In the old days, before the gentry6 of the ring had learned the wisdom of investing their winnings in solids instead of liquids, this used to be a favorite conundrum7: When is a prize-fighter not a prize-fighter?
Chorus: When he is tending bar.
I rise to ask you Brothah Fan, when is a ball player not a ball player? Above the storm of facetious8 replies I shout the answer:
When he's a shoe clerk.
Any man who can look handsome in a dirty baseball suit is an Adonis. There is something about the baggy9 pants, and the Micawber-shaped collar, and the skull-fitting cap, and the foot or so of tan, or blue, or pink undershirt sleeve sticking out at the arms, that just naturally kills a man's best points. Then too, a baseball suit requires so much in the matter of leg. Therefore, when I say that Rudie Schlachweiler was a dream even in his baseball uniform, with a dirty brown streak10 right up the side of his pants where he had slid for base, you may know that the girls camped on the grounds during the season.
During the summer months our ball park is to us what the Grand Prix is to Paris, or Ascot is to London. What care we that Evers gets seven thousand a year (or is it a month?); or that Chicago's new South-side ball park seats thirty-five thousand (or is it million?). Of what interest are such meager11 items compared with the knowledge that "Pug" Coulan, who plays short, goes with Undine Meyers, the girl up there in the eighth row, with the pink dress and the red roses on her hat? When "Pug" snatches a high one out of the firmament12 we yell with delight, and even as we yell we turn sideways to look up and see how Undine is taking it. Undine's shining eyes are fixed13 on "Pug," and he knows it, stoops to brush the dust off his dirt-begrimed baseball pants, takes an attitude of careless grace and misses the next play.
Our grand-stand seats almost two thousand, counting the boxes. But only the snobs14, and the girls with new hats, sit in the boxes. Box seats are comfortable, it is true, and they cost only an additional ten cents, but we have come to consider them undemocratic, and unworthy of true fans. Mrs. Freddy Van Dyne, who spends her winters in Egypt and her summers at the ball park, comes out to the game every afternoon in her automobile15, but she never occupies a box seat; so why should we? She perches16 up in the grand-stand with the rest of the enthusiasts17, and when Kelly puts one over she stands up and clinches18 her fists, and waves her arms and shouts with the best of 'em. She has even been known to cry, "Good eye! Good eye!" when things were at fever heat. The only really blase19 individual in the ball park is Willie Grimes, who peddles20 ice-cream cones21. For that matter, I once saw Willie turn a languid head to pipe, in his thin voice, "Give 'em a dark one, Dutch! Give 'em a dark one!"
Well, that will do for the firsh dash of local color. Now for the story.
Ivy22 Keller came home June nineteenth from Miss Shont's select school for young ladies. By June twenty-first she was bored limp. You could hardly see the plaits of her white tailored shirtwaist for fraternity pins and secret society emblems23, and her bedroom was ablaze24 with college banners and pennants25 to such an extent that the maid gave notice every Thursday—which was upstairs cleaning day.
For two weeks after her return Ivy spent most of her time writing letters and waiting for them, and reading the classics on the front porch, dressed in a middy blouse and a blue skirt, with her hair done in a curly Greek effect like the girls on the covers of the Ladies' Magazine. She posed against the canvas bosom26 of the porch chair with one foot under her, the other swinging free, showing a tempting27 thing in beaded slipper28, silk stocking, and what the story writers call "slim ankle."
On the second Saturday after her return her father came home for dinner at noon, found her deep in Volume Two of "Les Miserables."
"Whew! This is a scorcher!" he exclaimed, and dropped down on a wicker chair next to Ivy. Ivy looked at her father with languid interest, and smiled a daughterly smile. Ivy's father was an insurance man, alderman of his ward29, president of the Civic30 Improvement club, member of five lodges31, and an habitual32 delegate. It generally was he who introduced distinguished33 guests who spoke34 at the opera house on Decoration Day. He called Mrs. Keller "Mother," and he wasn't above noticing the fit of a gown on a pretty feminine figure. He thought Ivy was an expurgated edition of Lillian Russell, Madame De Stael, and Mrs. Pankburst.
"Aren't you feeling well, Ivy?" he asked. "Looking a little pale. It's the heat, I suppose. Gosh! Something smells good. Run in and tell Mother I'm here."
Ivy kept one slender finger between the leaves of her book. "I'm perfectly35 well," she replied. "That must be beefsteak and onions. Ugh!" And she shuddered36, and went indoors.
Dad Keller looked after her thoughtfully. Then he went in, washed his hands, and sat down at table with Ivy and her mother.
"Just a sliver37 for me," said Ivy, "and no onions."
Her father put down his knife and fork, cleared his throat, and spake, thus:
"You get on your hat and meet me at the 2:45 inter-urban. You're going to the ball game with me."
