by Zane Grey
Judge Meggs read the petition and names of the men who had signed it, and he said there could be little doubt of the great benefit Findlay had derived in a business way from the advertising given to it by the baseball team.
“Your Honor,” he concluded, impressively, “I will now have one of the defendants tell his experience of baseball.”
At a word from Judge Meggs, Chase stepped forward. His face was white, his eyes dark from excitement, but he appeared entirely self-possessed.
“Your Honor, I am eighteen years old and have played baseball as long as I can remember. I learned in the streets and on the lots of Akron. When twelve years old I left school to work to support my mother and a crippled brother. I sold papers, did odd jobs, anything that offered. I had a crooked eye then, and it was hard for me to get a place. People didn’t like my looks. At fourteen I went to work in the moulding department of a factory. I studied at night to try to get some education. When I had been there a year, I earned five dollars a week. After four years I was earning six dollars. I did not advance fast.”
“Last summer I played ball on the factory team. This spring I decided to be a ball player. My mother opposed me, but I persuaded her. I started out to find a place on a team. My crooked eye was against chances of success. I became a tramp, and beat my way from town to town. I starved—but I hung on.
“One morning I awoke in a fence corner. A woman I spoke to said the town near by was Findlay. I hunted up the ball-grounds and the manager. He didn’t see my ragged clothes or my crooked eye. He gave me a chance. I played a wretched game. I expected to be thrown from the grounds. He gave me money, said he would keep me, would teach me the game. I tried hard and I made good.
“I have been very happy here in Findlay. I never knew what friends meant. Everybody has been kind to me. I have dreamed of one day being a business man here. But best for me was what I could do for my mother and brother. She does not take in washing any more or sew herself blind late into the nights. My brother has had treatment for his hip; he has the books he needed, and he will get the education he longs for.
“When I learned we were to play Sunday ball I was stunned. I never thought of that. My mother gave me Christian teaching, and I kept the Sabbath day. I was sick with doubt. I felt that I was going to do wrong. I concluded that it would be wrong, but I had no mind to sacrifice my place on the team. That had been too dearly bought. It meant too much to me.
“My mother had to be told, and there lay the reason of my seeking for some excuse. It came to me in the first Sunday game. There were five hundred men and boys who had never attended one of our games. No one ever saw a wilder crowd. It was as if they had been let out of an asylum. They were crazy, but it was with happiness. They screamed like Indians, but it was for freedom. I saw men smash their hats, boys throw their coats; and both yell with tears in their eyes. Why?
“Your Honor, I will tell you why. I know what it means to work from daylight to night, year in, year out, with no chance, no hope for the natural play every man and especially every boy loves. It is very easy for ministers and teachers to tell us working-men how to spend the one free day, and no doubt they mean well, but they miss the point. On Sunday those shrieking, boisterous diggers, cappers, puddlers, refiners, had gone back to their boyhood. They played the game for us with their hearts, their throats, their tears.
“The night after that game, I had a change of feeling. I began to think perhaps after all it was not so bad for me to play ball on Sunday. I began to see things I had never seen before. If I could satisfy myself that the hundreds of men and boys were better off at a Sunday game than elsewhere, then I was justified in playing for their amusement.
“So I began to go ’round and ask questions. At first this searching for the truth was because of what I must tell my mother; afterwards the thing itself interested me. I went to the foundries and factories, to the big refineries, to the brick-yards—everywhere. And I found everybody knew me; everybody had a word for me; everybody’s eyes shone at the mention of the next Sunday game. I talked to little boys and girls carrying dinner to their fathers, and I went home with them and talked to their mothers. One and all, these mothers welcomed the game.
“I visited the saloons and beer-gardens, the road houses and the dance-halls. I found them bitterly opposed to Sunday ball. Their Sunday business was ruined. Two big gardens closed up after the second Sunday. I had seen some of these places when in full blast on a busy Sunday. The beer ran in streams and the air reeked.
