Speck's Faith

Speck's Faith

BY H. R. MERRILL

Speck Jones shoved his hands deep down into his pocketsand a wistful look came into his light-blue eyes as he watched the"crack" Wyoming- ball team, in their new, blue suits, pass into theball park. Speck was an ardent lover of the national game, andknew it from Ty Cobb to Christy Mathewson; but Speck was'"broke" as usual. He was too honest to sneak in, as some of hisless scrupulous playmates had done; nevertheless, Speck was hop-ing with all his heart that some good fairy would invite him toenter the Elysian Fields where the gods and heroes of baseballwould know nothing but pleasure.

After the Wyoming- boys had passed in, Speck's face lostsome of the joy that the sight of the new blue suits had lent itfor a moment. His hands sank deeper into his pockets as hiseyes roved along the high board fence and finally paused wherehe had seen the last of his companions disappear through anaperture made by the removal of a loose board just behind thegrandstand. The temptation was strong. His companions wereall in his own Sunday school class. They had gone in and wereevidently safe; then why shouldn't he? At that critical momentjust one thing held Speck. He couldn't help but wonder whathis Sunday school teacher would say.

His Sunday school teacher was a sort of supreme being to'Speck. He was a tall, sinewy fellow who loved the entire humanrace just because he couldn't help but love them; and so in lovingthe human race he had loved Speck, and had taken a special in-terest in teaching the little chap many things that are good forboys to know. He had taught the boy that honor and honesty areabove price. He had not done this in a preachy, Sunday-schoolfashion ; but in a plain, boyish, heart-to-heart way—a way, in fact,that held the little worshipper sorrowfully at the gate while allhis companions were cheering the cowboys, as the Wyoming teamwas called, as they ran out on to the diamond and began passingthe ball around in a marvelous manner.

Besides all of these things there was just one other attributethat the Sunday school teacher possessed that raised him abovemere mortal clay in the boy's eyes. The teacher was a baseballpitcher of no mean ability. Speck had watched him upon manyoccasions bring defeat to his opponents. That was one of thereasons, too, whv Speck was down-hearted. His teacher was to

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pitch the game against those brilliant cowboys. He just couldn'tkeep the lump out of his throat no matter how hard he tried, ashe stood there by the entrance to the park and watched the eagerfans pass through the wonderful gate. When some boy chumwould pass with his father and would call out: "Why don't youcome in, Speck?" Speck would smile, but invariably he wouldhave to swallow before he could make a sturdy and careless reply.

At last the home team came. As they marched along carry-ing their baseball outfit, Speck thought that even soldiers couldnot compare with them. They were laughing and chatting asthey came along just as if a great battle were not soon to breakover them. Speck's heart beat just a little faster as he saw histeacher approaching, and when the tall young fellow glanced overin his direction and called out in a cheery voice: "Hello, Danny,couldn't miss the game, eh?" Speck just couldn't speak for joyuntil the team had vanished behind the entrance gate.

Speck stood for a moment watching the frowning gate thatsmiled its broadest smile upon all who had a quarter; and boythough he was, he learned one valuable lesson. His lips set andhis jaw protruded a little as he turned away. A great determina-tion was manifest in his face. He crossed the side-walk and wasabout to dart in among the waiting vehicles when he was stoppedby a hearty voice: "Hey, Speck, where are you going?"

Speck turned, and to his delight saw that it was the captainof the home team who was speaking to him.

"I was just going home," he answered.

"What for?"

"To see if mother would lend me a quarter for this game."

"Why borrow it? Wouldn't she give you one?"

"I wouldn't take it. Mr. Reid said that boys shouldn't asktheir parents for quarters just to go to ball games, especially whentheir parents were poor."

The captain smiled a broad, slow smile.

"Would you like to see the game?"

"You bet I would."

"Then come along. I was just looking for a lad about yoursize to attend to the bats, when I saw you."

"It wasn't necessary to extend the invitation twice. Speckfollowed close at the captain's heels as they threaded their waythrough the crowd to the home bench where the local men wereawaiting their turn to warm up on the diamond. The captainplaced the bats where they would be handy for his players.

"Now, Speck, your job will be to keep these bats here. When-ever a man gets through batting, you grab his bat and place it herewhere he can find it when he wants to use it again and where itwill be out of the way of the players."

"All right," Speck answered in a subdued voice.

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He felt that in one moment he had had placed upon hisshoulders more responsibility than had the President of the UnitedStates.

All during the close and exciting struggle he guarded thosebats as if each were made of pure gold. He could scarcely watchthe success of his batters, so intent was he upon keeping histrust to the fullest extent. When one of the home team con-nected with the ball for a long drive, his face would fairly gleamwith delight; or when one of them fanned the wind no battercould feel more chagrined and sorrowful than did the little guard.

