It was an impressive occasion when the Catalpa club started on their first pilgrimage. They had arranged a practice game with the Black Hawk Nine, of Sandy Key, in the central part of the State, to begin the season with. Other games were arranged for later work, but this match, which was partly for practice, and partly to test the material of the new nine, was felt to be one of the most important. From Sandy Key the Nine were to go to Bluford to play the famous “Zoo-zoo Nine,” as they called themselves, of that city, and then they were to begin a struggle for the championship of Northern Illinois with the Red Stockings of Galena. How much depended on the result of the meeting of the Black Hawks and the Catalpas, you who have followed the career of a baseball nine can best reckon.

In Catalpa, at least, the game would be watched with great, although distant, interest and absorption. Two or three of the more active promoters of the Baseball scheme were to go down to Sandy Key, which is on the Illinois Central Railroad, to witness the struggle of their favorite champions with the strangers. The Black Hawks were renowned as fielders. They had acquired a reputation that inspired terror among the baseball players of the southern portion of the state; and when it was noised abroad that a new nine from Dean County, heretofore unknown in the Diamond Field, had actually challenged the Black Hawks, experienced amateurs and professional players made remarks about the assurance of the new men from the North that were not intended to be complimentary or encouraging.

The Catalpas had adopted blue as their standard color, and a uniform of blue and white, with a pennant of white, edged and lettered with blue, carried the colors of the club into new and untried fields. Great was the enthusiasm of the townspeople when the club, packed into two big omnibuses, with their friends, finally departed for the railway station, which was on the outer and upper edge of the town. A vast number of sympathizing friends and well-wishers attended the party to the station, and those who remained in town watched with a certain impressiveness the coming train as it skirted North Catalpa, crossed the tall trestle work that spanned the river below the town and finally disappeared in the grove of trees near the depot.

It had been told all abroad that the new nine was to make its first sally on that train, and the jaded and dusty passengers from the North looked from the windows with languid interest as the lusty young fellows made a final rush for the cars, followed by the irregular cheers of the bystanders and accompanied by a goodly number of their old associates who were “going to see fair play.” The conductor, with an affectation of indifference that he did not feel, disdained to look at the surging and animated crowd, but turned his face toward the engine, waved his hand, and shouted “all aboard!” just as if he did not carry Catalpa and its fortunes with him. The train rolled away, innumerable handkerchiefs and caps waving from its windows, and hearty and long resounding cheers flying after it. A cloud of yellow dust, a hollow rumble of the train on the culvert beyond, a tall column of blackness floating from the engine over the woods, and the Catalpa Nine were gone.

“I never felt so wrought up in all my life,” said Alice Howell, confidentially, to her friend Ida Boardman, as they descended the hill toward the town. “It seems, sometimes, as if I was sure that our Nine would win, and then, again, I am almost certain that they will be beaten by the Black Hawks. I saw the Black Hawks play the Springfields, last summer, and they were glorious players; such fielding! Oh, I am almost sure they will outfield our boys.”

“If our nine were all like that Larry Boyne; why, isn’t he just splendid? If they were all like him, I should have no fears for Catalpa. And then there’s Hiram Porter, how beautifully he does handle the bat! Don’t you think Larry Boyne is the handsomest young fellow in the Nine, Alice?”

Alice colored, she knew not why, as she made answer: “I don’t see what good looks have to do with playing. You are so illogical, Ida. What do you think of Ben Burton, for example. Don’t you think he is handsome enough to make a good player?”

“Ben Burton! why he is perfectly horrid, and so disagreeable and high and mighty in his ways. I detest him, and if anybody loses the game, tomorrow, I hope it will be he. No, I take that back, for I cannot bear to think that anybody will lose the game for our Nine. Do you, Ally?”

Alice agreed most heartily with her friend that it would be a strange and lamentable catastrophe if the game at Sandy Key should be lost by the Catalpas.