"Ball game!" repeated Ivy. "I? But I'd——"
"Yes, you do," interrupted her father. "You've been moping around here looking a cross between Saint Cecilia and Little Eva long enough. I don't care if you don't know a spitball from a fadeaway when you see it. You'll be out in the air all afternoon, and there'll be some excitement. All the girls go. You'll like it. They're playing Marshalltown."
Ivy went, looking the sacrificial lamb. Five minutes after the game was called she pointed38 one tapering39 white finger in the direction of the pitcher40's mound41.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"Pitcher," explained Papa Keller, laconically42. Then, patiently: "He throws the ball."
"Oh," said Ivy. "What did you say his name was?"
"I didn't say. But it's Rudie Schlachweiler. The boys call him Dutch. Kind of a pet, Dutch is."
"Rudie Schlachweiler!" murmured Ivy, dreamily. "What a strong name!"
"Want some peanuts?" inquired her father.
"Does one eat peanuts at a ball game?"
"It ain't hardly legal if you don't," Pa Keller assured her.
"Two sacks," said Ivy. "Papa, why do they call it a diamond, and what are those brown bags at the corners, and what does it count if you hit the ball, and why do they rub their hands in the dust and then—er—spit on them, and what salary does a pitcher get, and why does the red-haired man on the other side dance around like that between the second and third brown bag, and doesn't a pitcher do anything but pitch, and wh——?"
"You're on," said papa.
After that Ivy didn't miss a game during all the time that the team played in the home town. She went without a new hat, and didn't care whether Jean Valjean got away with the goods or not, and forgot whether you played third hand high or low in bridge. She even became chummy with Undine Meyers, who wasn't her kind of a girl at all. Undine was thin in a voluptuous44 kind of way, if such a paradox45 can be, and she had red lips, and a roving eye, and she ran around downtown without a hat more than was strictly46 necessary. But Undine and Ivy had two subjects in common. They were baseball and love. It is queer how the limelight will make heroes of us all.
Now "Pug" Coulan, who was red-haired, and had shoulders like an ox, and arms that hung down to his knees, like those of an orang-outang, slaughtered47 beeves at the Chicago stockyards in winter. In the summer he slaughtered hearts. He wore mustard colored shirts that matched his hair, and his baseball stockings generally had a rip in them somewhere, but when he was on the diamond we were almost ashamed to look at Undine, so wholly did her heart shine in her eyes.
Now, we'll have just another dash or two of local color. In a small town the chances for hero worship are few. If it weren't for the traveling men our girls wouldn't know whether stripes or checks were the thing in gents' suitings. When the baseball season opened the girls swarmed48 on it. Those that didn't understand baseball pretended they did. When the team was out of town our form of greeting was changed from, "Good-morning!" or "Howdy-do!" to "What's the score?" Every night the results of the games throughout the league were posted up on the blackboard in front of Schlager's hardware store, and to see the way in which the crowd stood around it, and streamed across the street toward it, you'd have thought they were giving away gas stoves and hammock couches.
Going home in the street car after the game the girls used to gaze adoringly at the dirty faces of their sweat-begrimed heroes, and then they'd rush home, have supper, change their dresses, do their hair, and rush downtown past the Parker Hotel to mail their letters. The baseball boys boarded over at the Griggs House, which is third-class, but they used their tooth-picks, and held the postmortem of the day's game out in front of the Parker Hotel, which is our leading hostelry. The postoffice receipts record for our town was broken during the months of June, July, and August.
Mrs. Freddy Van Dyne started the trouble by having the team over to dinner, "Pug" Coulan and all. After all, why not? No foreign and impecunious49 princes penetrate50 as far inland as our town. They get only as far as New York, or Newport, where they are gobbled up by many-moneyed matrons. If Mrs. Freddy Van Dyne found the supply of available lions limited, why should she not try to content herself with a jackal or so?
Ivy was asked. Until then she had contented51 herself with gazing at her hero. She had become such a hardened baseball fan that she followed the game with a score card, accurately52 jotting53 down every play, and keeping her watch open on her knee.
She sat next to Rudie at dinner. Before she had nibbled54 her second salted almond, Ivy Keller and Rudie Schlachweiler understood each other. Rudie illustrated55 certain plays by drawing lines on the table-cloth with his knife and Ivy gazed, wide-eyed, and allowed her soup to grow cold.
The first night that Rudie called, Pa Keller thought it a great joke. He sat out on the porch with Rudie and Ivy and talked baseball, and got up to show Rudie how he could have got the goat of that Keokuk catcher if only he had tried one of his famous open-faced throws. Rudie looked politely interested, and laughed in all the right places. But Ivy didn't need to pretend. Rudie Schlachweiler spelled baseball to her. She did not think of her caller as a good-looking young man in a blue serge suit and a white shirtwaist. Even as he sat there she saw him as a blonde god standing56 on the pitcher's mound, with the scars of battle on his baseball pants, his left foot placed in front of him at right angles with his right foot, his gaze fixed on first base in a cunning effort to deceive the man at bat, in that favorite attitude of pitchers57 just before they get ready to swing their left leg and h'ist one over.
