Our Baseball Club and How It Won the Championship

Alice Howell was flattening her pretty nose against the window pane as she looked ruefully out into the misty atmosphere that surrounded her father’s house in North Catalpa. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the great baseball match was set for two o’clock, that afternoon. As soon as she had risen, Alice had run to the window to see what were the signs of the sky, for Alice was an ardent lover of the American game, and her heart was set on the great match that was to come off on the Agricultural Grounds, near Catalpa, that day. The sky was dull and lowering, and there was little chance that the game would be called.

“Your father, the Judge, says you should come to breakfast right away, miss,” said the little handmaid of the house.

Alice turned from the window with an impatient sigh, saying “Oh dear, Jessie, do you suppose the Jonesville Nine will come up to play the Catalpas, this afternoon?”

“ ’Deed I don’t know, miss. I hope so, for Miss Anstress has promised me that I shall go over to see the game if it is played, and goodness only knows when I shall get off again to see a baseball match if I don’t go today.”

“But look at the weather! It’s as dark as a pocket, and it looks as if it might rain at any moment. Oh dear! oh dear! it’s too bad, so it is.

“If a few such players as he were in the place of some of the muffs in the Catalpa Nine,” said Alice, “I think that the championship of the whole State would belong in this town.”

“Why I do believe my little daughter is crying!” cried the Judge.

“I am not crying,” said Alice stoutly. “But I confess that I am mad enough to cry. Are we always going to be beaten by every scrubby nine that comes here, I’d like to know?”

Dr. Selby, the staid and dignified village town apothecary, who was walking by the carriage, heard the indignant outburst, and looking up, said with a smile, “We’ve got the timber here for a first-class nine, Miss Alice, but the thing is to get the timber together.”

Judge Howell, with his grandest manner, said, “If there is any movement to retrieve the honor of Catalpa in the baseball field, please count on my assistance and support.”

Larry was to stop at Armstrong’s blacksmith shop, on the north side, on his way home, to have his horse shod. So, as he was leading the animal across the bridge, lost in thought and dwelling somewhat darkly on his conversation with Al Heaton, he did not notice that a young lady, very charmingly dressed and daintily booted and gloved, was tripping along toward him from the opposite side of the river, in the foot-walk that skirted the lower side of the rickety old wooden bridge. He did not look up until his steed, never very easily startled out of a heavy and slouching gait, jumped wildly at a sudden flash from a sky-blue parasol which the young lady deliberately shook at him.

“Whoa, Nance!” cried Larry, astonished at the beast’s unprecedented skittishness, “you old fool!” but here he stopped, for his eyes fell on the bewitching apparition on the other side of the timbered rail, and he colored deeply red as he beheld Miss Alice ready to giggle at his confusion.

“Good day, Mr. Boyne,” said the girl, “I am glad I have met you. I wanted to ask you how the club is getting along, and if you think you will be in good condition for the coming season. To be sure, papa tells me that he has every confidence in your success; but then, papa is hardly a judge in baseball matters, you know, although he has learned a great