False Colors
by
“Fate has decreed more bad luck for Salisbury in Saturday’s game with Bellville. It has leaked out that our rivals will come over strengthened by a `ringer,’ no less than Yale’s star pitcher, Wayne. We saw him shut Princeton out in June, in the last game of the college year, and we are not optimistic in our predictions as to what Salisbury can do with him. This appears a rather unfair procedure for Bellville to resort to. Why couldn’t they come over with their regular team? They have won a game, and so have we; both games were close and brilliant; the deciding game has roused unusual interest. We are inclined to resent Bellville’s methods as unsportsmanlike. All our players can do is to go into this game on Saturday and try the harder to win.”
Wayne laid down the Salisbury Gazette, with a little laugh of amusement, yet feeling a vague, disquieting sense of something akin to regret.
“Pretty decent of that chap not to roast me,” he soliloquized.
Somewhere he had heard that Salisbury maintained an unsalaried team. It was notorious among college athletes that the Bellville Club paid for the services of distinguished players. And this in itself rather inclined Wayne to sympathize with Salisbury. He knew something of the struggles of a strictly amateur club to cope with its semi-professional rivals.
As he was sitting there, idly tipped back in a comfortable chair, dreaming over some of the baseball disasters he had survived before his college career, he saw a young man enter the lobby of the hotel, speak to the clerk, and then turn and come directly toward the window where Wayne was sitting.
“Are yon Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher?” he asked eagerly. He was a fair-haired, clean-cut young fellow, and his voice rang pleasantly.
“Guilty,” replied Wayne.
“My name’s Huling. I’m captain of the Salisbury nine. Just learned you were in town and are going to pitch against us tomorrow. Won’t you walk out into the grounds with me now? You might want to warm up a little.”
“Thank you, yes, I will. Guess I won’t need my suit. I’ll just limber up, and give my arm a good rub.”
It struck Wayne before they had walked far that Huling was an amiable and likable chap. As the captain of the Salisbury nine, he certainly had no reason to be agreeable to the Morristown “ringer,” even though Wayne did happen to be a famous Yale pitcher.
The field was an oval, green as an emerald, level as a billiard table and had no fences or stands to obstruct the open view of the surrounding wooded country. On each side of the diamond were rows of wooden benches, and at one end of the field stood a little clubhouse.
Wayne took off his coat, and tossed a ball for a while to an ambitious youngster, and then went into the clubhouse, where Huling introduced him to several of his players. After a good rubdown, Wayne thanked Huling for his courtesy, and started out, intending to go back to town.
“Why not stay to see us practice?” asked the captain. “We’re not afraid you’ll size up our weaknesses. As a matter of fact, we don’t look forward to any hitting stunts tomorrow, eh, Burns? Burns, here, is our leading hitter, and he’s been unusually noncommittal since he heard who was going to pitch for Bellville.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give a whole lot for my prospects of a home run tomorrow,” said Burns, with a laugh.
Wayne went outside, and found a seat in the shade. A number of urchins had trooped upon the green field, and carriages and motors were already in evidence. By the time the players came out of the dressing room, ready for practice, there was quite a little crowd in attendance.