“It seems to me those who make the laws would learn something if they would become mere hard-working men. When their eyes burned in their heads, and their backs ached, and they never saw the sky, and grew dull and weary, they would see differently. They wouldn’t ask any man to sit in church and be told how to be good and happy. A man or a boy penned up all the week needs some kind of a fling. Your Honor, I wrote my mother that I was not doing wrong when I played Sunday ball. I am not ashamed of it. We players are not a disgrace to Findlay.”
Chase sat down. Judge Meggs stroked his chin and watched His Honor, while the crowd roared their applause. Finally Mayor Duff rapped on his desk.
“I am sitting in judgment on this case as Mayor of Findlay, as a deacon of the church bringing the action, and as a director of the Findlay Baseball Association. I am rather submerged in the deep sea between the two sides. But I am happy to say that as mayor, church member, and director I have solved the problem.
“I do not want to go on record as agreeing entirely with Alloway. Still, so far as he is concerned, I uphold him. More than that, he has given us something to think about. I have long had my eye on those halls and gardens he spoke of, and now they shall be closed on Sundays.
“During the last few days I have visited every prominent business concern in Findlay, and I have laid before each this baseball situation. In substance, I said I would permit Sunday ball unless they gave their employees a half-holiday on Saturdays. I have spoken of Findlay’s prosperity, and that no small factor in the activity of business for the last few years has been the advertisement of our crack baseball team. I have gone to the different leaders of the churches and of society, and I have solicited their cooperation, assuring them if they would join forces with me for the good of Findlay and the laboring classes and the base ball people, there need be no Sunday ball.
“I am happy to say that I have been entirely successful. There will be no Sunday ball. There will be no open shops or factories or mills on Saturday afternoons. We, all of us, working people, church people, everybody concerned, will profit by this. How much better it is for the baseball team to have the undivided support of Findlay! That is what it will now have. Findlay is proud of its baseball team. And it is proud of some other things—its prosperity, its good name, its old-fashioned institutions. We want still to have the quiet, serene Sundays our fathers and mothers had.
“I think it is to the credit of Findlay that we can meet this question and settle it to everybody’s satisfaction. I am sure the matter has been wholesome for us as a city and as individuals.
“So, I am happy to dismiss the case, assuring the prosecution and the defense that they both have won, and that their victory is in every way an advance, a betterment, for the commonwealth of Findlay.”
CHAPTER XIV
WAITING IT OUT
It was a good thing for Chase and his batting average that right after the trial, the Findlay team took their usual monthly trip on the road. Chase’s hitting had been slowly dropping off, except for an occasional vicious double or triple during the last two weeks; but once away from home he returned rapidly to form. The team broke even on the trip—a satisfactory showing to Mac.
“Sure, we’re restin’ up fer the break into the stretch,” he said.
They came home to find the town more stirred up than ever. The faction that had opposed the game now printed editorials, sent circulars and petitions, preached sermons, and worked indefatigably for Mac and his players, and therefore c
reated all the more interest.
The directors came out with an announcement that, owing to the increased patronage, it was necessary to have more seating capacity, and they erected another open stand.
Chase was all the more popular and more sought after than ever, but he could not take the pleasure in it that he had derived before his arrest. He was quiet and preoccupied, and haunted the ball-grounds on mornings and practised batting till Mac drove him out.
“You Indian, you’ll go stale!” cried Mac. “Besides, you’re battin’ all my practice balls over the fence for the kids to steal.”
Chase thought that a thousand persons beaming upon him could not make up for the coldly averted look of one individual. He fondly imagined that the few whom he met at long intervals, who passed him by as if he were nothing, were the occasion of his gloom. He began to revel in a species of self-pity. It remained for him to learn a good deal from his stanch friend, Mittie-Maru.
“Down in the mouth agin? Didn’t I onc’t hear you ask Mac, ‘Wot you want fer fifteen cents—canary birds?’ Chase, me old college chum, you’ve got the pip. You couldn’t see tru a millstone wid a hole in it. Ain’t you ‘It’ ’round these diggin’s? Sure as yer born, one of the big teams’ll cop you out this fall. Thet’ll mean two thousand next season. An’ here you go mopin’ ’round like a dead one. Wot t’ ’ell’s the matter wid you?”
“I’m just a little off my feed, Mittie, I guess.”
