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Baseball Joe at Yale

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<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> <h3>A NEW CHUM</h3> For a moment Joe stood there, his heart pounding away under his ribs, uncertain what to do—wondering if the Sophomore had recognized him. Then, as the other gave no sign, but continued on his way, whistling gaily, Joe breathed easier. “The cad!” he whispered. “I’d like to—to——” He paused. He remembered that he was at Yale—that he was a Freshman and that he was supposed to take the insults of those above him—of the youth who had a year’s advantage over him in point of time. “Yes, I’m a Freshman,” mused Joe, half bitterly. “I’m supposed to take it all—to grin and bear it—for the good of my soul and conscience, and so that I won’t get a swelled head. Well,” he concluded with a whimsical smile, “I guess there’s no danger.” He looked after the retreating figure of the Sophomore, now almost lost in the dusk that enshrouded the campus, and then he laughed softly. “After all!” he exclaimed, “it’s no more than[56] I’ve done to the lads at Excelsior Hall. I thought it was right and proper then, and I suppose these fellows do here. Only, somehow, it hurts. I—I guess I’m getting older. I can’t appreciate these things as I used to. After all, what is there to it? There’s too much class feeling and exaggerated notion about one’s importance. It isn’t a man’s game—though it may lead to it. I’d rather be out—standing on my own feet. “Yes, out playing the game with men—the real game—I want to get more action than this,” and he looked across at the college buildings, now almost deserted save for a professor or two, or small groups of students who were wandering about almost as disconsolately as was Joe himself. “Oh, well!” he concluded. “I’m here, and I’ve got to stay at least for mother’s sake, and I’ll do the best I can. I’ll grin and bear it. It won’t be long until Spring, and then I’ll see if I can’t make good. I’m glad Weston didn’t recognize me. It might have made it worse. But he’s bound to know, sooner or later, that I’m the fellow he saw pitch that day, and, if he’s like the rest of ’em I suppose he’ll have the story all over college. Well, I can’t help it.” And with this philosophical reflection Joe turned and made his way toward his rooming house. It was a little farther than he had thought, and he was a bit sorry he had not selected one nearer[57] the college. There were too many students to permit all of them to dwell in the dormitories proper, and many sought residences in boarding places and in rooming houses, and dined at students’ clubs. “I suppose I’ll have to hunt up some sort of an eating joint,” mused Joe, as he plodded along. “I’d be glad to get in with some freshmen who like the baseball game. It’ll be more sociable. I’ll have to be on the lookout.” As he rang the bell of the house corresponding in number to the one he had selected as his rooming place, the door was cautiously opened a trifle, the rattling of a chain showing that it was secure against further swinging. A rather husky voice asked: “Well?” Joe looked, and saw himself being regarded by a pair of not very friendly eyes, while a tousled head of hair was visible in the light from a hall lamp that streamed from behind it. “I—er—I believe I’m to room here,” went on Joe. “Matson is my name. I’m a Freshman——” “Oh, that’s all right. Come in!” and the tone was friendly at once. “I thought it was some of those sneaking Sophs., so I had the chain on. Come in!” and the portal was thrown wide, while Joe’s hand was caught in a firm grip. [58] “Are you—er—do you run this place?” asked Joe. “Not yet, but I’m going to do my best at it as soon as I get wise to the ropes. You can help—you look the right stuff.” “Aren’t you the—er—the proprietor?” asked our hero, rather puzzled for the right word. “Not exactly,” was the reply, “but I’m going to be one of ’em soon. Hanover is my name—Ricky Hanover they used to call me at Tampa. I’ll allow you the privilege. I’m a Fresh. like yourself. I’m going to room here. Arrived yesterday. I’ve got a room on the first floor, near the door, and it’s going to be so fruity for those Sophs. to rout me out that I got a chain and put it on. The old man said he didn’t care.” “The old man?” queried Joe. “Yes, Hopkins, Hoppy for short—the fellow that owns this place—he and his wife.” “Oh, yes, the people from whom I engaged my room,” spoke Joe understandingly. “I think I’m on the second floor,” he went on. “Wrong guess—come again,” said Ricky Hanover with a grin, as he carefully replaced the chain. “There’s been a wing shift, so Mrs. Hoppy told me. She’s expecting you, but she’s put you downstairs, in a big double room next to mine. Hope you won’t mind. Your trunk is there, and your[59] valise just came—at least I think it’s yours—J. M. on it.” “Yes, that’s mine.” “I had it put in for you.” “Thanks.” “Come on, and I’ll show you the ropes. If those Sophs. come——” “Are they likely to?” asked Joe, scenting the joy of a battle thus early in his career. “They might. Someone tried to rush the door just before you came, but the chain held and I gave ’em the merry ha-ha! But they’ll be back—we’ll get ours and we’ll have to take it.” “I suppose so. Well, I don’t mind. I’ve been through it before.” “That so? Where are you from?” “Excelsior Hall.” “Never heard of it. That’s nothing. I don’t s’pose you could throw a stone and hit Tampa School?” “Probably not,” laughed Joe, forming an instinctive liking for this new chap. “Right. Tampa hardly knows it’s on the map, but it isn’t a half bad place. Ah, here’s Mamma Hoppy now. You don’t mind if I call you that; do you?” asked Ricky, as a motherly-looking woman advanced down the hall toward the two lads. “Oh, I guess I’ve been at this long enough not[60] to mind a little thing like that,” she laughed. “You college men can’t bother me as long as you don’t do anything worse than that. Let me see, this is——” “Matson, ma’am,” spoke our hero. “Joe Matson. I wrote to you——” “Oh, yes, I remember. I have quite a number of new boys coming in. I’m sorry, but the room I thought I could let you have isn’t available. The ceiling fell to-day, so I have transferred you downstairs. It’s a double room, and I may have to put someone in with you. If you think——” “Oh, that’s all right,” interrupted Joe good-naturedly, “I don’t mind. I’ll be glad to have a room-mate.