“But I am afraid, I am afraid,” the girl repeated as the twain slowly paced down the plank walk leading to the town. Her words were reechoed, that day, many times by the people of Catalpa who would have given a great deal if “the boys” could have been thereby assured of success on the morrow.

Meantime, as the train was speeding onward, the nine were in high spirits and full of fun. For a time, at least, their thoughts were with those left behind rather than with the unknown adversaries that were before them. They were too young and buoyant to borrow trouble. Their spirits rose as they plunged forward into new scenes, and all suggestions of possible defeats were left unheeded for today. Only Larry, “older than his years,” felt a little foreboding at the entrance of this most important crisis of his young life. But his cheery face showed no sign of distrust or anxiety. He was, as usual, the center of a lively and talkative group of his comrades. He wore in his buttonhole a delicate knot of flowers which had come there so mysteriously that none of the noisy fellows about him could guess who had put it there.

“Who is she? Why didn’t we see her?” queried the laughing boys as they pressed around Larry, affecting to sniff great delight from his nosegay. Larry’s face beamed as he told them that this was a reminder that every Irishman must do his duty, and that he was going to carry the little bouquet to the field of victory for the Catalpas.

“Those pansies grew in Judge Howell’s garden,” said Ben Burton, surlily, from his seat. Larry’s eyes flashed at the covert insult that he thought he saw under Ben’s sneer. But he said not a word.

“For shame, Ben Burton!” cried Al Heaton, “for shame to call names like that!”

There was a little cloud over the sun for a fleeting moment. But Larry’s bright face and cheery voice soon dispelled the transient shadow, and the talk was turned into merrier channels. Ben Burton grumbled to himself, and, as he saw how his fellows clustered around Larry, whose brown and shining curls were only now and again visible among the lads who pranced about him, he said to Bill Van Orman, “Thinks he’s the biggest toad in the puddle; don’t he, Bill?” Bill, whose nickname was “The Lily,” because he was so big, and red, and beefy, only opened his eyes in surprise.

The telegraph office in Catalpa was in the second story of Niles’s building, a brick structure on the main street of the town and chiefly occupied by lawyers and doctors. The narrow stairway was found too narrow for the throngs of people who flocked thither, next day, to learn the news from the contest in Sandy Key. Arrangements had been made by The Catalpa Leaf, the only daily paper in the place, to publish bulletins from the baseball ground, as fast as received. To all inquirers, Miss Millicent Murch, “the accomplished lady operator,” as the local newspapers called her, stiffly replied that the telegraph office had no news to give away and that the editor of The Leaf would distribute his intelligence as soon as received.

Even to so great a personage as Judge Howell, who early appeared in search of information, the young lady gave her one unvarying answer. But public excitement ran high when, about two o’clock in the afternoon, a despatch from Al Heaton was received by his father, saying that the game had been called and that “the boys were in tip-top condition.” Mr. Heaton signified his intention of staying at the office or thereabouts, until the game was over, in order to receive Al’s despatches.

“Is Albert going to send despatches from the ball ground, all day, Mr. Heaton?” asked Alice Howell, who, with sparkling eyes, was eagerly waiting for news from the absent company.

“Indeed he is, Alice,” said Mr. Heaton. “That is what he went down to Sandy Key for, and I think you know my boy well enough to believe that he will keep us informed. Al is as much of an enthusiast in baseball matters as you and I are, my dear, and if he is alive and well we will hear from him until the fortunes of the day are decided.” Mr. Heaton smiled in a kindly way as he looked down into the bright face of the young lady, and added, “And I believe and hope that he will send us a pleasant message before the day is done. Depend upon that.”

“I hope so too, Mr. Heaton,” Alice replied, with a slight cloud passing over her countenance, “but somehow, I feel as if we were to be defeated this time. I don’t know why. But that is my superstitious notion about it.”

Meantime, the telegraph machine had been industriously ticking and Miss Millicent writing as industriously, while the bystanders were talking in low tones.