“I reckon it’s not thet. You’ve got the dingest case I ever seen, Chase. A pair of sky-blue eyes hev been yer finish. It’s a case of shut out! No hit game! Not a look in! Marjory’s folks hev trun you down, an’ now everything you see is pea-green.”
“Mittie-Maru—”
“Go wan! Yer insulted? Perfeckly rude, ain’t I? Say, I wanter beat some sense into yer block. You can’t string me. I know, an’ I wanter put in my oar. See! Fust thing you know, you’ll be hevin’ a slump, an’ yer fine record’ll go to bally-hoo. Listen, I’ve been with Miss Marjory most every day while the team was away, an’ I hed my troubles cheerin’ her up. You ain’t been been forgot by her!”
Chase gave a start, turned wildly to Mittie, and stuttered, “I-I-Is—she s-sorry?”
“Tho’t you’d come to. Sorry! Say, Marjory’s washed all the sky-blue out ’en her eyes cryin’. She can’t cry except when she’s with me, so thet’s how I git it in the neck, as usual.”
“W-what—did she—s-say?”
“She don’t say much ’cept, ‘Mittie, he’s angry with me.—Is he angry with me?—Will he stay angry with me?’ An’ then she weeps some more.”
“Angel!” murmured Chase.
“Say, Chase, if you’ve any regard fer my friendship—cut thet out! An’ yer wrong about Miss Marjory’s bein’ an angel She’s a little devil. I tell you, I bet she makes the fire fly for thet bunch as was after yer scalp. She won’t go to church, or Sunday school. She’s sore on her mother an’ won’t speak to the old man. She showed yer speech, thet you made at the trial, an’ was printed in the Chronicle, to Mr. Marsden, an’ sez it was better ’n any sermon he ever preached An’ she won’t see him any more. She says they all make her tired. Oh! Marjory’s got her back up an’ she’s gamer ’n a red monkey. So all you’ve got to do is slip out to the river with me an’ the rest’s easy.”
“No! No! No!” cried Chase. “Then her folks would have something against me.”
“Wot?”
“I can’t do it, Mittie, and yet I want to see her—”
“Are you goin’ to quit, lay down, throw the game?”
Chase struggled with his temptation and overcame it. “It wouldn’t be right, Mittie.”
“Well, I’ll be dinged! Wot’s wrong about fightin’ yer own battles? Ain’t Miss Marjory a girl? She don’t know she’s wild over you, but she is. All this knockin’ of you has put the last crimp in her little romance. Her folks might hev hod sense enough to see thet. The more they say agin’ you the more she’ll be fer you. But darn her folks! I’m thinkin’ about her. Presently she’ll git wise to her own feelin’s. An’ there you are, standin’ off like thet Greek feller on a monument. You want to be near home-base when Miss Marjory gets wise to herself, an’ then, if you run hard an’ make a good slide, you’ll score! If you’re not there she’ll freeze. Girls is girls. Darn the old folks! They preach a lot, an’ go ’round tellin’ wot angels they was onct. It’s dollars to doughnuts they half lie an’ half forgit—”
“Mittie, will you shut up?” demanded Chase, in distraction.
“Wot? Of all ungrateful dubbs! But hol’ on, my feelin’s ain’t hurt. You’re got to listen! I’ve been savin’ my best hit fer the last innin’. It’s a corker, a homer all right, all right! Miss Marjory’s bought all the buttons with yer picture on thet she could find. She’s wearin’ ’em fer badges an’ medals, an’ shirt-waist buttons, an’ sleeve-buttons, an’ I’m dinged if I know what else. Now wot do you think of her?”
But Chase fled without answering, nor turned at Mittie-Maru’s shrill yell.
The gloom that shrouded him rolled away. Something seemed to sing to him that all would end well; something whispered for him to wait. His mother had always told him to wait when in anger or doubt. And he applied her advice to temptation, to fear and trembling, to wonderful vague hopes.
* * * *
After the game that day, Mittie-Maru sidled up to Chase, searched his face with a gleaming glance, and said: “I won’t kid any more, Chase. You can trust me to say the right thing to Miss Marjory. I see her every mornin’, an’ she wants to know a lot. An’ I’m a good liar. But—wot’s yer game?”
