Barbour Winning His Game

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-98744-933-8
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 219 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

Excerpt: Jimmy Logan stood his skis in the corner behind the door and, tramping heavily to get the clinging snow from his shoes, climbed the first flight in Trow Hall slowly and then dragged wearied feet down the corridor to Number 19. Once inside the room, he said, ?Hello,? shied his cap onto his bed and sank exhaustedly in the nearest chair, stretching his legs across the rug and slumping down until the wet collar of his mackinaw came in contact with his ears. Whereupon he muttered, ?Ugh!? and sat up another inch or two. Across the room, one foot on the floor and the other doubled up beneath him on the window-seat, was Jimmy?s roommate. His response to the greeting had been brief and delivered in a preoccupied voice, for Dudley Baker had a book open before him on the cushion and held a stained and battered baseball in his right hand. His attention was divided between book and ball and had no room for Jimmy. The latter?s gaze presently came away from his shoes, which were trickling water to the rug, and fixed itself on Dudley. He had to sit up still higher in the chair to get an uninterrupted view of his chum, which proceeding elicited a protesting groan from him, and after he had attained it he instantly decided that it was not worth while and deeply regretted the exertion it had caused him. He promptly descended again on his spine, crossed his feet and sighed luxuriously.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Barbour, Ralph Henry

