Harper's Round Table, August 4, 1896

Name: Harper's Round Table, August 4, 1896
Author: Various

by Various

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Children's periodicals

In: Children & Young Adult Reading·Adventure·Sports/Hobbies

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #58965.

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HOW BRADDY'S BROTHER BROUGHT THE NEWS HOME.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.

"Slide! Slide! You'll make it! Hooray! Hooray! Tiger! Siss-boom-ah!"

"Wake up, Bingham, wake up!"

The boy opened his eyes with a start. "Mother! Why, what's the matter?"

"I've been shaking you for fully two minutes, dear. I want you to get up."

"Oh, what made you wake me?" reproachfully. "I was in the middle of a dream that I was playing second base in Tom's place, and was just making the winning run for Princeton."

"Wouldn't you rather see the winning run made than dream about it?"

Bingham sat up; he was wide-awake now.

Mrs. Bradfield smiled. "Yes," she said, "I am going to let you go after all. Tom is so unhappy about it, so feverish and restless, that I am actually afraid of the consequences if he does not hear all about the game, so I have promised him to let you ride to Princeton on your bicycle; it is only twenty-five miles, and part of the way the road is good. You will have to stay all night, but Tom says that you can sleep in his room, and that Frank Porter will look after you."

"Tiger-tiger-tiger! Siss-siss-siss-boom-boom-boom-ah-ah-ah!" shouted Bingo, and he pitched his pillow all across the room. "Trying a new curve," he hastily explained.

In an incredibly short time he was dressed, had had his breakfast, and was ready to start off. He went in to say good-by to his brother. Poor Tom was down with an attack of rheumatic fever. He had come home to spend Sunday, after playing a brilliant game against the Orange Athletic Club, and had been taken ill.

"So unfortunate," his mother said, "just before examination."

"Such hard lack," said Bingo, "just before the Yale game."

Tom had not pitched since Freshman year, but he was fielding and batting in splendid form, and his loss would seriously cripple the nine.

But try as he might to get well, the pain and fever clung to him obstinately, and the day of the game found him, with his temperature at 103°, declaring that if he couldn't play some one must see the game for him. His father was away, his mother couldn't leave him, so there was no one but Bingham, who had sadly resigned himself to his fate, when, as we have seen, his mother suddenly reversed her decision, and his world was filled with sunshine again.

"Go to my room in Witherspoon," said Tom--"you know it--and tell Porter I sent you. He'll take you to Ivy to lunch, and down to the game. Be sure and telegraph, for I must hear, and they'll never get the news in this little out-of-the-way place."

"Are you perfectly sure you know the road, dear, and that it will not be too much for you?" asked Mrs. Bradfield, anxiously, as she watched her youngest son examining his tire and fixing his brake. "I do wish the trains made connections."

"I'd ride fifty miles through anything," said Bingham, his eyes glistening, "to see a Yale game. Good-by, mother. Don't worry. I'll surely telegraph, and will be home early to-morrow morning."

"Good-by, dear. Cheer for Tom, and may the orange and black win the day."

It was a hilly, sandy road, one of the worst in New Jersey, washed out in many places, and with ruts like trenches, but Bingo scorched and coasted as though it were an asphalt pavement or cinder race-track, and he scarcely slowed up through the whole twenty-five miles, but came into Princeton, the perspiration rolling down his face and his shirt wringing wet. On the campus he met Tom's room-mate.

"Why, if it isn't Braddy's brother," exclaimed Porter, "and steaming like a kettle! Glad to see you, boy. How is poor old Tom?"

"A little better. He sent me up so as to tell him about the game."

"I see. Official reporter for the Redwood Star," laughed Porter. "It's mighty hard lines that Tom is laid up. Woods is playing pretty well, but he can't touch the ball--strikes out every time. But come up to the room, little Brad. You'll spend the night, of course?"

Bingham followed Frank Porter up to the well-known room in Witherspoon Hall, and there he washed off the stains of travel as well as he could for asking questions and examining the groups on the wall.

"That's the '95 football team, isn't it? and there's Tom's Freshman nine. I saw the game here with Harvard, which we won, and we had a fire, don't you remember? What's that--the Glee Club? Tom has the picture of the Mandolin Club. Do you think we're going to win to-day? Will Blake pitch?" etc.

Porter answered when Bingo gave him time, for "Braddy's brother" was a great favorite with Tom's friends, and they prophesied a brilliant athletic future for him.

Before going to lunch Porter took him to see the ingenious invention of one of the members of the faculty--of a cannon for shooting curved balls. "It's going to be a great thing in baseball," Porter said. "It will save the pitcher's arm, and give the nine splendid batting practice."

Lunch over, Bingham began to get impatient. Carriages and omnibuses were already rolling down to the grounds, and streams of people were ploughing through the dust.

They stopped at the Athletic Club-house on their way, and all the nine shook hands with Bingo and asked after Tom; but his cup of joy was quite full when Blake, the Captain, told him to come with them and sit on the 'varsity bench.

Dave Hunter and the other Princeton boys looked enviously from the bleachers upon the honored guest, who sat squeezed in between Jack McMasters and Dr. Bovaird, his eyes glued to the diamond and his heart thumping against his ribs.

Princeton came to the bat first, and Williams led off with a clean single to left, and Shaw followed by another to centre.

It was a surprise that took every one's breath away, but they recovered it in time to cheer.

Yale was too easy! They would pound her out of the box, even without the aid of Tom's two and three baggers!

But Jackson flied out to second. Blake, who pitched, but couldn't hit a drop, went out on strikes; and though Williams stole third and Field got his first on balls, their innings closed with a beautiful spectacular catch by Woodward in centre field.

Then Yale came to the bat, and her little handful of "rooters" made the air shiver with their wild barbaric cheer: "Brek-ek-ek-ex! Ko-ax, ko-ax. Brek-ek-ek-ex! Ko-ax, ko-ax. Oh-op, oh-op. Parabalou--Yale!"

In a moment there came a crack of the bat.

"Run it out! run it out!" cried the Yale coach.

Bingo held his breath. It was a hot grounder to second, and Tom wasn't there. Woods fumbled it, and the first error was scored for Princeton.

The next man got his base on balls, all due to his "beautiful eye," the Yale Captain seemed to think. Then Blake rallied and struck Jenkins out; and though Watson brought Smith to third on a sacrifice, the little shortstop fielded the next ball in fine style, and the runner was out.

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