CHAPTER V
A MATCH GAME
For a long time there had been great rivalry between the ball teams of Riverdale and Exeter; the latter, a small town lying five miles inland, where there was a boys’ preparatory school. This year each had won five games out of a series of ten, and the extra game to be played to-day was to decide the championship. The Riverdale high school captain, Al Hayden, the druggist’s son, had picked his team with great care for this important occasion, and Phil had been chosen pitcher.
The ball grounds were just outside of the village, and not only were the people of Riverdale there in large numbers, but the crowd was augmented by farmers from the surrounding country who had come in for their Saturday trading and took advantage of the opportunity to see a good ball game. Several wagon loads of “fans” from Exeter also rode over in the wake of the bus that carried their ball players, to participate in the fun and excitement.
All classes of people occupied the “bleachers.” Merchants, lawyers and even two liberal minded ministers of the gospel were among them, while Judge Ferguson strolled over as the game commenced, accompanied by his pretty daughter, Janet, to see how Phil conducted himself. The Randolph children were plebeian enough to attend; the manager of the mill was there, and all the small Darings, except Phœbe, eagerly awaited the contest.
There was a stand where red lemonade was sold, and boys carried around baskets of peanuts and popcorn to refresh the audience. Nearly every high school in town had thought it her duty to be present, and their bright ribbons and dresses added a picturesque element to the scene.
Phil Daring appeared as composed as ever, when he entered the arena with his comrades; but, never for a moment, since his interview with Mr. Ferguson had his mind been free from grief, humiliation and bitter disappointment. He nodded and smiled as the throng greeted him with hearty cheers; yet all the time he was thinking to himself: “My days of fun and freedom are nearly over now. I must give up college, for good and all, and settle down somewhere to make a living and help support the children. I don’t know what I can do, I’m sure, that will earn the needed money. No one in Riverdale needs any help such as I can give, and I’m not experienced enough to be of much service in a big city. It will be a hard fight, with all the chances against me; but I’ve got to undertake it and make a go of it.”
These and similar thoughts flooded his mind to the exclusion of all else. Mechanically, he tossed the ball in practice, and when time was called he took his position in the pitcher’s box with scarcely a realization of what he was doing.
A sudden silence fell upon the throng as Phil pressed the new ball into his palm, drew back with his well-known easy swing and sent the sphere flying through the air. There followed a low murmur that sounded like a groan as the ball flew wide and smashed against the back-stop. Some of the Exeter people laughed. But Phil was unaware of either moans or laughter. He was thinking of something else more important. Getting the ball again, he made another toss and the batter caught it with a full blow and sent it flying into the field for a two-bagger. Al Hayden looked grave at this but said nothing. Phil was Riverdale’s crack pitcher, as a rule; but, perhaps he hadn’t his hand in yet.
As the game progressed, however, it was evident to all that Phil Daring had “fallen down” and was pitching a miserable game. The Exeters had six runs to the best of it at the end of the sixth inning and the prospects for the Riverdale nine’s being able to even the score were decidedly gloomy. Phil had been equally unsuccessful at the bat, “fanning out” whenever his turn came.
It was unwise to risk the winning of the game by allowing Daring to play any longer. Al Hayden hurriedly consulted with his mates and then called Phil aside.
“I’m sorry, old man,” he said; “but, you don’t seem fit, to-day, and we’re bound to lose unless we make a desperate effort. Take the bench, and I’ll put Eric in to pitch – and Jed Hopkins in Eric’s place.”
Phil gave a sudden start and drew his hand across his forehead, as the full import of the words was understood. Retired? Retired and discredited at this important juncture! Why, he never would be able to hold up his head in Riverdale again, and all the honors he had formerly won on the field would be wiped away by this disgrace.
“What’s wrong with me, Al?” he asked, anxiously.
