Whatever shadow of doubt may have remained in our minds concerning Arnold, was speedily dissipated on our arrival at Berkeley. No one came to meet us at the depot; but when we reached the Wyman Hotel, we found Arnold and Beard awaiting us there.
“How are you, Mr. Arnold?” said Ray, greeting him. “I received word that you were unwell.”
“I unwell? Who said so?” asked Arnold.
“The telegram from Dean brought us that report,” answered Ray.
“Oh, I understand now what you mean. I was well enough, but I didn’t feel like pitching the whole game through, so I changed places with Cross and took a rest.”
This answer as well as the tone in which he spoke indicated clearly enough that Arnold had been merely saving himself for Monday’s game.
“Are all your men here?” asked Beard.
“Yes,” answered Ray.
“Then we shall look for you at the grounds shortly before two o’clock,” said Beard, as if about to take his leave.
“One moment,” said Tony; “the ball grounds are some distance away. Have any arrangements been made for carriages to take us out?”
“The hotel has its regular omnibus. If you speak to the clerk at the desk I think you will find it has been held awaiting your orders,” said Beard. He and Arnold then walked coolly away.
It had always been the custom at Belmont, as well as at Halford, for the home team to supply the visiting players with carriage accommodation. We had hardly looked for this attention from the Park men, but Beard’s tone of indifference was exasperating nevertheless. Tony could not repress a half audible exclamation of annoyance as he hurried off to make the necessary arrangements.
After our lunch we met in one of the hotel parlors and held a short, informal meeting.
“Now, boys,” began Ray, “I haven’t much to add to what I’ve said many times before, but I want to repeat one or two things. You know I told you that there was no particular point of weakness in the Park nine of which we could take advantage. They have an all round good team, and we must strain every nerve to win. I firmly believe we can do it, but we must play right up to the mark all the time. We must play for every point as if it were the deciding point of the game; we must meet them, therefore, on their own ground, and not yield an inch. We must push our chances hard, and keep up an aggressive policy ourselves. Their strong point is Arnold. If we can hit his pitching good and hard, and all the time, we will make out all right. I am confident we can, but we must be careful when at the bat, for he is an excellent pitcher, and if any of us display any weakness he will be sure to detect it and take advantage of it. As I told you Saturday, hit hard and low.”
While we were still discussing the game, Tony put his head into the room.
“Hurry on with your suits,” he said. “The omnibus will be at the door in about fifteen minutes.”
We were soon ready to start.
“I wonder what is the matter with Clinton Edwards,” said Tony, looking at his watch. “He should have been here before this.”
“We must have Clinton and his gang to support us,” said Dick Palmer. “It would take some of the starch out of me to be victimized by a grand stand full of Park men, and not have a single backer.”
“Oh, I’ll make all the noise you want if it becomes necessary,” said Tony. He looked somewhat uneasy, however, and whispered to me, “I hope Clinton hasn’t missed the train. His backing would do us a world of good.”
The omnibus now drew up to the piazza where we were standing. We waited a long time, but Clinton Edwards and his companions failed to put in an appearance, so we were compelled to drive off without them.
“The loss is all their own,” said Ray cheerfully. “They will miss seeing us win a fine game, that is all.”
In baseball there is a considerable moral influence in being well backed by friends. We had expected warm support from Clinton Edwards and his crowd, and the sudden blotting out of this expectation could not but react somewhat upon our spirits. It did not, of course, discourage us, for as Percy Randall put it, “We were not afraid of the biggest mob Park College could get together,” but it affected our feelings notwithstanding.
“Listen to that!” exclaimed Tony, as we neared the field and heard the sounds of cheering. “The crowd clamors for our blood.”
“Well, they will get it—and boiling hot, too,” said Percy Randall. “If anything, it rather braces me to tackle this mob all alone.”
“Come, fellows,” said Ray, as we drove into the grounds. “Step out lively now, and show the stuff that’s in you.”
We descended from the omnibus, and in a compact group, approached the grand stand amidst an almost perfect silence on the part of the spectators. The Park men were already on the diamond, and practising with a vim that betokened a determined and confident spirit.
I had half hoped to find Clinton Edwards and his party on the field, thinking that they might perhaps have gone directly there from the depot. Not a Belmont man was to be seen, however, so I resigned all hope of backers, and made up my mind that we must fight the battle alone.
We remained seated on a bench at the side of the field, until Ray, who was standing near the home plate in conversation with Beard, turned and beckoned to us. The Park players were leaving the field, and it was our turn to practise.
Throwing off our coats, we ran out, and set to work in fine shape. That the crowd was watching us was quite evident from a number of ill mannered remarks that I could overhear from my place near the backstop; but, beyond this, the spectators showed no appreciation of our efforts whatever.
“All things considered, if we can play well enough to keep their mouths shut I shall be satisfied,” I said to Dick Palmer.
At this moment Ray left Beard, and came quickly toward us.
“We are in luck to start with,” he said. “We have won the toss.”
A few minutes later the umpire came upon the field, carrying in his hand the new ball with which the game was to be played.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Ray.
“Then get your men in position.”
We took our places, and the ball was tossed to me. No batter had stepped up, so I looked inquiringly toward the bench where the Park men were seated. Then, as Arnold, their first batter, rose and picked up his bat, a student stepped out in front of the grand stand, and waving his cane, cried, “I propose three cheers for the nine. Now, fellows, give it to them.”
A roar of cheers burst from the crowd.
“Another one,” cried the leader, and again came the cheers.
“One more round,” and a third time the crowd responded.
This evidently had been expected by the Park nine, for Arnold stood as if awaiting it; and it was quite as evident to me that it was simply the beginning of a concerted action on the part of the crowd to demoralize us by shouting.
Before the sound had died away we heard another cheer far away outside the field. We looked at one another in surprise. Was it an echo? No, for again it sounded, and this time nearer and clearer. Suddenly the truth flashed upon me. I turned quickly toward the entrance to the grounds. There was a thick cloud of dust in the road outside, and a rumble of heavy wheels; then the carriage gates burst open, and into the field rolled three large omnibuses gayly decked out with the beautiful blue banners of Belmont. Down the smooth roadway that skirted the diamond cantered the teams, while from the omnibuses burst roar after roar of cheers.
As the vehicles took up a position on the opposite side of the field from the mass of the Park crowd, the well known form of Clinton Edwards emerged from the inside of one of the omnibuses. Climbing on top, he shouted, “Now, boys, blow on your lungs.”
A terrific roar ensued. Then, having vindicated himself, Clinton Edwards sat down, and awaited the opening of the game. This novel response to the grand stand had a telling and dramatic effect. The crowd could scarcely have been more surprised had a bombshell fallen in front of them. For a moment they were completely staggered, and the whole effect of their cheering was destroyed.
Whether Clinton Edwards had premeditated the surprise or not, his entrance could not have been more timely. Its effect upon us was magnetic, and our spirits rose mightily as the old familiar Belmont cheer rang out. Ray Wendell waved his hand to Clinton Edwards, while I, seeing that Arnold had taken his place at the home plate, grasped the ball, and made ready.
“Play!” cried the umpire, and the game began.