“You must dry your eyes,” he whispered. “They must not know. I will telegraph Mr. Lawrence to-morrow.”

The girl dabbled at her eyes, and a moment later, when Miss Tiddings entered the room and sniffed politely, she saw no traces of the tempest.

“I’ll wire,” whispered Larry as he held her hands. “Bear it a little longer.”

“He’ll never consent,” she whispered. “Oh Larry, take me away. I cannot endure it much longer.”

Larry Kirkland left St. Gertrude’s, his brain surging with new emotions. He scarcely heard Winans’ raillery as he went to bed and for a long time remained awake, striving to lay some plans for the future.

Major James Lawrence was at breakfast with Bill Krag, on the wide porch at Shasta View bungalow, when a telegram was handed to him by Chun, the Chinese youth who had assumed charge of the housekeeping.

The Major, who had been arguing with Krag, ripped open the envelope, frowned, reread the message, frowned more heavily and commenced to storm:

“Young rascal!” he shouted. “I suppose he has had more trouble at school. All foolishness to send a boy to college, waste of time—and he does nothing but get into trouble”——

“But, Major,” argued Krag, who was breaking his egg, “you took the opposite end of the argument the other evening. You insisted that a boy without a college education was like a boat without a pilot.”

“What do you mean by throwing up my mistakes to me?” demanded the Major. “I only took that side of the argument because you took the other. Confound it, can’t a man argue in his own house?”

“He sure can,” grinned Krag, who enjoyed the Major’s tyrannical outbursts. “What’s the matter with Larry now?”

“He don’t say, confound him!” spluttered the Major. “Says he must see me on an important matter and is coming home. Confound him, why don’t he be more explicit?”

“Girl, I suppose,” suggested Krag, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s about time for him to have his first love affair.”

“Woof,” said the Major indignantly. “Girl? That child in love? Why, confound him, if he dares mention such a thing I’ll cowhide him within an inch of his life.”

“I suppose you didn’t have a girl when you were about his age, Major?” inquired Krag. “He’s past eighteen now—nearly nineteen.”

“I never had time for that girl foolishness,” snorted the Major. “Why, when I was his age”——

“Not even one?” persisted Krag teasingly.

“Oh, well”—— The Major paused a moment and grew thoughtful—— “Eighteen, eh,” he said, “when I was eighteen?”

He drummed for a moment with his fingers on the table and looked far away toward Shasta.

“She was the only one, Krag,” he said softly with a far-away look in his eyes. “I left home then. She kissed me good-bye—Bloop,” he exploded, “the idea of him in love! Why, if he dares mention such a thing”——

“Maybe it isn’t a girl at all,” remarked Krag, his mouth full of toast. “Maybe it’s some baseball trouble. So he’s coming home? Why don’t you go to Cascade instead? The team plays Golden University Saturday.”

“I haven’t time to be cavorting around all over the continent to see this baseball foolishness,” snorted the Major. “I’m a busy man, Krag.”

“Oh, well,” said Krag. “I just thought it would save him the trip up here, and, besides, you have some business down there and could stay and see the game.”

“Foolishness!” snorted the Major angrily. “I’ll wire him not to come. He’s got to stick to his business just as I stick to mine.”

He stamped across the veranda to his office, to write the telegram, and Krag laughed until his great body shook when he heard Chun repeat the message over the telephone to the telegraph operator in Pearton.

The message that the Major sent was:

Major Lawrence, preparing to storm and upbraid his ward, reached Cascade on the morning of the deciding game of the baseball season. At the first glance of the haggard face and drawn expression of the boy, his kind, old heart relented. He felt a great surge of tenderness come over him as he looked into Larry’s troubled eyes.

“It’s all right, boy,” he said tenderly. “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

“I had to tell you about it, sir,” said Larry in a strained voice. “I was coming down to see you because it is something I couldn’t write.”

“Don’t tell me about it now,” ordered the Major. “Not a word until we have had breakfast. You’re right to tell your old uncle about it. I’m sure it’s nothing we cannot fix up. Wait until we get to the rooms, and we’ll talk it over.”