“I don’t know, Phil; but something’s wrong. Look at that score – eight to two! – and only three more innings to play. You are usually our stand-by, old fellow; but, to-day you’re the only one of the nine who hasn’t been up to scratch, and fighting to win. I’ve been watching you, and you seem dazed, somehow. Have the Exeter fellows scared you?”
“No,” was the reply. The score, now noticed for the first time, positively startled him. Aroused from his dreams at last he begged Al to try him for another inning.
“Just one,” he pleaded. “Eric can’t pitch as well as I can, I’m sure, and if I don’t make good you can pull me out any time.”
Al hesitated, sighed, and then consented. He really despaired now of winning the game and was so fond of Phil that he hated to humiliate him.
But the conference had been noted by the discontented Riverdale audience and people began to shout: “Take him out!” “Put Daring on the shelf!” “Phil’s gone bad to-day!” and other similar remarks that made Phil straighten up and walk to his station with an air of resolve.
Groans and hoots greeted him, but he never wavered. The first batter to face him, one of the crack Exeter players, struck out, and the crowd ceased their jibes. The next man made a “pop-up” which Phil cleverly caught, and a gentle murmur of applause, mostly from the women, rewarded him. The third man also struck out, and then the crowd forgot its grievance against the young pitcher and gave a hearty cheer.
“Why didn’t he do that, before?” grumbled Judge Ferguson, who had been greatly annoyed at Phil’s poor showing.
“He hasn’t seemed himself, to-day,” replied Janet, with friendly generosity. “It occurred to me that he had heard bad news, or perhaps is not well. Really, papa, I’m not sure that Phil knew he was playing ball, till just now.”
The old lawyer nodded. He knew very well, now that Janet shrewdly called his attention to it, what had doubtless depressed his young friend, and occupied his mind.
“He seems all right now,” he remarked with a sympathetic sigh. “That last inning he played all by himself.”
Indeed, Phil’s record of three “put-outs” unassisted, inspired his fellows with renewed confidence in him. Al Hayden went to bat and made a two-bagger. Toby Clark, Mr. Ferguson’s office clerk, got first base on balls. The next batter struck out, but the one following stepped up to the plate and pounded out a clean hit that filled the bases. It was Phil’s turn now, and he realized the full importance of the crisis. Usually a pitcher is not a very good batter; yet, until to-day Phil had been considered an exception to this rule. So far in the game, however, his bat had never once touched a ball.
The spectators were thrilled by the excitement of the moment, but expected young Daring to strike out and let the next man, a reliable player, bring in some of the men on bases.
But Phil’s face was set and determined. He had not yet redeemed himself. Having well-nigh lost the game for his team by his poor showing, it now behooved him to save the day if he could. No thought now engaged his mind, but this; he was living in the present – not in the future. With watchful eye he followed the approaching ball on its course, and at the proper time struck shrewdly with might and main.
High in the air rose the sphere, describing a perfect arch. With one accord the spectators rose in their seats to watch the ball as it sailed over the back fence, giving the batter a home run and bringing in the three other men.
When the mighty cheer that rent the air had subsided the score was six to eight, instead of eight to two.
In the eighth and ninth innings Phil pitched so well that no runs were added by the Exeter team, while the Riverdales made one tally in each inning and tied the score.
The excitement was now intense. Each team formerly had five games to its credit, and in the present decisive game each side had scored eight runs. An extra inning must be played to determine the championship.
The boys on both sides settled down to do their level best. Phil was perfectly calm and confident. He struck out two and Al caught a long, high fly that retired Exeter with a “goose-egg.” Then the Riverdale team came to bat and the first two – poor Al one of them – went out in short order. But when Phil again came to bat the opposing pitcher lost his nerve, remembering that famous home run. The result was a long drive that landed Daring on third, and the next batter, Jed Hopkins, brought him home, winning the game and the series.
