CHAPTER XV

_Helen in Trouble_

Cascade was winning. After the defeat at the hands of the strong team from St. Mary’s, the re-arranged club settled to its task and, improving with every game, it became one of the strong contenders for honors in the college circuit. In the second encounter, St. Mary’s had been overthrown and Larry Kirkland, who was playing brilliantly at third base, was the deciding factor in the victory.

For a week after the scene on the bench during the game with St. Mary’s, Harry Baldwin had failed to make any move, beyond striving to conciliate Coach Haxton and regain his standing with the other players. He reported for practice the day after the game, and although not received warmly by either the coach or the other players, he had worked faithfully, avoiding any reference to the trouble; and he had privately apologized to Haxton for his loss of temper and breach of discipline.

Not a hint had been dropped as to the means by which the pig had been recovered. Baldwin at first seemed to avoid the quartette who had forced him to confess, but by degrees he returned to his attitude of scornful superiority toward them and truckling with Haxton.

Larry Kirkland, who was watching in silence, commenced to hope that the disciplining had taught Harry Baldwin a valuable lesson and several times, during practice, he purposely had called to Baldwin to practice at third and had voluntarily gone to hit “fungoes” to the fielders, permitting his rival to practice in the position. His generous behavior toward Baldwin had won him much sympathy from the veterans, and it seemed that Baldwin himself had decided to bury the hatchet and work in harmony with his foe.

Larry was happy and was working harder than ever for the interests of the team. Although Haxton had not seen fit to give Katsura an opportunity to pitch, he had allowed him to pitch to the regular players during practice and it was evident that he was watching with much interest the effective use of the slow curve by the little brown youth who appeared to have so little speed and yet continued to puzzle the best batters on the team.

Larry, Katsura, Winans and Trumbull had continued their practice work after dinner each evening, and frequently, while resting from their exertions, they discussed plays and how they should be made. Larry explained to them some of Krag’s theories of baseball, and they found much pleasure in debating over plays made by the professional teams reading the accounts of games in the newspapers and arguing as to how the plays should have been made. Dalmores, the quiet, thoughtful, big fellow, who had played two years on the team, joined them and became one of the evening practice class.

They were sitting on the grass one Thursday evening, after a lively practice session, discussing the chances of victory in the game with Golden University, which was the most important game of the year.

“We’ve got to make a lot of improvement in the next ten days,” said Dalmores. “They hit Arksall hard last year, when he seemed to be pitching just as well as ever. They have five of last year’s men on the team—and they say the new men are better than the ones they lost.”

“We have a chance if Arksall is good,” said Winans. “For me, I’d rather have Katty here pitching against them. Arksall has a habit of weakening when they get a few hits, and that is just the time Katty begins to pitch.”

“Hey—what are you running away for?”

Trumbull shouted the question at Larry Kirkland, who, arrayed in his best garments, was trying to slip out of the house and around the corner unobserved.

“Going fussing again?” called Winans. “Shame on you—and the big game with Golden only ten days off.”

“You fellows are only jealous,” called Larry, hurrying away. “I’ll be home early.”

“I thought something was up when he rushed away as soon as we quit practicing,” said Winans, kicking his feet into the air. “I wonder what the attraction up at St. Gertrude’s is? This is calling evening, isn’t it?”

“Girl from up his way,” volunteered Trumbull. “I saw him hiding a photograph when I went into his room the other day and he blushed until I was afraid he’d set the curtains afire.”

Meantime the “attraction,” Helen Baldwin, was waiting nervously in the reception room at St. Gertrude’s Seminary for Larry Kirkland. She had telephoned to him earlier in the day, asking him to be sure to keep his promise and call, and he was hastening to respond to the request.

During the term he had found himself more and more interested in the pretty cousin of his enemy and her friendship had become so important a part of his life that he found himself thinking of her frequently during the week and longing for the arrival of Thursday evening. That the girl found pleasure in his calls he was certain. Twice she had told him how lonely and homesick she was and had hinted that by representing himself as her cousin he could call more than once a week. The suggestion, made in half jest, half earnest, had worried him, and when he protested that such a thing would be dishonorable, she had laughed it off and said she was joking.

