CHAPTER III

ONE LAST GAME

"Say, Tom, do you know what I've got a good notion to do?"

"Indeed I haven't, Joe, unless you're going to go out West and shoot Indians, or some such crazy stunt as that."

"Forget it! But you know I've got to start for Yale in about another week."

"That's right. The time is getting short. Excelsior opens four days from now, but I'm not going to drill in with the first bunch. I don't have to report quite so soon. I'm a Senior now, you know."

"So you are. I almost wish I was with you."

"Oh, nonsense! And you going to Yale! But what was it you started to say?"

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Say, why can't we have one last game before we have to leave town? One rattling good game of baseball to wind up the season! I'd just love to get into a uniform again, and I guess you would too. Can't we pick up enough of the old Silver Stars to make a nine, with what we can induce to play from among the lads in town?"

"I guess so."

"Then let's do it. The Resolute team is still in existence, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I haven't kept much track of them. I've been away most all Summer, you know."

"And so have I, but I think we could get up a game for Saturday. I believe we could get quite a crowd, but we wouldn't charge admission. What do you say?"

"I'm with you. It would be sport to have a game. I wonder how we can arrange for it?"

"I've got to go over to Rocky Ford for dad to-day," went on Joe, "and I'll see if I can't get in touch with some of the Resolutes. It may be that they have a game on, and, again, they may have disbanded. But it's worth trying. Then you see as many of the fellows here as you can, and get up a nine. There ought to be five or six of the old Silver Stars around."

"I'll do it! Wow! It will be sport to get on the diamond again before we have to buckle down to the grind."

"I hope I haven't forgotten how to pitch," went on Joe. "Let's get a ball and do a little practising out in the lots."

The two chums, somewhat older, more experienced and certainly better players than when we first met them, three years before, were soon tossing the ball back and forth, Joe warming up to his accustomed work as a twirler.

"That was a beaut!" exclaimed Tom, who was catching.

"Did the curve break well?"

"Couldn't have been better. You'll fool 'em all right with that twist."

"I'm a little stiff yet. Well, let's see what we can do toward getting up a game."

Joe went to Rocky Ford that afternoon, and was fortunate in finding the new manager of the Resolutes, the one-time rivals of the Silver Stars. The team had greatly changed, and had been strengthened by some new players. They had not yet broken up for the season, and, as they had no game on for Saturday, the manager readily agreed to come to Riverside with his lads, and take on the Silver Stars in a sort of exhibition contest.

"I suppose you'll pitch?" spoke the manager, as Joe was about to leave for home.

"Yes, I want to. Why?"

"Nothing, only maybe we better handicap your team, or else you'd better allow us half a dozen runs to start with," was the laughing answer.

"I'm not as formidable as all that," retorted Joe. "Are any of the old boys playing yet?"

"Oh, yes, quite a few. There's Art Church, Lew Entry, Ted Neefus and Hank Armstrong."

"I'll be glad to see 'em again," spoke Joe.

When he reached Riverside late that afternoon Tom met him and gleefully informed his chum that he had been able to get up a nine.

"Then we'll have a game!" cried Joe. "Will you catch for me?"

"If you think I can."

"Sure you can. Wow! We'll have some fun."

The news of the coming game between the Silver Stars--or a team somewhat representing them--and the Resolutes aroused considerable enthusiasm in Riverside and the neighboring towns. There was a prospect of a large throng, and when Saturday came--with as fine a specimen of weather as heart could wish--there was a great outpouring of "fans."

The Silver Stars were first on the field, and though the team as then constituted had never played together, still after a little practice they got acquainted with each other, and were soon working in unison.

Joe and Tom formed the battery, and they seemed an effective combination as they warmed up outside the diamond. Then the Resolutes arrived and they, too, began their practice.

"We're going to have a big crowd," remarked Joe, as he saw the stands filling, for Riverside boasted of a fairly good field, where the semi-professional team held forth in the Summer. But the season was about over now.

"It's like old times," remarked Tom. "Come on, now some hot ones to finish up with, and then it'll be most time to call the game."

The details were arranged, the umpire chosen, the batting orders submitted, and the teams came in off the field. The Silver Stars were to bat last, and as Joe walked out to the mound to do the twirling, he was greeted by many friends and acquaintances who had not seen him since the Summer vacation had started. Some news of his prospective leaving for Yale must have gotten around, for he was observed with curious, and sometimes envious eyes.

"Joe's getting to be quite a boy," remarked Mr. Jacob Anderson, one of Riverside's enthusiastic baseball supporters, to his friend, Mr. James Blake.

"Yes, he's a wonderful pitcher, I hear. Seems sort of queer how the boys grow up. Why, only a few years ago he was a small chap, playing around the vacant lots."

"Yes, time does manage to scoot along," spoke the other. "Well, I guess we'll see a good game."

As Joe and Tom paused for a brief consultation before opening the performance, the catcher, glancing toward the grandstand, uttered a surprised exclamation.

"What's the matter?" asked Joe.

"That fellow with my sister--I meant to tell you about him. He was over to your house the other night, when he and sis, and Charlie Masterford called on your sister."

"Oh, ho! So it was Charlie that Clara was fixing up for!" exclaimed Joe. "I'll have some fun with her. I guess she's at the game to-day. But what about the fellow with your sister?"

"He's a Yale man."

"A Yale man--you mean a graduate?"

"No, he goes there now--Sophomore I heard sis say. She was boasting about him, but I didn't pay much attention. I meant to tell you, but I forgot it."

"A Yale man," mused Joe.

"Yes, that's him, with the flower in his coat. Sort of a sport I guess. Sis said he was on the nine, but I don't know where he plays. Like to meet him? I don't know him myself, but I can get sis to present us. She met him at some dance this Summer, and found he had relatives here he intended to visit. She asked him to call--say, isn't it great how the girls do that?--and he did--the other night. Then he must have made a date with her. Like to meet him? Name's--let's see now--I did have it. Oh, I remember, it's Weston--Ford Weston. Want to meet him after the game?"

"No--I--I don't believe I do," said Joe slowly. "He may think I am sort of currying favor. I'll wait until I get to Yale, and then, if I get the chance, I'll meet him. He looks like a decent chap."

"Yes, Mabel is crazy about him," said Tom; "but all girls are that way I guess. None for mine! Well, shall we start?"

The batter was impatiently tapping his stick on the home plate.

"Play ball!" called the umpire, and, as Joe walked to his place he gave a glance toward where Mabel Davis sat with a tall, good-looking chap.

"A Yale man," mused Joe, "and on the nine. I wonder what he'll think of my pitching?" and, somehow, our hero felt a bit nervous, and he wished he had not known of the presence of the collegian. As he began winding up to deliver the ball he fancied he detected an amused smile on the face of Ford Weston.