“Waiting it out!” replied Chase, with a smile.
The little hunchback nodded gravely and walked away with his slow, labored steps.
Chase found a note at his boarding house. It was from Judge Meggs, asking him to call in the evening on a matter of some importance. After supper he hurried to the judge’s home. It was magnificent house, one of the finest in Findlay. Chase felt proud of being invited to call there. A maid admitted him and showed him into the library.
“Hello, Chase, have a chair,” greeted the judge. “How’s the game today? Was busy late and couldn’t get out.”
“Mansfield was easy for us, 11 to 3. But they’re weak, in last place.”
“Did you get any hits today?”
“Four, but two of them were Texas leaguers.”
“Four hits! You certainly are keeping it up. And what are Texas-league hits?”
“Little measly flies that drop just over the head of an infielder. I hate them. I like to feel the bat spring and hear the ball ring off. To ‘hang a bell on ’em,’ as Mittie-Maru says.”
“You’re growing heavier, Chase. You’re filling out.”
“Yes, what do you think? I weigh nearly a hundred and seventy now. It’s funny I’m getting fat, when I perspire so much.”
“What was the feature of today’s game?”
“Cas’s bulldog. He certainly made things hum. Now you know just before play is called every game, Mittie-Maru puts the club colors on Algy—that’s the bulldog’s name—and runs him around the diamond. Just for luck, you know. Well, Algy surely is proud of that job. Today as he was coming in the stretch, a little, sassy, ugly pup ran out of the grandstand. Algy saw it and must have taken it for a rat—he’s death on rats—for he bolted after it. Mittie tried to grab him, and Cas yelled like mad. I guess Cas knew what was coming off. Algy chased the little dog up into the grandstand. There was a big crowd—lots of women. Well, it was funny. I never saw such a muss in my life. Of all the screaming you ever heard! The women stood on the chairs and fell all over the men. Some of them got on the railing and were pushed off into the field. You know the wire screen in front of the grandstand back of the home-plate? Well, in the crush to get out of Algy’s way, some women jumped on the railing and of course fell up against the screen. It sagged out and dropped down in a sort of bag, and there the women were like fish in a net, kicking a
nd floundering ’round. Mac said it beat a bargain sale in loongeree, whatever that is. Cas finally got hold of Algy, and it surely was time enough!”
“There’s always something new and funny at a ball game,” said the judge, with his hearty laugh. “Now, Chase, let’s talk business. I’ve got a proposition to make to you. Have you planned anything for the winter?”
“No.”
“Is there any reason why you could not have your mother and brother come to live in Findlay?”
“Why, I guess not.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve got a job for you, seventy-five a month to start with. Meggs & Co.—you know my brother’s big store, groceries, wholesale and retail, hardware, oil-men’s supplies, etc. I’m a member of the firm. We are investing heavily in new oil-fields, branching out. You’ll be busy in the store and keeping time of the men. You’ll have a chance to learn things. This job will be ready for you soon. In the meantime, you can hang around in the mornings and get on to your work. How does the idea strike you?”
“Thank you—why—it’s simply bully. Only—does that mean I must give up baseball?”
“Certainly not. It’s a winter’s work for you. You must stick to baseball till you’ve made some money. But I take it you won’t loaf between seasons. I just thought I’d throw this in your way. We need a young man. And as I hinted, there might turn up something of future value to you.”
“I accept—thank you very much.”
“Now here’s another idea. There’s a cottage and a plot of ground, ten acres, I think, on Elm Street, just on the out skirts of town. It’s a pretty place and for sale cheap. A little money on repairs would make it a nice home. There’s an orchard, a grove of maples, and the river runs along the edge of it. This place would be a good investment at twice the price asked for it. I know. I am interested in a real-estate deal with some men here. King’s one, so’s Mayor Duff. We’re going to develop a good bit of ground to the north of town. Prices will go up out that way. I can get this place on any terms you want. You can buy it for less than rent. You run out there the first thing tomorrow, and if you like the place, come to my office and we’ll close the deal. Now let’s have a game of billiards.”