False Colors
``Fate has decreed more bad luck for Salisbury
in Saturday's game with Bellville. It has leaked
out that our rivals will come over strengthened
by a `ringer,' no less than Yale's star pitcher,
Wayne. We saw him shut Princeton out in June,
in the last game of the college year, and we are
not optimistic in our predictions as to what Salisbury
can do with him. This appears a rather unfair
procedure for Bellville to resort to. Why
couldn't they come over with their regular team?
They have won a game, and so have we; both
games were close and brilliant; the deciding game
has roused unusual interest. We are inclined to
resent Bellville's methods as unsportsmanlike.
All our players can do is to go into this game on
Saturday and try the harder to win.''
Wayne laid down the Salisbury Gazette, with a
little laugh of amusement, yet feeling a vague,
disquieting sense of something akin to regret.
``Pretty decent of that chap not to roast me,''
he soliloquized.
Somewhere he had heard that Salisbury
maintained an unsalaried team. It was notorious
among college athletes that the Bellville Club paid
for the services of distinguished players. And
this in itself rather inclined Wayne to sympathize
with Salisbury. He knew something of the struggles
of a strictly amateur club to cope with its
semi-professional rivals.
As he was sitting there, idly tipped back in a
comfortable chair, dreaming over some of the
baseball disasters he had survived before his college
career, he saw a young man enter the lobby
of the hotel, speak to the clerk, and then turn and
come directly toward the window where Wayne
was sitting.
``Are yon Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher?''
he asked eagerly. He was a fair-haired,
clean-cut young fellow, and his voice rang pleasantly.
``Guilty,'' replied Wayne.
``My name's Huling. I'm captain of the Salisbury
nine. Just learned you were in town and
are going to pitch against us tomorrow. Won't
you walk out into the grounds with me now?
You might want to warm up a little.''
``Thank you, yes, I will. Guess I won't need
my suit. I'll just limber up, and give my arm a
good rub.''
It struck Wayne before they had walked far
that Huling was an amiable and likable chap. As
the captain of the Salisbury nine, he certainly
had no reason to be agreeable to the Morristown
``ringer,'' even though Wayne did happen to be
a famous Yale pitcher.
The field was an oval, green as an emerald, level
as a billiard table and had no fences or stands
to obstruct the open view of the surrounding
wooded country. On each side of the diamond
were rows of wooden benches, and at one end of
the field stood a little clubhouse.
Wayne took off his coat, and tossed a ball for
a while to an ambitious youngster, and then went
into the clubhouse, where Huling introduced him
to several of his players. After a good rubdown,
Wayne thanked Huling for his courtesy, and
started out, intending to go back to town.
``Why not stay to see us practice?'' asked the
captain. ``We're not afraid you'll size up our
weaknesses. As a matter of fact, we don't look
forward to any hitting stunts tomorrow, eh,
Burns? Burns, here, is our leading hitter, and
he's been unusually noncommittal since he heard
who was going to pitch for Bellville.''
``Well, I wouldn't give a whole lot for my prospects
of a home run tomorrow,'' said Burns, with
a laugh.
Wayne went outside, and found a seat in the
shade. A number of urchins had trooped upon
the green field, and carriages and motors were
already in evidence. By the time the players came
out of the dressing room, ready for practice, there
was quite a little crowd in attendance.
Despite Wayne's hesitation, Huling insisted
upon introducing him to friends, and finally hauled
him up to a big touring car full of girls. Wayne,
being a Yale pitcher, had seen several thousand
pretty girls, but the group in that automobile
fairly dazzled him. And the last one to whom
Huling presented him--with the words: ``Dorothy,
this is Mr. Wayne, the Yale pitcher, who is
to play with Bellville tomorrow; Mr. Wayne, my
sister''--was the girl he had known he would
meet some day.
``Climb up, Mr. Wayne. We can make room,''
invited Miss Huling.
Wayne thought the awkwardness with which he
found a seat beside her was unbecoming to a Yale
senior. But, considering she was the girl he had
been expecting to discover for years, his clumsiness
bespoke the importance of the event. The
merry laughter of the girls rang in his ears.
Presently, a voice detached itself from the others,
and came floating softly to him.
``Mr. Wayne, so you're going to wrest our
laurels from us?'' asked Miss Huling.
``I don't know--I'm not infallible--I've been
beaten.''
``When? Not this season?'' she inquired
quickly, betraying a knowledge of his record
that surprised and pleased him. ``Mr. Wayne,
I was at the Polo Grounds on June fifteenth.''