The telephone message that had been left for him, set him a-flutter with excitement and he had hurried away as quickly as possible from his comrades.

He found the girl cuddled into the corner of a big divan, her fair hair piled with studied carelessness upon her small head and her high-colored, rounded face was marred by a petulant, pouting expression.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” she said. “The person who took my message did not seem able to understand anything.”

“I came as soon as possible,” he replied, seating himself near her as she drew aside her skirt to make room for him. “They said you wished to see me and that it was important.”

“Oh, Larry,” she said, frowning prettily and using his name for the first time in their acquaintance, “I am so worried. Harry was here to-day to bring me some money from Uncle Barney. He found out that you have been calling on me and he was furious.”

“I do not see what he has to do with it,” replied Larry, stiffening in an instant.

“He said terrible things about you,” she continued. “I was so worried for fear you boys had been having trouble again. Why cannot you be friends?”

“I’m afraid we never can be friends,” said Larry. “But I thought we had ceased being enemies. We have been getting along very well lately.”

“Harry says you undermined him and got his place on the team,” said the girl. “He said you were a sneak, and that you took advantage of him.”

“He wouldn’t dare say that to me—or to any of the fellows who know what happened,” retorted Larry, angered by the accusations. “I have tried to treat him fairly.”

“But you are playing in his place, aren’t you?”

The tone, more than the question, was accusing, and Larry found himself confused and placed on the defensive.

“Yes,” he replied, unwilling to tell the circumstances.

“Then he is right—in a way,” she said. “If it were not for you he’d still be playing?”

“I suppose so,” he responded. “The manager made the change—we had nothing to do but obey him.”

“Harry said you took unfair advantage of him,” she said easily. “I told him I did not believe it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “The truth is he lost his temper in a game and threatened to quit, so the manager took him at his word—and put me in his place.”

“I’m sorry you boys cannot play your foolish games without quarreling. Why don’t you let him play? It seems to me it is babyish to be fighting over a little thing like that.”

“I couldn’t let him play if I wanted to,” he answered. “Girls don’t understand things.”

“Harry says he is going to play in the game against Golden,” she answered innocently. “He said he must play because he has invited several of his girl friends to come and see him—and he would be so ashamed if he did not get to play.”

“Did he say how he was going to get back onto the team?” Larry was becoming suspicious. He realized that the girl did not understand that she was betraying secrets, and felt guilty in drawing admissions from her.

“Oh—he has several plans,” she replied innocently. “I told him I would ask you not to play”——

“But you do not understand,” he interrupted. “Mr. Haxton says who will play, and we have nothing to do with it. If he thinks Harry ought to play he will.”

“Harry is mad at Mr. Haxton, too,” she ran on. “He asked Mr. Haxton to put him on and Mr. Haxton refused—because he doesn’t like Harry any more, although he owes Harry lots and lots of money. I thought maybe, if Mr. Lawrence wrote you to come home you could go—and then Harry could play.”

Larry laughed quickly. He knew the girl did not have the least conception of what it meant to him, or to Harry Baldwin to play in the greatest game of the year, and he forgave her because of her ignorance.

“But Mr. Lawrence is not at the ranch,” he answered. “He is leaving to-day to be gone a month.”

He had cause to remember, later, that remark, although at the time it seemed unimportant.

“Well,” she said resignedly, “I’m sure I don’t care. Harry seemed so anxious to play I thought I’d help him. It doesn’t seem important to me.”

“I am sorry he is so disappointed,” said Larry forgivingly. “I know how it would be.”

“Oh, he hasn’t given up hope yet,” the girl replied carelessly. “He has another plan if Mr. Haxton won’t let him play.”

“I wonder what it can be?” mused Larry, secretly tolerant of the girl’s ignorance.

He was to learn later.