He watched the prowess of his beloved pitcher all through thelong game. Although several times the cowboys took the lead,there was one heart that never wavered; at least one person'sfaith that never shook. He was certain that when the final scorewas counted that his teacher would be the hero of the game.When, however, in the ninth inning the locals stood but one tallyin the lead, and there were crowded bases with no one out, evenhis face fell. The visiting team stirred up all the excitement theypossibly could in order that they might excite the pitcher, whostood out in the center of the field, the one man upon whom thegame depended.

Speck sat quietly on his bats, watching with eagle eye thedeliberate and easy movement of his idol. The smile had van-ished from the little fellow's face and in its place was a halfanxious look. His little heart kept hammering away, however,its every beat a real but invisible support to the man who mustkeep cool. When the batter caught a fast one on the end of hisclub and sent it whistling out over the first baseman's head, andwhen the base-runners came flying over the home plate, the littlefellow half rose from his bats, his face pale—then he saw that hispitcher was smiling and unconcerned still. The umpire shouted,"Foul!" The base-runners crept back to their places, and thebatsman returned dejectedly to his position in the batter's box.

Speck settled back on his bats with a sigh of relief as hewatched the pitcher place the ball in his hand with unusual care;then he saw the long, sinewy frame bend back and whip forwardlike a catapult. The ball struck the catcher's mit with a loudwhack as the umpire shouted, "Strike two."

The lad leaped to his feet and in his childish voice shouted,"Now you cowboys, hit 'em !"

A laugh greeted the lad's outburst.

"That's right. Speck, light in to 'em," the captain called as theumpire shouted, "Strike three, and the batter's out."

The batter took his seat bewailing the fact that his long hitwas a foul. He was followed by two others in rapid succession.The side was retired without having made a tally. The gamewas won.

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A cheer burst from the enthusiastic crowd, for the pitcher'sability to extricate himself from a very trying position had madehim the hero of the day.

Speck gathered up the bats and turned them over to thecaptain.

"There they are, sir," he said, "I tried to do the best I could."

"You did well, my boy, the captain answered as he turned tothe Wyominy boys who had come up and were congratulating himand his team upon their thrilling victory.

All shook hands enthusiastically with the long, lean pitcherwho smiled quietly at their effusions. While the others wererolling cigarettes he stood idly by waiting for his companions toget ready to leave. Unnoticed by the crowd, Speck hung near,anxious to look unmolested upon his hero's face.

When all were ready to leave, the captain of the Wyomingteam called out to the local team, "Now, boys, the treat's on us.Come over to the saloon and we'll set 'em up. That was the bestand most level-headed box work that I ever saw."

When they reached the side-walk, the local pitcher turnedquietly away from the crowd of men who were making for anenticing saloon on the opposite side of the street. When theWyoming boys noticed his action they stopped and called to him.

"Where are you going? Come, let's go over here and have adrink before we go to the hotel."

"Why, I never drink," the young man answered.

"Never drink? Come on, this once. You played a greatgame and we want to show our appreciation."

Speck stood by unnoticed. He saw that his teacher was inanother trying position. What would his teacher do? The ex-pression on his face was very similar to the one that was on itduring that ninth trying inning. Though the boy was troubledand puzzled somewhat, his little heart still beat true—still keptpounding out softly, "Whatever my teacher does will be right."He waited anxiously for his teacher's next words. Words thatmeant so much to at least two individuals.

"Thank you, sir," the pitcher answered as he swung his fav-orite bat over his shoulder, "I never drink. Good luck to you,anyway."

"I am sorry," was all the Wyoming man said as he turnedto join his companions.

As his teacher turned away and started up the street alone,the anxious lad with light heart and a beaming face sped in theopposite direction to his home. Bursting into the room wherehis mother was at work, he cried with a breaking voice and tear-wet eyes, "I knew he wouldn't do it; I just knew he wouldn'tdo it!"

"Do what?" the astonished mother asked.

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"They asked my Sunday school teacher to take a drink withthem, and he wouldn't—I knew he wouldn't do it!"

He threw his arms around his mother's neck in his ecstasyand as she pressed the working, freckled face to her mother'sbosom she fervently thanked God that he had given her boy ateacher who had been true to his trust; for she felt that that onedeed would root deep in the tender soul and would be as a towerof strength in time of need.

PRESTON, IDAHO

The Choice

One thirsted to be great, to sup with Fame,To hold within her hand the torch aflame,That lights the world with its potential ray,And gleams along the gods' immortal way.

One longed for love, and but for love to serve,For fortitude that she might never swerveFrom her high task, but ever true remainUnto the joy so near akin to pain.

The years, in turn, sped on to form the past;Each suppliant steadfast stood unto the last,Soul-scarred with wounds that are but ever wonBy work achieved, by labor nobly done.

Yet, on the face of one, a shadow lay,As oft there flits athwart the summer dayA tiny cloud that hides away the shineOf heaven's blue from us a little time.

But she who longed for love and all love brings,Who gathered of her sweet through smart of stings,Turned homeward with a countenance serene,And step majestic of a conquering queen.

Grace Ingles Frost.