Her white hand lightly touched the Princeton
pin at her neck. Wayne roused suddenly out of
his trance. The girl was a Princeton girl! The
gleam of her golden hair, the flash of her blue
eyes, became clear in sight.
``I'm very pleased to hear it,'' he replied.
``It was a great game, Mr. Wayne, and you may
well be proud of your part in winning it. I
shouldn't be surprised if you treated the Salisbury
team to the same coat of whitewash. We
girls are up in arms. Our boys stood a fair chance
to win this game, but now there's a doubt. By
the way, are you acquainted in Bellville?''
``No. I met Reed, the Bellville captain, in New
York this week. He had already gotten an extra
pitcher--another ringer--for this game, but he
said he preferred me, if it could be arranged.''
While conversing, Wayne made note of the fact
that the other girls studiously left him to Miss
Huling. If the avoidance had not been so marked,
he would never have thought of it.
``Mr. Wayne, if your word is not involved--will
you change your mind and pitch tomorrow's game
for us instead of Bellville?''
Quite amazed, Wayne turned squarely to look
at Miss Huling. Instead of disarming his quick
suspicion, her cool, sweet voice, and brave, blue
eyes confirmed it. The charms of the captain's
sister were to be used to win him away from the
Bellville nine. He knew the trick; it had been
played upon him before.
But never had any other such occasion given
him a feeling of regret. This case was different.
She was the girl. And she meant to flirt with him,
to use her eyes for all they were worth to
encompass the Waterloo of the rival team.
No, he had made a mistake, after all--she was
not the real girl. Suddenly conscious of a little
shock of pain, he dismissed that dream girl from
his mind, and determined to meet Miss Huling
half way in her game. He could not flirt as well
as he could pitch; still, he was no novice.
``Well, Miss Huling, my word certainly is not
involved. But as to pitching for Salisbury--that
depends.''
``Upon what?''
``Upon what there is in it.''
``Mr. Wayne, you mean--money? Oh, I know.
My brother Rex told me how you college men are
paid big sums. Our association will not give a
dollar, and, besides, my brother knows nothing of
this. But we girls are heart and soul on winning
this game. We'll----''
``Miss Huling, I didn't mean remuneration in
sordid cash,'' interrupted Wayne, in a tone that
heightened the color in her cheeks.
Wayne eyed her keenly with mingled emotions.
Was that rose-leaf flush in her cheeks natural?
Some girls could blush at will. Were the wistful
eyes, the earnest lips, only shamming? It cost
him some bitterness to decide that they were.
Her beauty fascinated, while it hardened him.
Eternally, the beauty of women meant the undoing
of men, whether they played the simple,
inconsequential game of baseball, or the great,
absorbing, mutable game of life.
The shame of the situation for him was increasingly
annoying, inasmuch as this lovely girl
should stoop to flirtation with a stranger, and the
same time draw him, allure him, despite the
apparent insincerity.
``Miss Huling, I'll pitch your game for two
things,'' he continued.
``Name them.''
``Wear Yale blue in place of that orange-and-
black Princeton pin.''
``I will.'' She said it with a shyness, a look in
her eyes that made Wayne wince. What a perfect
little actress! But there seemed just a chance
that this was not deceit. For an instant he
wavered, held back by subtle, finer intuition; then
he beat down the mounting influence of truth in
those dark-blue eyes, and spoke deliberately:
``The other thing is--if I win the game--a
kiss.''
Dorothy Huling's face flamed scarlet. But this
did not affect Wayne so deeply, though it showed
him his mistake, as the darkening shadow of
disappointment in her eyes. If she had been a flirt,
she would have been prepared for rudeness. He
began casting about in his mind for some apology,
some mitigation of his offense; but as he was
about to speak, the sudden fading of her color,
leaving her pale, and the look in her proud, dark
eyes disconcerted him out of utterance.
``Certainly, Mr. Wayne. I agree to your price
if you win the game.''
But how immeasurable was the distance
between the shy consent to wear Yale blue, and the
pale, surprised agreement to his second proposal!
Wayne experienced a strange sensation of personal loss.
While he endeavored to find his tongue, Miss
Huling spoke to one of the boys standing near,
and he started off on a run for the field. Presently
Huling and the other players broke for the car,
soon surrounding it in breathless anticipation.
``Wayne, is it straight? You'll pitch for us
tomorrow?'' demanded the captain, with shining
eyes.
``Surely I will. Bellville don't need me.
They've got Mackay, of Georgetown,'' replied
Wayne.
Accustomed as he was to being mobbed by
enthusiastic students and admiring friends, Wayne
could not but feel extreme embarrassment at the
reception accorded him now. He felt that he was
sailing under false colors. The boys mauled him,
the girls fluttered about him with glad laughter.