“Thank you,” said Larry. “I’ve been dreading telling you. I didn’t sleep much last night, worrying about it.”

“Not sleep?” stormed the Major, working himself into a mock rage to cover his own agitation. “Not sleep and on the eve of the game? Why, confound you, boy, I came down here to see you win that game.”

“We’ll win, I think,” said Larry, smiling wanly at the familiar sight of the Major’s anger. “The team is playing good ball—and Katsura will pitch.”

The subject, thus changed to baseball, was not resumed. At breakfast, Major Lawrence met Winans and Trumbull, and after they had learned his peculiar temperament and had drawn him into several hot arguments, they bore him off under the pretense of letting Paw Lattiser decide a point. It was luncheon time before they returned, the Major triumphantly declaring Lattiser the only sensible person in the entire school. It was not until he was preparing to start to the game that Larry had the opportunity to speak to the Major alone.

“Uncle Jim,” he said, “I want to talk with you.”

“Don’t bother me with your nonsense now,” stormed the Major. “I’m going to the game with Lattiser—sensible fellow, Lattiser, not one of these flighty-headed college idiots like Winans and that monkey Jessup he introduced me to. Wait until to-night and we’ll talk things over.”

The Major was decorated for the occasion, and his cane and coat lapel bore huge Cascade ribbons.

“I’ve learned the Cascade yell, Larry,” he went on. “Listen to me and I’ll make you win.”

“But it’s something that must be settled. I must know before the game,” the boy persisted.

“All right—fire away,” said the Major resignedly. “I suppose its money.”

“Yes—and no,” replied Larry. “Its a girl.”

“Girl?” roared the Major, leaping from his chair and stalking up and down the floor. “Girl? Confound it, I’ll girl you! Krag said it was a girl and I told him if it was I’d soon knock that sort of foolishness out of your head. The idea—girl? Why, you young scoundrel, you’ve just shed your pinafores and talking of girl! Next thing I hear you’ll be wanting to marry her.”

“I do want to marry her, Uncle Jim,” said the boy earnestly. “Right away.”

“What?”

This time the Major’s astonishment was not pretended. He stopped and stared at Larry as if striving to comprehend.

“Marry?” he cried. “You marry? What have you to offer a wife? What means of support have you? Nothing. You’re dependent on me, sir, and if you talk marriage in the next five years, I’ll cut you off without a penny, without a penny, understand? Don’t talk to me of marriage.”

He had worked himself into a real passion, and resumed his storming up and down the room.

“But you don’t understand, Uncle Jim,” pleaded the boy. “She is in trouble; her family is not treating her well; I am the only one to whom she can turn for help.”

Somehow, in spite of his earnestness, the reason seemed inadequate and the necessity not so real as it had seemed when he was listening to Helen Baldwin’s sobs.

“Not treating her right?” demanded the Major. “Well, I’ll attend to that; I’ll see to that. I’ll fix it with the family and then, after you are old enough to marry and still love her—who is she?”

The Major broke off his promises suddenly and shot the question at Larry.

“Helen Baldwin,” replied Larry, in a low tone.

He was prepared for an outburst, but for nothing such as the one that broke. For an instant Major Lawrence stood glaring at him.

“Baldwin?” he screamed. “You want to marry a Baldwin? Marry one of the tribe that robbed me and robbed your father, broke your father’s health and killed him. YOU marry one of that breed of rats? Never!”

“But, Uncle Jim, she is not one of them. She is different. They are cruel to her and accuse her”——

“Don’t talk to me of a Baldwin,” raged Major Lawrence. “I’d rather see you in your grave. Never dare mention her name to me again.”

Larry, bridling with what he thought was injustice, stood his ground before the wrath of his guardian. He was about to speak when Winans, from the hallway, shouted:

“Hustle up, Larry. Time to start.”

“That is your final decision, sir?” asked Larry, his voice trembling as he strove to control himself.

