a foggy day was not just as ominous for the Chicago boys as for the Catalpas.”
“Oh they are used to it,” said Ben Burton, gruffly. Soon after, when the hour for play had arrived, Ben was nowhere to be found. Vainly they looked for him in various nooks and corners of the structure, and they were beginning to ask if he had not been spirited away when he hurried in, looking very flushed and red. When asked somewhat tartly by his captain where he had been, Ben made no answer but took up his bat and marched in with the rest.
“He has been visiting some of those confounded pool rooms, I’ll be bound,” whispered Sam Morrison, who cordially disliked and actively suspected the Catalpa shortstop. But there was no time for discussion. The nine now emerged into the arena.
The sky was brightening as the two nines met, and the crowds in the vast amphitheater, largely reinforced since yesterday, in consequence of the fame of the visiting nine being spread abroad, gave “The Cats” a cheery round of applause as they made their appearance at the entrance to the field. “Keep a stiff upper lip, Larry, old boy,” was Albert’s heartening injunction as the two friends parted at the doorways. Larry smiled brightly and his eye involuntarily sought the upper box from which he had seemed to draw so much inspiration, the day before. It was empty, and he felt a little pang of disappointment. The momentary feeling of depression was soon dissipated, however, for the serious work of the day was now to begin, and sentimentalities were out of place.
The Catalpas failed to win the toss, whereat Neddie Ellis gave a comical little groan of pain and whispered, facetiously, to Ben Burton, “Another evil sign, Bennie!”
“Yes,” replied Ben, gloomily, “the worst yet.”
He paid no attention to Neddie’s mocking laugh, but took his place on the players’ bench, as Larry Boyne took up his bat and advanced to the position in obedience to orders. For the scorer had shouted, “Larry Boyne to the bat, and Sam Morrison on deck!”
As Larry, with an elastic movement of his manly figure, placed himself squarely before Sam Morse, the Calumets’ pitcher, he said, “Give me one of your favorite high balls, and I’ll try to put it over that netting.” Morse, in his turn, squared himself and at once began to deliver a series of hot balls, but all of them too low for the Catalpa player to strike at. But he gave one ball at the desired height, however, and, to use the expression of “The Lily,” Larry “hit it squarely on the nose,” and placed a base hit to his credit. Sam Morrison profited by his example and put the ball safely in the left field. Neddie Ellis then came up, with a beaming smile on his