“A message for Mr. Heaton,” said the operator, with perfect composure, as she folded and placed in an envelope, duly addressed, a telegraph despatch which she handed to Mr. Heaton.

“Hateful old thing!” murmured Miss Ida Boardman, “she has had that message all the time and said nothing about it until she got good and ready.”

“Hush!” said Alice, in a sort of stage whisper, “let us hear the news.”

Mr. Heaton, having glanced hurriedly over the despatch, cried, “Good news from the boys! Hear this!” A dead silence prevailed in the office as the beaming miller read:⁠—

Hurrah for our side! First two innings over. Catalpas score two. Black Hawks none. Great excitement in Sandy Key. Everything lovely.

“Hooray!” broke from many lips, and the waiting crowd below the windows, hearing the cry, took it up and a fusillade of irregular and scattering hurrahs scattered along the street. Judge Howell, who had lingered during the noonday recess of his court, admonished the crowd that the lady at the telegraph desk would be embarrassed by the confusion, whereupon the company went out and added their joy to that of the assemblage that crowded around a bulletin that was at once posted by the door of The Catalpa Leaf office.

“What did I tell you, Alice,” said Miss Ida, regardless of the fact that she had told her nothing. “Didn’t I say that the Catalpas would win?”

“But the game has only just begun,” said Alice. “I am still hoping and fearing, and I am not going to be put off of my base, so to speak, by the first news which happens to be good. Only two innings, Ida; remember that.”

The cheering of the small boys and the excited comments of the still smaller girls, however, proved infectious. One would think that a great battle had been fought, and that victory was already assured to the household troops. The dry-goods man laid down his yardstick; the carpenter dropped his plane, and even the old bridge-tender forsook his post long enough to stroll into the nearest barbershop and ask for the news from “the boys” in Sandy Key.

“Another bulletin!” cried Hank Jackson, the burly shortstop of the Dean County Nine, as the tall form of Mr. Heaton emerged from the telegraph office. This time, the face of the ardent champion of Catalpa’s prowess was not illuminated by a smile. Mounting a convenient dry-goods box, he announced that two more innings had been played and that the score then stood two and two, the Black Hawks having made two runs, and the Catalpas having added nothing to their score. A blank silence fell on the assemblage and Henry Jackson vengefully planted his big fist, with a tremendous thud, upon the short ribs of a side of beef that hung from the doorway of Adee’s butcher shop. “That for the Black Hawks,” he muttered, with clenched teeth.

But a great triumph was in store for the friends of the absent sons of Catalpa. Even while Alice Howell was trying to cheer her despondent friend Ida with the suggestion that the game was “yet young,” the Editor of The Leaf, whose despatches were sent to him across the street in a flying box attached to a wire, put his dishevelled head out of his office window and excitedly cried, “Three cheers for the Catalpa Nine! Fifth inning, Catalpas, five; Black Hawks, one!”

There was something like a little groan for the discomfited Black Hawks and then a wild yell broke out for the home nine. The small boys hurrahed shrilly and lustily, and even the street dogs, sharing in the general joy, barked noisily and aimlessly around the edges of the crowd. Miss Anstress Howell, scanning the joyful mob from the windows of her brother’s office, remarked to herself, with aggravated sourness, that it was perfectly ridiculous to see Alice mixing herself up there in the street with a lot of lunatics who were making themselves absurd over a pesky baseball game, away down in Sangamon County. It was unaccountable.

Judge Howell, sitting on his judicial bench in the courthouse on the hill, heard the pother in the town below and covertly smiled behind his large white hand to think that the home nine was undoubtedly doing well in Sandy Key.

Once more the traditional enterprise of the daily press vindicated itself with the earliest news, and Editor Downey put out of his office window his uncovered head, every hair of which stood up with excitement, as he bawled, “Sixth inning, Catalpas, none; Black Hawks, two. Seventh inning, no runs scored.”