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Hopkins, in relieved tones. “I can’t say just now who it will be.” “Never mind!” broke in Ricky. “Have you grubbed?” “No,” replied the newcomer. “I was thinking of going to a restaurant.” “Come along then. I’m with you. I haven’t fed my face yet. We’ll go down to Glory’s place and see the bunch.” Joe recognized the name as that of a famous New Haven resort, much frequented by the college lads, and, while I have not used the real designation, and while I shall use fictitious names for other places connected with the college, those who[61] know their Yale will have no difficulty in recognizing them. “Come on to Glory’s,” went on Ricky. “It’s a great joint.” “Wait until I slip on a clean collar,” suggested Joe, and a little later he and Ricky were tramping along the streets, now agleam with electric lights, on their way to the famous resort. It was filled with students, from lordly Seniors, who scarcely noticed those outside of their class, to the timid Freshmen. Joe looked on in undisguised delight. After all, Yale might be more to him than he had anticipated. “Like to go a rabbit?” suggested Ricky. “A rabbit?” asked Joe. “I didn’t know they were in season?” “The Welsh variety,” laughed Ricky. “They’re great with a mug of ale, they say, only I cut out the ale.” “Same here,” admitted Joe. “Yes, I’ll go one. It’s made of cheese, isn’t it?” “And other stuff. Great for making you dream. Come on, this is the Freshmen table over here. I was in this morning.” “Do they have tables for each class.” “They don’t—I mean the management doesn’t, but I guess it would be as much as your hair was worth to try to buck in where you didn’t belong. Know anybody here?” [62] “Not a soul—wish I did.” “I didn’t when I came this morning, but there are some nice fellows at the Red Shack.” “Red Shack?” Joe looked puzzled. “Yes, that’s our hang-out. It’s painted red.” “Oh, I see.” “There are a couple of ’em now,” went on Ricky, who seemed perfectly at ease in his comparatively new surroundings. He was a lad who made friends easily, Joe decided. “Hi, Heller, plow over here!” Ricky called to a tall lad who was working his way through the throng. “Bring Jones along with you. They’re both at our shack,” he went on in a low voice to Joe. “Shake hands with Matson—he’s one of us chickens,” he continued, and he presented the newcomers as though he had known them all their lives. “You seem at home,” remarked Jones, who was somewhat remarkable for his thinness. “I am—Slim!” exclaimed Ricky. “I say, you don’t mind if I call you that; do you?” he asked. “That’s what the other fellows do; isn’t it?” “Yes. How’d you guess it?” asked Jones, with a laugh. “Easy. I’m Ricky—Richard by rights, but I don’t like it. Call me Ricky.” “All right, I will,” agreed Slim Jones. “I’m Hank Heller, if you’re going in for names,” came from the other youth, while Joe had[63] to admit that his appellation was thus shortened from Joseph. “Well, now we know each other let’s work our jaws on something besides words,” suggested Ricky. “Here, do we get waited on, Alphonse?” he called to a passing waiter. Joe thought he had never been in such a delightful place, nor in such fine company. It was altogether different from life at Excelsior Hall, and though there were scenes that were not always decorous from a strict standpoint, yet Joe realized that he was getting farther out on the sea of life, and must take things as they came. But he resolved to hold a proper rein on himself, and, though deep in his heart he had no real love for college life, he determined to do his best at it. The meal was a delightful one. New students were constantly coming in, and the place was blue with smoke from many cigars, pipes and cigarettes. Ricky smoked, as did Hank Heller, but Slim Jones confessed that it was a habit he had not yet acquired, in which he was like Joe. “Say, we’re going to have some fun at our joint,” declared Ricky on their way back, at a somewhat late hour. “We’ll organize an eating club, or join one, and we’ll have some sport. We’ll be able to stand off the Sophs. better, too, by hanging together. When the Red Shack gets full we’ll[64] do some organizing ourselves. No use letting the Sophs. have everything.” “That’s right,” agreed Joe. As they passed along the now somewhat quiet streets they were occasionally hailed by parties of hilarious Sophomores with the command: “Take off your hats, Freshies!” They obeyed, perforce, for they did not want to get the name of insurgents thus early in the term. “Come in and have a talk,” invited Ricky, as they entered the rooming house. “It’s early yet.” “Guess I’ll turn in,” confessed Hank. “I’m tired.” “I’ll go you for awhile,” agreed Slim. “How about you, Joe?” “No, I want to unpack a bit. See you in the morning.” “All right. We’ll go to chapel together.” As Joe entered his new room, and turned on the light, he saw a figure in one of the beds. For a moment he was startled, having forgotten that he was to share the room with someone. The youth turned over and gazed at Joe. “Oh!” he exclaimed with a rather pleasant laugh. “I meant to sit up until you came back, to explain, but I guess I fell asleep. Mrs. Hopkins said you had no objections to a partner, and this was the only place available.” [65] “Not at all!” exclaimed Joe cordially. “Glad you came in. It’s lonesome rooming alone.” “You’re Matson; aren’t you?” asked the youth in bed. “Yes.” “My name is Poole—Burton Poole.” Then, for the first time Joe recognized the lad he had seen standing all alone on the depot platform—the one to whom he had been inclined to speak—but from which impulse he had held himself back. <hr class="chap" />[66] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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