He had to tear himself away; and when he finally
reached his hotel, he went to his room, with his
mind in a tumult.
Wayne cursed himself roundly; then he fell into
deep thought. He began to hope he could retrieve
the blunder. He would win the game; he would
explain to her the truth; he would ask for an
opportunity to prove he was worthy of her friendship;
he would not mention the kiss. This last
thought called up the soft curve of her red lips
and that it was possible for him to kiss her made
the temptation strong.
His sleep that night was not peaceful and
dreamless. He awakened late, had breakfast sent
to his room, and then took a long walk out into
the country. After lunch he dodged the crowd in
the hotel lobby, and hurried upstairs, where he
put on his baseball suit. The first person he met
upon going down was Reed, the Bellville man.
``What's this I hear, Wayne, about your pitching
for Salisbury today? I got your telegram.''
``Straight goods,'' replied Wayne.
``But I thought you intended to pitch for us?''
``I didn't promise, did I?''
``No. Still, it looks fishy to me.''
``You've got Mackay, haven't you?''
``Yes. The truth is, I intended to use you
both.''
``Well, I'll try to win for Salisbury. Hope
there's no hard feeling.''
``Not at all. Only if I didn't have the Georgetown
crack, I'd yell murder. As it is, we'll trim
Salisbury anyway.''
``Maybe,'' answered Wayne, laughing. ``It's
a hot day, and my arm feels good.''
When Wayne reached the ball grounds, he
thought he had never seen a more inspiring sight.
The bright green oval was surrounded by a glittering
mass of white and blue and black. Out
along the foul lines were carriages, motors, and
tally-hos, brilliant with waving fans and flags.
Over the field murmured the low hum of many
voices.
``Here you are!'' cried Huling, making a grab
for Wayne. ``Where were you this morning?
We couldn't find you. Come! We've got a minute
before the practice whistle blows, and I promised
to exhibit you.''
He hustled Wayne down the first-base line, past
the cheering crowd, out among the motors, to the
same touring car that he remembered. A bevy of
white-gowned girls rose like a covey of ptarmigans,
and whirled flags of maroon and gray.
Dorothy Huling wore a bow of Yale blue upon
her breast, and Wayne saw it and her face through
a blur.
``Hurry, girls; get it over. We've got to
practice,'' said the captain.
In the merry melee some one tied a knot of
ribbon upon Wayne. Who it was he did not know;
he saw only the averted face of Dorothy Huling.
And as he returned to the field with a dull pang,
he determined he would make her indifference
disappear with the gladness of a victory for her
team.
The practice was short, but long enough for
Wayne to locate the glaring weakness of Salisbury
at shortstop and third base. In fact, most
of the players of his team showed rather poor
form; they were overstrained, and plainly lacked
experience necessary for steadiness in an
important game.
Burns, the catcher, however, gave Wayne
confidence. He was a short, sturdy youngster, with
all the earmarks of a coming star. Huling, the
captain, handled himself well at first base. The
Bellville players were more matured, and some of
them were former college cracks. Wayne saw
that he had his work cut out for him.
The whistle blew. The Bellville team trotted
to their position in the field; the umpire called
play, and tossed a ball to Mackay, the long, lean
Georgetown pitcher.
Wells, the first batter, fouled out; Stamford hit
an easy bounce to the pitcher, and Clews put up
a little Texas leaguer--all going out, one, two,
three, on three pitched balls.
The teams changed from bat to field. Wayne
faced the plate amid vociferous cheering. He
felt that he could beat this team even without good
support. He was in the finest condition, and his
arm had been resting for ten days. He knew that
if he had control of his high inshoot, these
Bellville players would feel the whiz of some speed
under their chins.
He struck Moore out, retired Reed on a measly
fly, and made Clark hit a weak grounder to second;
and he walked in to the bench assured of the
outcome. On some days he had poor control; on
others his drop ball refused to work properly;
but, as luck would have it, he had never had
greater speed or accuracy, or a more bewildering
fast curve than on this day, when he meant to
win a game for a girl.
``Boys, I've got everything,'' he said to his
fellow-players, calling them around him. ``A couple
of runs will win for us. Now, listen, I know
Mackay. He hasn't any speed, or much of a curve.
All he's got is a teasing slow ball and a foxy head.
Don't be too anxious to hit. Make him put 'em
over.''
But the Salisbury players were not proof
against the tempting slow balls that Mackay
delivered. They hit at wide curves far off the plate
and when they did connect with the ball it was
only to send an easy chance to the infielders.
