Harper's Round Table, August 20, 1895 Part 1

Harper's Round Table, August 20, 1895.

by Various.

BRADDY'S BROTHER.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative I]

t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were full.

Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep their seats, and that the very air seemed to hold its breath while Bradfield, '98, twisted the ball?

In the centre of the grand stand, where the orange and black was thickest, but the enthusiasm more controlled, stood a boy, his whole body quivering with nervous excitement, his eyes glued--as were all others--to the pitcher's box.

"Come in, now! look out! lead off!" the Harvard coach was saying, as the umpire's "one strike, two b.a.l.l.s, two strikes, three b.a.l.l.s," raised and dashed again the hopes of Princeton. Then came a moment of horrible nerve-destroying suspense, and then the umpire's calm and judicial--"striker out."

Above the cheers, which literally tore the air, the shrill discordant note of the boy's voice could be heard, yelling like mad for Princeton and '98.

"Who is that little fellow?" said a girl, just behind him to her companion. The boy turned like a flash.

"I'm Braddy's brother," he said, his chest still heaving, and his cheek glowing. "He's struck out _seven_ men!"

The girl smiled, and an upper cla.s.sman, who was next to him, patted him on the back.

"It's a proud day for Braddy's brother," he said, "and for '98 and Princeton, that is, if Harvard doesn't--" For a moment it looked as if Harvard would, for the regular thud of the ball against the catcher's glove was interrupted by the ominous crack of the bat, and the men on bases ran for their lives on the bare chance of a hit, or possibly an error.

But '98 was not going to let a hard-earned victory slip between her fingers like that; the short-stop fielded the swift grounder beautifully, and the runner was out at first.

There was a short cheer, then a long wordless, formless burst of triumph swelling out from a hundred throats. The crowd swarmed on the diamond, the Freshman nine was picked up and carried off the field, "Braddy"

riding on the crest of a dangerous-looking wave which was formed by a seething, howling mob.

"Well," said the Senior, turning to his small neighbor, "how does 'Braddy's brother' feel now?"

But "Braddy's brother's" feelings were too deep for utterance; besides, he was trying to remember just how many times the Princeton Freshmen had won from Harvard in the last six years.

"Hullo, Dave! Dave Hunter!" called Bradfield, as a small boy pa.s.sed near the group on the front campus. "Don't you want to take my brother off for a little while, and show him the town?"

Dave came up blus.h.i.+ng with pleasure at having the man who had just pitched a winning game single him out.

"This is Dave Hunter, a special friend of mine, Bing," Braddy continued, turning to the little chap who was lying stretched out on the gra.s.s beside him, and who felt by this time as if he owned the whole campus and all the college buildings, for hadn't he been in the athletic club-house, the cage, and the 'gym.'? and wasn't he actually going to eat at a Freshman club, and sleep up in a college room? It was the greatest day of his life, his first taste of independence; and the glory of being "Braddy's brother" seemed to him beyond compare.

"Don't keep him too long, Dave," said Bradfield, as the two boys started off; "we'll have to get through dinner early if we want to hear the Seniors sing."

Young Bingham Bradfield nodded and blushed and smiled all the way down to the gate, as men in the different groups which they pa.s.sed called out:

"There goes 'Braddy's brother,'" or, "Hullo, little Brad," or, "What's the matter with '98?" and one who knew him at home sang out, "B-I-N-G-O--_Bingo_!" It was awfully exciting.

"They're going to have a fire to-night," Dave said, as they walked up Na.s.sau Street. "I heard some of the Freshmen say that they would begin and collect the wood as soon as it was dark."

"Where do they get it?" asked Bingham.

"Oh, just take it," Dave answered, carelessly. "They take fences and gates, and boards and barrels, and, oh, anything they can find. That would be a dandy one," pointing to a half-broken-down rail fence which divided an orchard from a newly opened road.

"It wouldn't let any cows or horses out, you see. They stole our barn gate once, and the horses got loose on the front lawn and tore up all the gra.s.s. We didn't mind, though," with true college spirit, "for we'd beaten Yale."

"Yale Freshmen?" eagerly.

"No," with great scorn: "the 'Varsity. n.o.body's much stuck on Freshmen in Princeton," he continued, "except, of course, your brother. He's great; he'll make the 'Varsity next year, sure."

Bingo's feelings were soothed. _He_ thought all the Freshmen "great,"

but was satisfied if others only appreciated Braddy.

They grew very chummy, the two boys, and Braddy's brother had learned a great deal about college life by the time he was brought back to the campus.

It was in the middle of Senior singing, when the shadows from the tall old elms were being swallowed up in the gathering darkness, and the groups in white duck trousers scattered about the gra.s.s were beginning to be indistinguishable, that slim figures were seen hurrying mysteriously to and fro, and the peace of the evening was rudely broken into by the preparations for a "Freshman fire."

The victory had already been celebrated on Old North steps, for had not Bingo himself heard the Seniors sing, as an encore to a favorite solo, these never-to-be-forgotten lines, composed for the occasion:

"The Freshmen nine came from Harvard for to show How they played the game of ball; But found when Bradfield got in his finest curves They couldn't hit the ball at all.

The game stood in our favor 8 to 7 When they came to the bat once more.

Their Captain said, ''Tis the ending of the 9th, We've got to tie the score.'

_Chorus._--Then when he saw the bases full His sides with laughter shook.

But when he heard the umpire shout 'Two strikes'--then 'striker out!'

He wore a worried look-- He wore a worried look."

That brought even a finer glow to the boy's cheek than when the familiar "Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!--'way down on the Bingo farm!" had drawn the attention of his brother's friends to him, and made him feel for a moment as though he were a college hero.

The singing had ceased with "Old Na.s.sau," and the campus was alive now with hurrying groups. The usual night cries filled the air: "Hullo, Billy Appleton!" "Hullo, Benny Butler!" "Come over here!" "See you later," etc., and the Freshmen were shouting and rus.h.i.+ng wildly about.

"Where's Porter?" "Where's Tommy?" "Where's Dad?" was heard on all sides. "'98 this way, '98 this way!"

"Stick to me, Bing," said Braddy, as he started over to his room in Witherspoon; "stick close to me, or you'll surely get lost."

"We haven't half enough wood, Park," said a '98 man, coming up to the cla.s.s president, who was standing near Bradfield; "it won't make any sort of a fire."

"Can't you get more? We must have a good one," answered Porter, "Get a fence, or a house--any old thing will do. I've got to find Runt and Bunny now, and see about a wagon for the nine. Will meet you later."

"Come on, Bingo," said Braddy.

He, Braddy, ought not to stay round and hear all the arrangements for a celebration which was to be in his honor. The nine was supposed to keep modestly out of the way, and know nothing whatever about it.

"Come on, Bing!"