Leseproben

CHAPTER I
DUD WONDERS
Jimmy Logan stood his skis in the corner behind the door and, tramping heavily to get the clinging snow from his shoes, climbed the first flight in Trow Hall slowly and then dragged wearied feet down the corridor to Number 19. Once inside the room, he said, “Hello,” shied his cap onto his bed and sank exhaustedly in the nearest chair, stretching his legs across the rug and slumping down until the wet collar of his mackinaw came in contact with his ears. Whereupon he muttered, “Ugh!” and sat up another inch or two. Across the room, one foot on the floor and the other doubled up beneath him on the windowseat, was Jimmy’s roommate. His response to the greeting had been brief and delivered in a preoccupied voice, for Dudley Baker had a book open before him on the cushion and held a stained and battered baseball in his right hand. His attention was divided between book and ball and had no room for Jimmy. The latter’s gaze presently came away from his shoes, which were trickling water to the rug, and fixed itself on Dudley. He had to sit up still higher in the chair to get an uninterrupted view of his chum, which proceeding elicited a protesting groan from him, and after he had attained it he instantly decided that it was not worth while and deeply regretted the exertion it had caused him. He promptly descended again on his spine, crossed his feet and sighed luxuriously. The dollar clock on Dudley’s chiffonier ticked briskly and loudly in the ensuing silence. Outside the windows tiny flakes of snow were falling. The shadows deepened in the room. In the corridor deliberate footsteps sounded and suddenly the transom over the door showed yellow and an oblong of light appeared on the ceiling. Mr. Crump, the school janitor, was lighting the dormitories. Jimmy wished that his shoes were off, and his mackinaw, and the woolen socks, but as yet he wasn’t equal to the task. When Mr. Crump’s footsteps had died away on the stairs Jimmy broke the silence. “What’re you doing?” he asked uninterestedly. There was, however, no reply from the window-seat, possibly because Jimmy’s tones had been too faint to reach there. After a moment Jimmy turned his head and stared across a pile of books on the study table at the three or four inches of Dudley’s head that were visible. Then: “Dud!” he bawled resentfully. “Huh?” “What are you doing, I asked you.” “Oh, me? Oh, just trying to dope out some of this stuff.” “What stuff?” “Stuff about pitching. How to hold the ball, you know.” “Oh!” Jimmy subsided again and another period of silence followed. Then: “You don’t expect to play baseball for a while, do you?” he asked lazily. “You’d better study how to throw a snowball!” He chuckled faintly at his joke. “It isn’t so long now,” responded Dud soberly. “They’re going to call candidates the twenty-first.” “Gym work,” grunted the other. “Take my advice and keep away from it. Don’t go out for the team until it gets out of doors. Are you still thinking of trying for the school?” “Of course.” Jimmy grunted. “You’ll have a fine show, I don’t think! Better try for the second, Dud.” “I don’t expect to make it, but it’s good practice, and maybe next year——” “You’ll stand more chance with the second, and have a lot more fun. The second’s going to have a regular schedule this year; five or six games, maybe; going away for some of them, too.” “If I don’t make the first, and I suppose I won’t, of course, I’ll try for the second,” said Dud. “I asked Murtha this morning if he thought it would be all right to try for the first, and he said——” “Guy Murtha said, ‘Yes, indeed, Baker, we want all the candidates we can get!’ That’s what they always tell you, and then, when you get out there, they inform you gently but firmly that you won’t do, and hadn’t you better stay with your class team this year and try again next? What’s the use? I like to play ball, Dud, but you don’t catch me putting in a month’s grind in the cage and then getting the G. B. as soon as we get outdoors. Me for the second—and safety.” “You’re lazy,” replied Dud, shutting his book and stowing the ball back of the pillows. “You could make the first this spring if you’d try for it. You ought to, too.” Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’d rather have a sure place on the second, thanks. Gee, but I’m tired!” “Skiing?” “Yes; Pete Gordon and Kelly and Gus and I. We climbed up to the Observatory and then hiked half-way over to the Falls. It was piles of fun going down the mountain. Gus Weston took a header and turned over about forty-eleven times and then went into a snow bank head-first up to his waist. But we tried to do too much. My legs feel as if they’d never stop aching! What have you been doing? Been in here all the afternoon? But, of course, you have. I forgot about your tooth. How is it? Any better?” “Yes. I guess I caught a little cold in it. I wish that dentist chap would yank it out instead of practicing on it!” Dud turned the lights on and perched himself across a chair at the opposite side of the table, his arms on the back, and observed Jimmy in a thoughtful fashion. Jimmy grunted. “Shoot,” he said. “What’s on your mind?” “I—I’ve been wondering, Jimmy.” “Oh, gee!” Jimmy groaned deeply. “At it again, eh? Well, what is it this time, Dud? The other day you were worrying yourself thin because you were afraid you were costing your folks too much money, or something.” Dud smiled. “Not exactly worrying,” he replied. “Just—just wondering.” “There isn’t much difference, the way you do it. If I——” “Not so much about how much I was costing them as whether they’re going to get their money’s worth, Jimmy. Sometimes I wonder whether I’m really doing any good here. Now you look at it this way——” “I won’t! I refuse! Besides, that’s an old one. What’s your latest worry?” “It isn’t a worry—exactly. I was only thinking that——” He paused. Then: “Oh, I guess it isn’t anything, after all. Say, you’d better get out of those wet things, Jimmy.” “I’m going to just as soon as I have strength to move. But I want to hear your new—er—problem, Dud. Come across. ’Fess up to your Uncle Jimmy.” Dud hesitated, smiling a bit embarrassedly. He was a good-looking chap of fifteen, with clean-cut features, a rather fair complexion and very bright blue eyes. He was small-boned and slim, and, since he had been doing a lot of growing the past twelve months, he looked a trifle “weedy.” In that respect he was a distinct contrast to his roommate, for James Townsend Logan was a stocky lad, wide of shoulder and broad of chest. Jimmy was sixteen, although only four months divided the two boys in age. Jimmy’s features were nondescript, but the result was pleasing. He wore his red-brown hair rather long—Dud said it was because he was too lazy to have it cut oftener than once every term—and had a short nose and a wide, humorous mouth and a very square chin. He was a member of the upper middle class, while Dud was a lower middler. “I guess it’s sort of silly,” said Dud after a moment. “But I’ve been wondering”—Jimmy groaned again—“why I don’t know more fellows, Jimmy, why I don’t—don’t ‘mix’ better. I don’t believe I really care a whole lot——” He paused again. “Yes I do, too, though. I’d like to have fellows like me, Jimmy, as they do you, and ask me to do things and go places and—and all that. Of course, I know the trouble’s with me, all right, but—but what is it?” “Oh, piffle, Dud! Fellows do like you.” “Yes, about the way they like the steps in front of School Hall. That is, they don’t exactly like me; they just—just don’t dislike me. I guess I’d rather have them do that than not care a fig whether I’m alive or dead. I suppose this sounds silly, but——” “Honest confession is good for the soul,” responded Jimmy lightly. “But I think you’re wrong about it, Dud. Or, anyway—now look here——” “I suppose I’m just not cut out to be what you might call popular,” interrupted Dud thoughtfully. “Well, but still——” “Shut up and let me talk! The trouble with you is that you don’t let fellows find out whether they can like you or not. You don’t—don’t ‘mix’—do you see? If you’d get into things more——” “But that’s just it! How can I when I see that I’m not wanted?” “That’s just imagination, Dud. You can’t expect fellows to fall all over themselves and hug you! You’ve got to show ’em that you’re ready to be friends. You’ve got to make the start yourself. What do you do when someone says ‘Let’s do this or that’? You mutter something about having to dig Latin or math and sneak off. Fellows naturally think you don’t want to do the things they do. Now today, for instance——” “I couldn’t have gone, Jimmy, with this plaguey toothache!” “Why, no, I guess you couldn’t. But, thunderation, Dud, if it isn’t a toothache it’s something else. You’ve always got some perfectly wonderful excuse for beating it about the time the fun begins. Not that you missed much this afternoon, for you didn’t, barring a lot of tired muscles, but you often do miss...