“My final decision,” stormed the Major. “Yes, if you ever dare speak to me of her, or of marrying, I’ll cut you off without a penny. She only wants my money, anyhow. She’s like all the rest of the Baldwin’s. She’s been trying to trap you and get a hold on my money.”

“I won’t listen even to your slandering her,” said Larry rapidly. “I can work. I can support her without your help. I’ll marry her and prove to you that what you say about her is false.”

He turned quickly and started for the door.

“Hey, aren’t you ever coming?” shouted Winans.

“Coming,” cried Larry, striving to conceal his emotion.

He turned his face quickly as he opened the door. The Major, looking apoplectic had sunk into a chair and did not meet his gaze. For ten minutes Major Lawrence remained motionless. Then suddenly he slapped his leg.

“By George,” he ejaculated, “I believe that little game cock would do it. I’ve got to get busy and see that girl.”

He arose quickly, and bustled out to meet Lattiser.

A frantic outburst of applause, followed by the ripping, crashing Cascade yell aroused Larry Kirkland from the half daze in which he had moved since his fiery interview with Major Lawrence. For an hour he had been torn by a tumult of conflicting emotions in which he found it difficult to think clearly. The hot anger in which he had parted with his guardian had partially subsided and given way to stubborn determination to carry out his part of the program.

His mind was made up; Major Lawrence had called him ungrateful, a parasite and had hinted that he was incompetent to earn his own living. He would no longer accept alms, he thought bitterly. He realized that he had failed to lighten the supposed burden of woe for Helen Baldwin. She must bear it bravely for a little while and he would go out into the big world, fight the battles for himself and for her and return and claim her. His mind had traveled in circles over and over the same ground. Plainly he could not marry her at once because that would place him in a position where they must accept aid from either Major Lawrence or from the Baldwins—and to him the thought of either was hateful.

The roar of the crowd as the Cascade players trotted out onto the playing field broke in upon his tumult of thought. His brain cleared as if by magic, and a sudden grim resolve seized upon him. He would play that day as never before. It was his last game of ball and he would show them his ability. He jerked his belt more tightly and, diving sideways, fielded a hard-hit ball and tossed it quickly to Jacobs, who, pivoting as a dancer whirls, threw to first base. Another outburst of applause greeted the lightning-like handling of the ball and the applause was like balm to Larry’s sore nerves. The weariness from a sleepless night, the mental strain of the morning passed; he felt quick return of confidence in himself. He looked upon the crowd, volleying cheers back and forth across the arena, and smiled cynically. They were all his foes now—he was going to fight them all now, to force them to his own terms.

Larry found himself giving directions with a coolness that surprised him. His low-toned advice to Katsura and Winans was given with the air of one accustomed to commanding.

“These fellows have been hitting against speedy pitching all the time,” he said. “I do not think they can hit your slow twisters Katty, keep the fast curve low, pitch the javelin ball close to their hands and across their chests, and tease them into hitting the slow twisters.”

“No breaks to-day, boys,” he called as his team left the bench. “On the toes every minute. Remember, every man hits when he sees the runner moving and every base runner runs. Make Herron pitch all the time. Don’t hit until you have to, and then run it out to the limit.”

The spirit of the Cascade team was high and their confidence rising. Katsura, pitching easily, puzzled the heavy hitters of Golden in the first inning and three of them retired on easy chances.

“They’re swinging their heads off,” remarked Larry. “All three of them hit at the ball before it got to the plate. Mix them up in the next, Katty, and keep them guessing.”

Inspired by their success, Cascade rushed the attack. Jacobs, leading off, reached first, and instead of waiting for a sacrifice or a hit and run sign, he dashed for second; Dalmores swung viciously, missed, and Jacobs was out at second.

“Great work, Jake,” said Larry, although the Cascade crowd was groaning. “Keep it up and he’ll throw the game away.”

Dalmores went out and Trumbull, after hitting a hard single, was caught trying to steal on the third ball pitched.

The Cascade crowd was vexed, thinking that two chances had been wasted; but the players were satisfied. Katsura, cunningly mixing his “javelin” throw with his slow, twisting curve held Golden at bay in the second inning.