The Riverdale crowd was in an ecstasy of delight and cheered until it was hoarse. Phil’s wonderful playing during the final three innings had fully redeemed him in the eyes of his friends and a dozen young fellows leaped into the arena and hoisted him upon their shoulders, carrying him from the field in triumph. Even the defeated Exeters good-naturedly joined in the applause, while Becky and Sue sobbed with joy at the honors being showered upon their big brother.
“Wasn’t Phil splendid?” exclaimed Janet, as she followed her father from the grand stand.
The old lawyer nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said he, “the lad has a wonderful amount of reserve force, which makes him a good uphill fighter. He reminded me of his father, during that last rally. If Phil Daring has only half the pluck and backbone that Wallace Daring possessed, I predict he’ll some day make his mark in the world.”
“Yet Mr. Daring died poor,” suggested Janet.
“True, my dear; and that was because he died. Had he lived, it would have been a different story.”
CHAPTER VI
HUNTING A JOB
When Phil managed to shake off his enthusiastic friends and return to his home, he found that Phœbe had gone out. Entering the kitchen to ask Aunt Hyacinth where his sister was, he found the black mammy preparing the supper.
“Don’ know whar she am, Marse Phil, I’se shuah,” she said. “But Miss Phœbe’s sartin to be back ’fo’ long.”
Phil turned to go; then he paused, and after a moment’s thought inquired:
“Auntie, who pays our grocery bills?”
“I do, chile,” she answered, giving him an odd look.
“And where do you get the money?” he continued.
Auntie was beating eggs for a custard. She pretended not to hear him. Phil repeated the question.
“Marse Ferg’son done gi’ me a lot,” said she, in a matter of course way.
“Forty dollars, I believe,” the boy rejoined, rather bitterly.
“Mo’ ’n dat, honey; lots mo’.”
“When?”
“’Fore we shifted oveh to dis yeah house. Den he done guv me fohty dollehs mo’, an’ said dat were all dere was left. But I guess it’ll do, all right.”
“Auntie,” said Phil, taking both her hands and looking her squarely in the eyes, “tell me truly; is any of that last forty dollars left?”
A look of genuine distress crossed her honest face.
“No, honey,” she admitted, in a low voice.
“Then, where does the money come from that we’re living on now?”
“H – m. Miss Phœbe done guv it to me.”
“Phœbe!”
“Miss Phœbe; shuah.”
“Where could Phœbe get any money?” he inquired, wonderingly.
“Yo’ haf to ask heh, I guess, Marse Phil.”
He reflected a moment.
“Auntie, you’re keeping something from me; something I ought to know; and it isn’t right to treat me so,” he declared.
She made no reply to this.
“Phœbe hasn’t any money; or, if she’s been trying to earn some, it must be mighty little. See here: I’ll finish school next week, and then I’m going to take care of the family myself, and look after things. Don’t you know I’m the head of the Darings, Auntie, and entitled to know all about our affairs? So tell me, where does all the money come from to pay the grocer, and the butcher, and all the rest?”
“Miss Phœbe done guv me some,” she persisted, half frightened at his earnestness.
“And the rest, Auntie?”
She twisted her apron in her hands and cast an appealing glance into his stern face.
“Tell me, Auntie!”
“Well, yo’ see, Marse Phil,” she began, slowly, “I’ve got a little money what useter b’long to yo’ dead papa.”
“My father!”
“Dat’s a fac’, honey. Ol’ Marse allus done pay me mo’ wages’n I could earn, nohow. I kep’ sayin’ I didn’ want no money; but he insis’, chile; dat ol’ Marse Wallace insis’ I take all he guv me. Law sakes, I don’ neveh need no money, Marse Phil. What ’n a world I need money fo’ – now yo’ tell me, ef yo’ can! But I gotter take it, or make Marse Wallace mad. So, I put it in de bank fo’ safe keepin’, an’ jus’ bided mah time to git even. ’Twan’t mine, honey, shuah ’nuff; but I jes’ let it stay in de bank fo’ ’mehgencies.”
