CHAPTER XVII

_The Game With Golden_

A flutter of golden banners, ribbons, flags and flowers grew to a wave of gold as the team of Golden University raced out from a gateway between the stands and scattered rapidly to their positions on the playing field. The adherents of Golden, banked on the big stands to the third-base side of the oval, arose and sent volley after volley of cheers across the field to where the students and admirers of Cascade sat. A return broadside of applause greeted the opening attack of the greatest baseball battle of the year as the men and girls of Cascade welcomed the visitors.

Five minutes later a tumult suddenly broke loose on the Cascade side of the field. A ripple of applause, starting at one end of the stands grew and spread, until suddenly five thousand of the lovers of Cascade arose, and screamed their welcome to their team. Then, volley for volley, the rival schools fired their cheers across the field at each other, challenging to battle. The waves of blue on one side marked the sea of blue banners, and the sunshine slanting upon the golden banners sent the challenge back in heliographic flutters.

The long, rippling yell of Golden answered the booming, resonant war cry of Cascade as the teams practiced. Down in front of each section cheer masters, animated jumping-jacks, armed with flags and megaphones, spurred the throat-weary ones to louder efforts, while the teams, tense and silent, practiced with set lips.

In the throng just back of first base Larry Kirkland, miserable and dejected, was sitting alone brooding over the injustice of his lot and striving to hide the hot anger that was consuming him. During all the applause and the cheering he had remained silent; nor had he joined in the Cascade yell that greeted the diamond warriors when they ran onto the field.

Kirkland had fresh reason for anger and resentment.

In the first bitterness of his disappointment he had made desperate efforts to reach Major Lawrence by telegraph, to disprove the accusations of professionalism and to secure reinstatement before the game was played. In this he had been aided most actively by Paw Lattiser, who had come to his rescue with advice and who had attempted to cheer him in his disappointment. But Major Lawrence had gone East on a long-deferred business trip and could not be located and, as a crowning blow, he had taken Krag with him, so that after telegraphing several times to Pearton, and sending messages to be forwarded, it became evident that it would be impossible to reach Major Lawrence and secure his evidence in time to compel the reinstatement of Larry Kirkland prior to the game with Golden, and the effort had been abandoned reluctantly. Although Larry did not know it, Paw Lattiser had carried the case before the faculty, and urged strongly that justice be done, but the faculty had declined to interfere in the matter or dictate to the Athletic Board of Control.

This disappointment was a bitter blow to Larry Kirkland. He had staked his hopes upon the game with Golden, and further, to be barred from that contest meant the loss, for a year at least, of the coveted C—the honor mark of Cascade and the Cross of Honor for college athletes. So bitter had been his disappointment that he had refused to attend the game, in spite of the urging of Katsura and of the others who had remained loyal to him in his troubles. To his surprise, Larry discovered that he had more friends in Cascade than he ever had imagined. Several of the Seniors, who scarcely had spoken to him before, had come to him to express their sympathy and their indignation and to pledge him their assistance and two or three of the team who belonged, by former alliance, to the Haxton-Baldwin crowd, had assured him that they believed him innocent and that in their opinion it was a contemptible trick to protest him at the last minute.

Larry had won further admiration by maintaining strict silence in regard to his suspicions. To Katsura and Winans he had expressed his belief that Harry Baldwin was behind the accusations, and Katsura gravely had advised him not to mention his belief or make any charges until he had the proof.

It was because of this that Larry, sitting in the stands, was raging inwardly. At the last moment, as he heard the noise of the excited students pressing toward the grounds, he had abandoned his idea of remaining at the house and studying, and had hurriedly joined the throng. After all, he argued, it was selfish to place his own interests above those of the college. He would cheer as loyally, and “root” as hard for Cascade as if he were playing.

It was while he walked toward the athletic field that he heard a thing that revived all his anger and disappointment. Just ahead of him three young fellows, bearing Golden flags, were hastening along, and talking in rather loud tones.

“I don’t care,” said one of them, “Wallace had no right to bring those charges. He has done the same thing he accuses this Cascade man of doing”——

Wallace! Larry suddenly realized that the trio of Golden youths were talking about him. The name Wallace aroused a memory. He could not think for a moment in what connection he had heard the name. Then one of the youths ahead said:

“Pshaw! They all do it. I’ll wager half the fellows on both teams have taken money for playing.”

“It wasn’t so much his protesting this Kirkland,” responded the other, “as the way he did it. Wallace said he found out a week ago that Kirkland’s uncle was going away, and that he didn’t make the charges until he was sure the old man couldn’t deny them. It seems this uncle, or guardian, or whatever he is, is very rich and Wally was afraid he might come down and deny it all.”