“Rush ’em again boys,” ordered Larry tersely. “Rush ’em. We’ve got to upset them and get a bunch of runs in one inning. Keep at ’em.”

In vain they strove to smash the defense of Golden, and the third inning passed, neither team having been able to gain any advantage. The crowd was in an uproar and the excitement was growing. In the fourth, Cascade had two men on bases, and both were lost in striving to take an extra base on hits. The fifth found them in a deadlock. Cascade had had six men on first base and each had gone out, four of them striving to steal bases, and the others in attempting to go from first to third base on short hits. Golden had only succeeded in reaching first base twice, and both runners were left standing still.

The Cascade contingent in the stands was beginning to complain that the players were throwing away their opportunities. They did not stop to think that only twice had they succeeded in making two hits in an inning, and that, had any runner succeeded in advancing an extra base, each hit would have meant a score.

To Larry, keenly watching, forgetful of his own troubles and thinking only of winning the game, it was evident that the rushing tactics of the players were bothering both Herron, the pitcher and Langham, the catcher. Herron was worrying as he pitched because he was constantly compelled to watch the runners, and Langham was overanxious, and leaping into position to throw with every ball that was pitched.

Larry, glancing toward the stands, saw Major Lawrence sitting with Paw Lattiser. His face was purple from cheering and he applauded every play, good or bad and keeping the spectators near him convulsed with laughter by his display of ignorance of the game. Not far from them he espied Helen Baldwin, surrounded by a bevy of St. Gertrude girls. She waved a cane garnished with Cascade colors.

“She hides her troubles better than I do,” reflected Larry, watching her gay chattering with her companions.

In the sixth inning, with two out, little Atchison reached first base for Golden. Katsura, after having two strikes on Mortimer, tried his javelin ball, and the big outfielder, lunging at the first fast ball he had seen all day, drove it far to the right field corner of the field, and scored behind Atchison.

The Cascade throng sat silent, while a sudden tempest seemed lashing into golden waves the stands in which the University supporters sat.

“That’s all right,” called Larry. “We’ll get them back and then some. Keep right at them. They’ll break soon.”

He glanced toward the stands, where Major Lawrence was protesting frantically that the hit was foul by ten feet and, as he gazed, he saw Helen Baldwin standing and waving a streamer of Golden ribbons that she had snatched from one of her companions. The sight of this display of disloyalty aroused him to the fighting point. He raced to the coacher’s lines and led the team, cheering, coaching, pleading with them to get on first base. Katsura managed to draw a base on balls. On the first ball pitched, the fleet little brown boy was off far ahead of the pitch, and he slid safely into second, only to be left.

Golden, scenting victory, attacked with new vigor; but Katsura, pitching steadily and cunningly, prevented scoring, and the end of the seventh saw the Cascade team seemingly beaten 2 to 0.

“Hit every ball he pitches now, fellows,” cautioned Larry quietly. “Hit any ball he puts over the plate and run it to the limit. Don’t stop until the ball is ahead of you.”

Dalmores was first. He rushed to the bat, smashed the first ball pitched hard to left field. The fielder picked up the ball quickly and threw back to the pitcher, over the shortstop’s head. Dalmores turned first base in his stride and, before the pitcher could get the ball and throw it back to second, he slid in safely and the Cascade “Waterfall yell” arose in challenge to the waving of the golden banners. Trumbull hit the ball viciously, Golden’s shortstop fumbled and he was safe on first, with Dalmores perched on second. Winans hit a hard-line drive, straight at Golden’s shortstop, and both base runners were compelled to dive back to the bags to avert a double play.

Larry Kirkland came to bat with Cascade cheering wildly. He walked slowly to the plate, determined to turn the tide. He sent a long foul down the left field line. On the next ball he stepped forward, hit a curve as it broke and as the ball flashed over the third baseman’s head, he sprinted as never before. Dalmores scored and Winans, running at a terrific pace, reached third. Larry by a desperate slide, reached second in safety.