The second time that Rudie called, Ma Keller said:
"Ivy, I don't like that ball player coming here to see you. The neighbors'll talk."
The third time Rudie called, Pa Keller said: "What's that guy doing here again?"
The fourth time Rudie called, Pa Keller and Ma Keller said, in unison58: "This thing has got to stop."
But it didn't. It had had too good a start. For the rest of the season Ivy met her knight59 of the sphere around the corner. Theirs was a walking courtship. They used to roam up as far as the State road, and down as far as the river, and Rudie would fain have talked of love, but Ivy talked of baseball.
"Darling," Rudie would murmur43, pressing Ivy's arm closer, "when did you first begin to care?"
"Why I liked the very first game I saw when Dad——"
"I mean, when did you first begin to care for me?"
"Oh! When you put three men out in that game with Marshalltown when the teams were tied in the eighth inning. Remember? Say, Rudie dear, what was the matter with your arm to-day? You let three men walk, and Albia's weakest hitter got a home run out of you."
"Oh, forget baseball for a minute, Ivy! Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about—us."
"Us? Well, you're baseball, aren't you?" retorted Ivy. "And if you are, I am. Did you notice the way that Ottumwa man pitched yesterday? He didn't do any acting60 for the grandstand. He didn't reach up above his head, and wrap his right shoulder with his left toe, and swing his arm three times and then throw seven inches outside the plate. He just took the ball in his hand, looked at it curiously61 for a moment, and fired it—zing!—like that, over the plate. I'd get that ball if I were you."
"Isn't this a grand night?" murmured Rudie.
"But they didn't have a hitter in the bunch," went on Ivy. "And not a man in the team could run. That's why they're tail-enders. Just the same, that man on the mound was a wizard, and if he had one decent player to give him some support——"
Well, the thing came to a climax62. One evening, two weeks before the close of the season, Ivy put on her hat and announced that she was going downtown to mail her letters.
"Mail your letters in the daytime," growled63 Papa Keller.
"I didn't have time to-day," answered Ivy. "It was a thirteen inning game, and it lasted until six o'clock."
It was then that Papa Keller banged the heavy fist of decision down on the library table.
"This thing's got to stop!" he thundered. "I won't have any girl of mine running the streets with a ball player, understand? Now you quit seeing this seventy-five-dollars-a-month bush leaguer or leave this house. I mean it."
"All right," said Ivy, with a white-hot calm. "I'll leave. I can make the grandest kind of angel-food with marshmallow icing, and you know yourself my fudges can't be equaled. He'll be playing in the major leagues in three years. Why just yesterday there was a strange man at the game—a city man, you could tell by his hat-band, and the way his clothes were cut. He stayed through the whole game, and never took his eyes off Rudie. I just know he was a scout64 for the Cubs65."
"Probably a hardware drummer, or a fellow that Schlachweiler owes money to."
Ivy began to pin on her hat. A scared look leaped into Papa Keller's eyes. He looked a little old, too, and drawn66, at that minute. He stretched forth67 a rather tremulous hand.
"Ivy-girl," he said.
"What?" snapped Ivy.
"Your old father's just talking for your own good. You're breaking your ma's heart. You and me have been good pals68, haven't we?"
"Yes," said Ivy, grudgingly69, and without looking up.
"Well now, look here. I've got a proposition to make to you. The season's over in two more weeks. The last week they play out of town. Then the boys'll come back for a week or so, just to hang around town and try to get used to the idea of leaving us. Then they'll scatter70 to take up their winter jobs-cutting ice, most of 'em," he added, grimly.
"Mr. Schlachweiler is employed in a large establishment in Slatersville, Ohio," said Ivy, with dignity. "He regards baseball as his profession, and he cannot do anything that would affect his pitching arm."
Pa Keller put on the tremolo stop and brought a misty71 look into his eyes.
"Ivy, you'll do one last thing for your old father, won't you?"
"Maybe," answered Ivy, coolly.
"Don't make that fellow any promises. Now wait a minute! Let me get through. I won't put any crimp in your plans. I won't speak to Schlachweiler. Promise you won't do anything rash until the ball season's over. Then we'll wait just one month, see? Till along about November. Then if you feel like you want to see him——"
"But how——"
"Hold on. You mustn't write to him, or see him, or let him write to you during that time, see? Then, if you feel the way you do now, I'll take you to Slatersville to see him. Now that's fair, ain't it? Only don't let him know you're coming."
"M-m-m-yes," said Ivy.