The game seesawed along, inning after inning;
it was a pitcher's battle that looked as if the first
run scored would win the game. Mackay toyed
with the Salisbury boys; it was his pleasure to
toss up twisting, floating balls that could scarcely
be hit out of the diamond. Wayne had the
Bellville players utterly at his mercy; he mixed up his
high jump and fast drop so cleverly, with his
sweeping out-curve, that his opponents were unable
to gauge his delivery at all.
In the first of the seventh, Barr for Bellville
hit a ball which the third baseman should have
fielded. But he fumbled. The second batter sent
a fly to shortstop, who muffed it. The third
hitter reached his base on another error by an
infielder. Here the bases were crowded, and the
situation had become critical all in a moment.
Wayne believed the infield would go to pieces, and
lose the game, then and there, if another hit went
to short or third.
``Steady up, boys,'' called Wayne, and beckoned
for his catcher.
``Burns, it's up to you and me,'' he said, in a
low tone. ``I've got to fan the rest of these
hitters. You're doing splendidly. Now, watch close
for my drop. Be ready to go down on your knees.
When I let myself out, the ball generally hits the
ground just back of the plate.''
``Speed 'em over!'' said Burns, his sweaty face
grim and determined. ``I'll get in front of 'em.''
The head of the batting list was up for
Bellville, and the whole Bellville contingent on the
side lines rose and yelled and cheered.
Moore was a left handed hitter, who choked his
bat up short, and poked at the ball. He was a
good bunter, and swift on his feet. Wayne had
taken his measure, as he had that of the other
players, earlier in the game; and he knew it was
good pitching to keep the ball in close to Moore's
hands, so that if he did hit it, the chances were
it would not go safe.
Summoning all his strength, Wayne took his
long swing and shot the ball over the inside corner
with terrific speed.
One strike!
Wayne knew it would not do to waste any balls
if he wished to maintain that speed, so he put
the second one in the same place. Moore struck
too late.
Two strikes!
Then Burns signed for the last drop. Wayne
delivered it with trepidation, for it was a hard
curve to handle. Moore fell all over himself
trying to hit it. Little Burns dropped to his knees
to block the vicious curve. It struck the ground,
and, glancing, boomed deep on the breast protector.
How the Salisbury supporters roared their
approval! One man out--the bases full--with Reed,
the slugging captain, at bat!
If Reed had a weakness, Wayne had not
discovered it yet, although Reed had not hit safely.
The captain stood somewhat back from the plate,
a fact that induced Wayne to try him with the
speedy outcurve. Reed lunged with a powerful
swing, pulling away from the plate, and he missed
the curve by a foot.
Wayne did not need to know any more. Reed
had made his reputation slugging straight balls
from heedless pitchers. He chopped the air twice
more, and flung his bat savagely to the ground.
``Two out--play the hitter!'' called Wayne to
his team.
Clark, the third man up, was the surest batter
on the Bellville team. He looked dangerous. He
had made the only hit so far to the credit of his
team. Wayne tried to work him on a high, fast
ball close in. Clark swung freely and cracked a
ripping liner to left. Half the crowd roared, and
then groaned, for the beautiful hit went foul by
several yards. Wayne wisely decided to risk all
on his fast drop. Clark missed the first, fouled
the second.
Two strikes!
Then he waited. He cooly let one, two, three
of the fast drops go by without attempting to hit
them. Burns valiantly got his body in front of
them. These balls were all over the plate, but too
low to be called strikes. With two strikes, and
three balls, and the bases full, Clark had the advantage.
Tight as the place was, Wayne did not flinch.
The game depended practically upon the next ball
delivered. Wayne craftily and daringly decided
to use another fast drop, for of all his assortment
that would be the one least expected by Clark.
But it must be started higher, so that in case
Clark made no effort to swing, it would still be a
strike.
Gripping the ball with a clinched hand, Wayne
swung sharply, and drove it home with the limit
of his power. It sped like a bullet, waist high,
and just before reaching the plate darted downward,
as if it had glanced on an invisible barrier.
Clark was fooled completely and struck futilely.
But the ball caromed from the hard ground, hit
Burns with a resounding thud, and bounced away.
Clark broke for first, and Moore dashed for home.
Like a tiger the little catcher pounced upon the
ball, and, leaping back into line, blocked the
sliding Moore three feet from the plate.
Pandemonium burst loose among the Salisbury
adherents. The men bawled, the women screamed,
the boys shrieked, and all waved their hats and
flags, and jumped up and down, and manifested
symptoms of baseball insanity.
In the first of the eighth inning, Mackay sailed
up the balls like balloons, and disposed of three
batters on the same old weak hits to his clever
fielders. In the last of the eighth, Wayne struck
out three more Bellville players.