“All I have to say,” said the third, “is that it wasn’t square. He either ought to play or ought not—and it wasn’t right to make the charges knowing he couldn’t prove or disprove them.”

As they passed out of hearing Larry Kirkland stood still, wondering and pondering over the situation. He recalled Wallace vividly. He was the tall pitcher who had been imported by Harry Baldwin to pitch for Rogue River ranch team against Shasta View on the memorable occasion which had served to embitter the feud of the Baldwin and Lawrence families. But how had Wallace known that Major Lawrence was going East? Larry cudgeled his brain for a solution of that mystery as he walked more slowly toward the field.

Suddenly an idea sprang into his mind that drove his selfish thoughts from him. Instead of going to his seat in the stand immediately he hastened to the club house and advanced toward Coach Haxton.

“Why, hello, Kirkland,” said Haxton a little awkwardly. “Sorry you’re not with us”——

“Thank you,” replied Larry chillingly. “But I dropped in to tell you something, if you do not object to taking advice.”

“Glad to get it,” said the coach in more friendly tones. “We may need it with the team broken up this way.”

“It’s this,” said Larry quickly, “I know this fellow Wallace who is pitching for Golden. Batted against him once. He has a lot of speed and a fast curve, but he is liable to be wild. Besides, if your players wait and make him pitch hard he’ll tire himself out before the end. He hasn’t the strength to keep up his speed and he gets wilder when he tires.”

“Thank you,” said Haxton. “I’ll remember it.”

“When he gets fussed up,” said Larry, “bunt toward him and he will fall all over himself. I think you can beat him that way.”

“I say,” said Haxton with genuine friendliness, “it’s awfully decent of you to try to help after—after—well, after what has happened.”

Larry had gone to his seat torn by conflicting emotions. He regretted giving the advice, yet felt that he had done his duty. He found it hard to hope that Cascade would win. But, before the second inning was played, he had forgotten his own troubles and was cheering as loyally as any over the plays. The third, fourth and fifth innings passed and still neither team had been able to score. Golden’s batters were hitting freely, but unluckily, and the splendid defensive work of Cascade was holding them in check. It was evident that Haxton was following Larry’s advice. The batters were waiting and forcing Wallace to pitch many balls to each of them and it was evident to Larry that the strain was telling upon him. In the sixth inning a base on balls and a sacrifice put Rodney on second base and Harry Baldwin, hitting the first ball pitched to him, drove home the first run and Cascade went wild. But in the seventh, Arksall wavered, grew wild, and in trying to get the ball over the plate was freely batted, and four Golden runners crossed the plate.

In this dilemma Haxton turned to Katsura. The little brown fellow smiled, trotted out, pitched a few practice balls, and stepping to the slab began floating his tantalizing slow twisters across the plate, and the rally ended quickly. Larry applauded wildly as Katsura, still smiling coolly, trotted back to the bench. He was not discouraged, for he believed that Katsura, with his skill and cunning, would stop Golden from scoring and he hoped that Cascade could score freely when Wallace, worn down by the strain, weakened. He weakened in the eighth inning, grew wild, and Cascade quickly tied the score. Two runners were on the bases when Harry Baldwin, disobeying orders, struck out, and Larry felt a pang of fierce joy at the discomfiture of his rival.

The ninth came with the crowd working itself to a high pitch of excitement and the score tied. The first Golden batter retired, and the next hit a slow, easy bounder to the shortstop, who, hastening unnecessarily, threw the ball against the stands, allowing the runner to reach third. The situation was dangerous. Haxton called the shortstop and second baseman closer to the plate and played to cut off the runner. Katsura, pitching as coolly as in practice, refused to permit the batter to hit a good ball, and as a result gave him a base on balls, increasing the chances of a double play.

The next batter drove a bounder straight at Harry Baldwin. The crowd checked its cheer. Baldwin scooped the ball perfectly. He could throw to the plate and shut off the runner there, or he could throw to second and try for the double play that would end the inning. He paused an instant, steadied himself and threw to first base. The moment he threw he started trotting off the field, and, aroused suddenly by the roar of surprise and anger from the Cascade followers, he stopped as if bewildered. He had forgotten how many batters were out—and had permitted the runner to score from third without an effort to stop him. A moment later a fly ended the inning. Cascade rallied desperately in their ninth, but failed to score. Larry Kirkland, dejected, yet inwardly glad that it was Baldwin who had lost the game, joined the rush toward the exits. Baldwin’s blunder had cost Cascade the game and the championship.