"Shake hands on it." She did. Then she left the room with a rush, headed in the direction of her own bedroom. Pa Keller treated himself to a prodigious72 wink73 and went out to the vegetable garden in search of Mother.
The team went out on the road, lost five games, won two, and came home in fourth place. For a week they lounged around the Parker Hotel and held up the street corners downtown, took many farewell drinks, then, slowly, by ones and twos, they left for the packing houses, freight depots74, and gents' furnishing stores from whence they came.
October came in with a blaze of sumac and oak leaves. Ivy stayed home and learned to make veal75 loaf and apple pies. The worry lines around Pa Keller's face began to deepen. Ivy said that she didn't believe that she cared to go back to Miss Shont's select school for young ladies.
October thirty-first came.
"We'll take the eight-fifteen to-morrow," said her father to Ivy.
"All right," said Ivy.
"Do you know where he works?" asked he.
"No," answered Ivy.
"That'll be all right. I took the trouble to look him up last August."
The short November afternoon was drawing to its close (as our best talent would put it) when Ivy and her father walked along the streets of Slatersville. (I can't tell you what streets, because I don't know.) Pa Keller brought up before a narrow little shoe shop.
"Here we are," he said, and ushered76 Ivy in. A short, stout77, proprietary78 figure approached them smiling a mercantile smile.
"What can I do for you?" he inquired.
Ivy's eyes searched the shop for a tall, golden-haired form in a soiled baseball suit.
"We'd like to see a gentleman named Schlachweiler—Rudolph Schlachweiler," said Pa Keller.
"Anything very special?" inquired the proprietor79. "He's—rather busy just now. Wouldn't anybody else do? Of course, if——"
"No," growled Keller.
The boss turned. "Hi! Schlachweiler!" he bawled80 toward the rear of the dim little shop.
"Yessir," answered a muffled81 voice.
"Front!" yelled the boss, and withdrew to a safe listening distance.
A vaguely82 troubled look lurked83 in the depths of Ivy's eyes. From behind the partition of the rear of the shop emerged a tall figure. It was none other than our hero. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he struggled into his coat as he came forward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hurriedly, and swallowing.
I have said that the shop was dim. Ivy and her father stood at one side, their backs to the light. Rudie came forward, rubbing his hands together in the manner of clerks.
"Something in shoes?" he politely inquired. Then he saw.
"Ivy!—ah—Miss Keller!" he exclaimed. Then, awkwardly: "Well, how-do, Mr. Keller. I certainly am glad to see you both. How's the old town? What are you doing in Slatersville?"
"Why—Ivy——" began Pa Keller, blunderingly.
But Ivy clutched his arm with a warning hand. The vaguely troubled look in her eyes had become wildly so.
"Schlachweiler!" shouted the voice of the boss. "Customers!" and he waved a hand in the direction of the fitting benches.
"All right, sir," answered Rudie. "Just a minute."
"Dad had to come on business," said Ivy, hurriedly. "And he brought me with him. I'm—I'm on my way to school in Cleveland, you know. Awfully84 glad to have seen you again. We must go. That lady wants her shoes, I'm sure, and your employer is glaring at us. Come, dad."
At the door she turned just in time to see Rudie removing the shoe from the pudgy foot of the fat lady customer.
We'll take a jump of six months. That brings us into the lap of April.
Pa Keller looked up from his evening paper. Ivy, home for the Easter vacation, was at the piano. Ma Keller was sewing.
Pa Keller cleared his throat. "I see by the paper," he announced, "that Schlachweiler's been sold to Des Moines. Too bad we lost him. He was a great little pitcher, but he played in bad luck. Whenever he was on the slab85 the boys seemed to give him poor support."
"Fudge!" exclaimed Ivy, continuing to play, but turning a spirited face toward her father. "What piffle! Whenever a player pitches rotten ball you'll always hear him howling about the support he didn't get. Schlachweiler was a bum86 pitcher. Anybody could hit him with a willow87 wand, on a windy day, with the sun in his eyes."
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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squander
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| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
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mathematician
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| n.数学家 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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conundrum
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| n.谜语；难题 | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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meager
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firmament
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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enthusiasts
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clinches
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| n.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的名词复数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议）v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的第三人称单数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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peddles
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的第三人称单数 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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ivy
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emblems
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ablaze
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pennants
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bosom
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tempting
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slipper
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ward
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civic
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lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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habitual
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distinguished
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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perfectly
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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sliver
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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46
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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49
impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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51
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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53
jotting
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| n.简短的笔记，略记v.匆忙记下( jot的现在分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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54
nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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66
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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68
pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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grudgingly
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70
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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72
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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73
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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depots
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| 仓库( depot的名词复数 )； 火车站； 车库； 军需库 | |
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veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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80
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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81
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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82
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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83
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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85
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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86
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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87
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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