Phil’s face was a study. It grew red and white, stern and dismayed by turns. It was not that he resented accepting assistance from Aunt Hy; she seemed one of the family; but that the Darings should be so miserably poor as to be dependent upon the services of their black mammy for support was so shameful that he could scarcely bear the thought.
“I’m an able-bodied young man,” said he to Phœbe a little later, when the girl had returned from her errand, “and, instead of wasting my muscles and energies on athletic games, all these months, I should have been at work for the family.”
“You didn’t know, dear.”
“I ought to have known, Phœbe. That’s no excuse.”
“I’m sure that everything has happened for the best, Phil,” she replied, tenderly. “We’ve gone along, somehow, and I was anxious that we should both be able to complete our high school course. It’s so near the end, now, that we’d better stick it out.”
“Do you know that Auntie has been spending her savings to buy food for us?”
“Yes; but she doesn’t need the money just now and we will pay her back some time.”
“She says that you have given her money, too.”
“Just a trifle, Phil,” she replied, after a brief hesitation.
“Where did it come from, Phœbe?”
“I – I earned it.”
“How?”
She unclasped her hand and showed him a bright five-dollar gold piece.
“That’s my last week’s wage – as an amateur typist. I’ve been copying manuscript for Reverend Doctor Huntley.”
Phil couldn’t help it; he gathered his twin into his arms and cried like a baby, while Phœbe sobbed on his shoulder and was glad the secret was out at last. There were not many secrets between these two.
Finally, when they had quieted down and could smile into each other’s eyes again, the girl explained how she had found the work and how the kindly clergyman had secured a typewriter for her and been very patient with her mistakes until she had thoroughly mastered it.
“He said, to-day, that it was the neatest and most correct copying he had ever seen,” she added, proudly.
The discovery that Phœbe had been working while he played added fuel to Phil’s remorse. He wanted to quit school at once and seek work, but Phœbe argued long and patiently and at last prevailed upon him to complete his course. It would only require a couple of weeks more to do this, and meantime he could be inquiring for work in the village.
“I’ll not be likely to find it, though,” he predicted. “Riverdale is a dull place, and I’m afraid I’ll have to go to the city.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, for the twins had never been parted in their lives, and she could not endure the thought. “I’m sure that some position may be found here, and although the pay will not be as liberal as in the city, your expenses will be much less. And, above all, we can then remain together.”
“I’ll see what can be done,” he promised, kissing her affectionately; and then the younger ones came trooping in to end their conversation.
For several days it seemed as if Phil’s prediction would be fulfilled. No position was offered him, although the entire village was canvassed. Many of the graduating class were sons of merchants, who intended taking them into their stores. For that reason it was a bad time of the year to seek for work.
Phil went to Mr. Ferguson and asked if it would be right for him to apply at the sugar factory for a job. He did not know his father’s successor, a stern looking man who had been sent by the syndicate to manage the plant, and who was a stranger to Riverdale.
“I’ll see him myself, lad,” decided the lawyer. “I’ve met Mr. Atkins in business ways, and believe I would have more influence with him than you. Come and see me again to-morrow and I’ll report results.”
After school the next day Phil kept the appointment, trying hard to hope that Mr. Ferguson had succeeded. But the old lawyer shook his head, gravely.
“Nothing there for you, Phil,” he said. “Atkins claims it’s his dull season, but I know better. No doubt the man could give you employment, if he chose, but he doesn’t care to have a Daring in the office. An old prejudice against your father for fighting the trust so long.”
“You haven’t thought of any other opening, sir, have you?”
“Not just yet. But, I’ll keep my eye open for you, Phil, and let you know if anything offers. Keep your courage, lad. There’s something for everybody in this world.”
This bit of philosophy fell upon deaf ears. Phil was quite discouraged as he went slowly down the stairs to the street. In the doorway he paused, for Ned Thurber had halted before him. Ned was the clerk in Spaythe’s Bank.
“Congratulate me, Phil,” he said. “I’ve an offer to go to St. Louis, at a big salary.”