A hit meant the lead for Cascade and a sudden silence fell over the contending forces. In the crisis, Torney flied out to the first baseman and the chances seemed lost. Allen, the next batter was a poor hitter. Larry was desperate. He was ranging up and down, almost to the shortstop. Suddenly he called out and at that instant Herron, already goaded and worried by the aggressive base-running attack, whirled and threw the ball to the second baseman. Even as he threw Winans dashed for the plate. Larry stood still until he saw the second baseman hurl the ball back to the catcher to shut off the run. Then he raced for third. Winans had slid safe to the plate with the tieing run and Larry, sprinting at top speed, whirled around third, and racing twenty feet toward the plate, suddenly stopped, dodged as if to return to the bag and hesitated. Langham saw him and with frantic haste hurled the ball to the third baseman hoping to trap the runner. As he threw, Larry whirled again and was in full flight toward the plate. The third baseman, leaping, dragged down the high-thrown ball and hurled it back to Langham, low and wild, and as Larry slid across the plate the Cascade yell poured down from stands and bleachers, and the Golden banners dropped.

Golden, in panic and broken by the dazzling, daring base-running attack, went to pieces. Before the rushing assault ended, two more runners had crossed the plate, and in the eighth inning Larry led the assault with a three-base hit that gave Cascade the victory 7 to 2.

Cascade was the champion. Years of defeat at the hands of Golden University were avenged. The Cascade crowd swarmed upon the field, even while the players were cheering their overthrown rivals, and Larry Kirkland found himself borne aloft and carried around the field on the shoulders of the students, he found no joy in it. The reaction had set in and with a rush he recalled his troubles. The victory seemed a hollow one.

The cheers, the applause, the congratulations of friends who pushed and crowded to shake his hand meant nothing to Larry Kirkland. Fellows he had known and liked pounded him upon the back and shouted their congratulations and rejoicings over the victory. To hide his feelings he forced himself to smile and mutter thanks. To him the victory seemed all hollow and useless; and his years of struggling to achieve a place on the team and win his C appeared vain and futile, not worth the effort. He was facing stern realities now, and the achievements that had seemed to him all-important dwindled and appeared childish.

He was dressing hastily, taking little part in the boisterous celebration in the club house. The players, relieved suddenly from the strain, half-hysterical with joy over their victory, wrestled, pushed each other into the big swimming plunge, pounded each other with wet towels and hurled shoes and bats against the lockers in sheer delirium of gladness. They hugged each other, while each, trying to lift his voice above the others, yelled praise of the playing the others had done during the game. Larry, dressing rapidly at his locker, strove to escape unnoticed. Over on the opposite side of the row of lockers Harry Baldwin was dressing in sullen silence. He had not been allowed to have a part in the great game, and a sense of injustice rankled within him. Mentally he charged Larry Kirkland with treating him unfairly, although the truth was, Larry had forgotten him entirely, although he knew Helen Baldwin and her friends were waiting for Harry to dress. He must see Helen a moment before Harry joined her to tell her his plan. He threw his coat over his arm and hastened toward the door, hoping to escape unseen. The one thing he dreaded above all others was bidding good-bye to the fellows of the team. He feared if he attempted to say farewell he would break down. A lump was in his throat. He wondered whether they would miss him. He had resolved not to remain for commencement, not even to wait to receive the cherished C.

“Hey, you Larry!” roared Trumbull. “What are you trying to do? Going to ditch us for a skirt? Shame on you.”

The indignant outburst of the big fielder rallied the others and attracted their attention to Larry’s effort to flee. They seized upon him and dragged him back.

“Don’t fellows,” he pleaded. “I haven’t got time to celebrate right now—important business. I must hurry before she—before”——

“SHE,” howled Trumbull. “I knew it! Let’s throw him in the tank and make him unpresentable.”

“Not now, fellows,” begged Larry, struggling to get away. “Really, I’ve got to go.”

“All right,” vouchsafed his captors unwillingly. “If you will desert us, we’ll get even. Wait until the dinner to-night. We’ll make you give a speech and then hiss you.”