``Burns, you're up,'' said Wayne, who, in his
earnestness to win, kept cheering his comrades.
``Do something. Get your base any way you can.
Get in front of one. We must score this inning.''
Faithful, battered Burns cunningly imposed his
hip over the plate and received another bruise in
the interests of his team. The opposing players
furiously stormed at the umpire for giving him
his base, but Burns' trick went through. Burnett
bunted skilfully, sending Burns to second. Cole
hit a fly to center. Then Huling singled between
short and third.
It became necessary for the umpire to delay the
game while he put the madly leaping boys back
off the coaching lines. The shrill, hilarious cheering
gradually died out, and the field settled into a
forced quiet.
Wayne hurried up to the plate and took his
position. He had always been a timely hitter, and
he gritted his teeth in his resolve to settle this
game. Mackay whirled his long arm, wheeled,
took his long stride, and pitched a slow, tantalizing
ball that seemed never to get anywhere. But
Wayne waited, timed it perfectly, and met it
squarely.
The ball flew safely over short, and but for a
fine sprint and stop by the left fielder, would have
resulted in a triple, possibly a home run. As it
was, Burns and Huling scored; and Wayne, by a
slide, reached second base. When he arose and
saw the disorderly riot, and heard the noise of
that well-dressed audience, he had a moment of
exultation. Then Wells flew out to center ending
the chances for more runs.
As Wayne received the ball in the pitcher's box,
he paused and looked out across the field toward
a white-crowned motor car, and he caught a gleam
of Dorothy Huling's golden hair, and wondered
if she were glad.
For nothing short of the miraculous could
snatch this game from him now. Burns had withstood
a severe pounding, but he would last out
the inning, and Wayne did not take into account
the rest of the team. He opened up with no
slackening of his terrific speed, and he struck out the
three remaining batters on eleven pitched balls.
Then in the rising din he ran for Burns and gave
him a mighty hug.
``You made the gamest stand of any catcher I
ever pitched to,'' he said warmly.
Burns looked at his quivering, puffed, and
bleeding hands, and smiled as if to say that this
was praise to remember, and reward enough.
Then the crowd swooped down on them, and they
were swallowed up in the clamor and surge of
victory. When Wayne got out of the thick and
press of it, he made a bee line for his hotel, and
by running a gauntlet managed to escape.
Resting, dressing, and dining were matters
which he went through mechanically, with his
mind ever on one thing. Later, he found a dark
corner of the porch and sat there waiting, thinking.
There was to be a dance given in honor of
the team that evening at the hotel. He watched
the boys and girls pass up the steps. When the
music commenced, he arose and went into the hall.
It was bright with white gowns, and gay with
movement.
``There he is. Grab him, somebody,'' yelled
Huling.
``Do something for me, quick,'' implored Wayne
of the captain, as he saw the young people wave
toward him.
``Salisbury is yours tonight,'' replied Huling
``Ask your sister to save me one dance.''
Then he gave himself up. He took his meed of
praise and flattery, and he withstood the battery
of arch eyes modestly, as became the winner of
many fields. But even the reception after the
Princeton game paled in comparison with this
impromptu dance.
She was here. Always it seemed, while he
listened or talked or danced, his eyes were drawn to
a slender, graceful form, and a fair face crowned
with golden hair. Then he was making his way
to where she stood near one of the open windows.
He never knew what he said to her, nor what
reply she made, but she put her arm in his, and
presently they were gliding over the polished
floor. To Wayne the dance was a dream. He led
her through the hall and out upon the balcony,
where composure strangely came to him.
``Mr. Wayne, I have to thank you for saving
the day for us. You pitched magnificently.''
``I would have broken my arm to win that
game,'' burst out Wayne. ``Miss Huling, I made
a blunder yesterday. I thought there was a
conspiracy to persuade me to throw down Bellville.
I've known of such things, and I resented it.
You understand what I thought. I humbly offer
my apologies, and beg that you forget the rude
obligation I forced upon you.''
How cold she was! How unattainable in that
moment! He caught his breath, and rushed on.
``Your brother and the management of the club
have asked me to pitch for Salisbury the remainder
of the season. I shall be happy to--if----''
``If what?'' She was all alive now, flushing
warmly, dark eyes alight, the girl of his dreams.
``If you will forgive me--if you will let me be
your friend--if--Miss Huling, you will again wear
that bit of Yale blue.''
``If, Mr. Wayne, you had very sharp eyes you
would have noticed that I still wear it!''
-THE END-
Zane Grey's short story: False Colors
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