Phil shook his hand.
“Are you going, Ned?” he asked eagerly.
“Of course. I’ll be assistant teller in one of the biggest banks there.”
“Who will take your place at Spaythe’s?”
“I don’t know yet. Just got the offer this morning, you see; but I’ve talked with Mr. Spaythe and promised him that I’d stay until he can get someone to take my place. That won’t be easy, though – unless he imports someone.”
“Couldn’t I fill the place, Ned?”
“You! I thought you were going to college.”
“I – I’ve decided not to,” replied Phil.
“But you’ve no experience in banking.”
“No other young fellow in town has, for that matter.”
“That’s true,” said the other, thoughtfully.
“I’d like the job, Ned,” pleaded Phil.
“In that case I’ll speak to the old man about you. I’ve an idea you could fill Eric’s place, while Eric could climb to my position as head bookkeeper. His father ought not to object to that, and I’m sure you could do Eric’s work easily. Another thing is in your favor, Phil. The Daring name is rather popular around here, especially with the farmers, and that counts with a man like Spaythe. The more I think of it, the more I believe we’ve hit the right combination. Trust me to help work it out, for I want to get away as soon as possible.”
Phil did not leave this unexpected chance wholly to Ned’s management, however. He went back and told Judge Ferguson about it, and then he met Eric, the banker’s only son and Phil’s friend. Eric was also employed at the bank and he was astonished and delighted when Phil proposed taking Eric’s place – thus advancing him to the more important post of bookkeeper, to be vacated by Ned Thurber.
“I’ll go and talk to father about it at once,” he said.
That same day Mr. Spaythe was approached by no less than four people in the interests of Phil Daring. First, came his son Eric, who told him Phil was a prince of good fellows. Then Ned Thurber pointed out the fact that the popularity of the Darings would add prestige to the bank. Presently, Judge Ferguson walked in and vouched for Phil’s character and ability, offering to stand sponsor for the boy, if he was given the place. Finally, Phœbe Daring stole into the bank and timidly asked to see Mr. Spaythe.
He looked at her curiously as she entered his private room; a pretty and modest young girl, he thought.
“I met Mr. Thurber a little while ago, and he says that he is going away to St. Louis,” she began. “So I thought I would come here and ask if you won’t take brother Phil in his place. I’m Phœbe Daring, you know.”
Mr. Spaythe nodded.
“I know. You’ve often been here with your father, in the old days. But you’re growing fast now, Miss Phœbe.”
“I need to grow, sir, for I must mother the other children. Of course you know how poor we are. Father always banked here, I remember; so you know, perhaps better than I do, our present circumstances.”
“How old is Phil now?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“H – m. That is rather young.”
“But he is big for his age, Mr. Spaythe. He’s nearly six feet tall, and as strong as anything.”
“Do you think we bank by main strength, Miss Daring?”
“Phil will graduate next week, at High. He hopes to be at the head of his class.”
Mr. Spaythe drummed thoughtfully on the desk with his fingers.
“I’m going to consider your application, my dear,” he said, quite genially for him. “Ask your brother to come and see me.”
Phœbe hurried away, overjoyed at her success. She astonished Phil that evening by saying that she had made an appointment for him to see Mr. Spaythe. He tore up the little note that he had intended to mail to the banker, then kissed his twin sister and thanked her for her assistance. Only Mr. Spaythe knew whose influence had induced him to consider giving the position to an inexperienced, untried youth, fresh from high school. Perhaps, after all, it was the remembrance of his old friendship for the elder Daring.
Anyhow, Phil had a long interview with the old banker and came away engaged to fill the vacancy made by Ned Thurber’s withdrawal. As soon as school closed he was to begin work.
There was great rejoicing among the Darings that evening. Aunt Hyacinth made them one of her famous shortcakes for supper, to celebrate the occasion, and Phil became a hero to his younger brother and sisters, because he was about to step from youth to manhood and become a breadwinner.