“So long, fellows! Hate to leave you,” Larry managed to say. There was a tug at his heart-strings, but he tried to smile, and backed out of the door dodging a shower of shoes and gloves that enabled him to hide agitation. Only Katsura saw something was wrong. He ran quickly after Larry, overtook him in the corridor, and laid his hand upon the captain’s arm.

“If it is any trouble in which I may help,” he said, “command me. I would like to help you.”

“Thank you, Katty,” Larry gulped. “I’ll never forget—never—good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Katsura, shaking his hand firmly. “Is it nothing I can help?”

“Nothing,” said Larry thickly, turning away, leaving Katsura gazing sadly after him.

He hurried out into the late afternoon sunshine and across the campus to where a bevy of girls fluttered around a waiting automobile. They waved the Cascade colors and set up a shrill cheer as he approached—a cheer that ended in a burst of laughter. Hat in hand, he walked directly to Helen Baldwin.

“Oh, Larry!” she said, “it was glorious, it was magnificent—why what is the matter?”

“Walk with me a little way,” he said. “I came to tell you.”

“It is bad news then,” she said petulantly as they drew apart from the others. “I knew Mr. Lawrence would not consent.”

“He refused,” said Larry. “I defied him. I told him we would not take a penny of his money.”

“How foolish of you,” she said lightly. “You should not have quarreled with him.”

“But we could not accept charity,” he protested. “You must stand it until I can come back and support you.”

“Come back?” she exclaimed. “Where are you going?”

“I do not know,” he said. “You must be brave, Helen. I am going away. I have broken with Major Lawrence. I’ll go away somewhere and”——

“That is foolish,” she said. “I was afraid when Major Lawrence came to me that you had quarreled with him. He didn’t seem a bit angry with me. He was very polite.”

“You saw Uncle Jim?” he asked in surprise. “What did he say? What did you tell him?”

“I told him it was all a joke”——

“A joke?” The boy’s face was ghastly from the shock.

“Of course, Larry,” she replied impatiently. “Be sensible. You did not want me to quarrel with him, did you?”

“But it wasn’t necessary to tell him that,” he protested.

“I did it to throw him off his guard,” she said lightly. “Then we could run away and get married. I know he’d forgive us, now that he knows me. He really seemed to like me, and patted me on the arm and said I was a sensible girl.”

“It sounds as if you deceived him,” he answered sulkily. “We cannot treat him that way—deceive him and come to him as beggars, asking him to support us.”

“Be sensible, Larry,” she pouted, drilling holes in the gravel walk with the end of her stick. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“I know it is hard on you,” he said. “But it is better that we make our own way. I can work and support you.”

“And give up everything?” she asked with open eyes. “Ridiculous!”

“You will have to wait a year—maybe two years,” the boy said softly.

“Helen!” Harry Baldwin called sharply from the group near the automobile. “We are waiting.”

“Coming in a moment,” she cried back gaily. “Don’t be foolish, Larry,” she added.

“You will not forget? You will wait for me?” he asked holding her hand.

“They are looking, Larry,” she said, drawing her hand away. “Be sensible.”

“You will wait?”

“Coming,” she cried as Harry called again, and then hurriedly. “Yes, yes—now be sensible and make up with Major Lawrence.”

She turned away. Larry walking determinedly across the campus, saw her in the gay group in the tonneau as the car whizzed around the circular drive. He stood gazing after the retreating car, but she did not turn to look back. Then he hastened to his rooms.

*     *     *     *     *     *

That night there was a vacant place at the head of the table when the baseball squad gathered for the Jubilation dinner at which the C’s were awarded. A rapid search of the campus failed to reveal a trace of the missing captain. The squad sent to bring him to the dinner found Major Lawrence alternately storming up and down the dismantled room and dropping in helpless dejection into a chair.

During the dinner Larry Kirkland, bravely choking back the lump that persisted in arising in his throat, sat in a seat of an eastbound Overland train, looking out into the darkness of the Sierras and trying to plan his future.

THE END

A few obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected without note.

[End of Jimmy Kirkland of the Cascade College Team by Hugh S. Fullerton]