“Now you yoost keep your big fists out of my beef!” said Jake Adee, with his wrathful eye fixed on Hank Jackson, who was looking around for some enemy to punch. There was depression in the crowd, but Alice Howell smiled cheerfully in the rueful face of Mr. Heaton and said that she felt her spirits rising. She was getting more confident as the rest of the party became despondent.

The innings had been made rapidly. Scarcely an hour had passed, and, so intense was the interest in the game, that everybody thought the despatches had trodden upon each other in their hurry to tumble into Catalpa. It was a warm, bright day, and the prairie wind blew softly down the hill above the town. To look into the knots of people standing about the street corners, one would suppose that it was an August noon. Everybody was perspiring. It was a warm engagement down there in Sandy Key where the boys were vigorously doing battle for the honor of old Catalpa. But it seemed even hot in the town where the people waited for the news.

So when Mr. Heaton, radiant with joy, and without waiting to come down the stairs of the telegraph office, put his leg and his head out of the window of the building and cried “Good news again!” everybody stood breathless. As Miss Anstress Howell afterwards remarked, with disdain, one might have heard a pin drop.

Victory! victory! Eighth inning, Catalpas, nine; Black Hawks, none. Glory enough for one day. Your loving son,

Then went up a shout that reached the jury in the case of the County of Dean against Jeremiah Stowell, shut up in the close room provided in the courthouse for jurors and other criminals, and which startled Judge Howell, who, looking out of the window from his private room, beheld his daughter, flushed and almost tearful with joy, hurrying across the courthouse green, eager to tell her father the good news. The solitary horse-thief in the jail heard that hurrah and wondered if relief was coming to him from his long-delayed accomplices. Dr. Everett, reining his sturdy steed at the next street corner above the telegraph office, asked a wandering small boy what had happened, but got no answer, for the urchin was off like a shot to tell his mates who were bathing prematurely down under the mill dam. And careful housewives, making ready their early suppers, in houses beyond the railroad track, heard the yell of triumph, and softly laughed to be told in this far-off way that the Catalpa nine were victorious over their adversaries in Sandy Key.

The game was virtually decided. The ninth and last inning showed one run for the Catalpas and a “goose egg” for the Black Hawks. There was more cheering in the street under the windows of the telegraph office. Somebody suggested that the flag should be hoisted on the Court House, but fears of Judge Howell’s displeasure and veto prevailed, and the proposition fell dead. Hiram Porter’s father, however, raised the stars and stripes over the Catalpa House of which he was proprietor. Editor Downey flung out from his third story window the red bunting with the white Catalpa Leaf that symbolized his standard sheet to the world below.

Later on, when the wild shower of despatches from Al Heaton, Hiram Porter, and others of the home nine, had ceased for a time, this bulletin appeared on the board of The Catalpa Leaf.

A Glorious Victory for Our Nine! Old Catalpa to the Front!

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9
Catalpas	2	0	0	0	5	0	0	9	1	=	17
Black Hawks	0	0	0	2	1	2	0	0	0	=	15

First Base by errors, Catalpas, 8; Black Hawks, 1.

Earned Runs, Catalpas, 7; Black Hawks, 1.

Struck out, Catalpas, 2; Black Hawks, 5.

Our esteemed fellow citizen, Benjamin F. Burton, especially distinguished himself with his fine play at shortstop, and Larry Boyne, of Sugar Grove, did some of the most brilliant work in the game, having made the highest number of runs of any man in the Nine, and being “like lightning” as a third baseman. Great excitement prevails in Sandy Key, but our men have been treated with distinguished courtesy by the citizens. The receipts at the gate were nearly $1,000.

When Al Heaton came home, next day, he was the hero and oracle of the hour. By reflection, he was shining with the honors of the Catalpa Nine. Wherever he went about the town, he was sure to become the center of an admiring knot of fellow-citizens and small boys, eager to learn how the absent ballplayers bore themselves in the arena at Sandy Key.

“I tell you what it is, fellows,” said Albert, “you should have seen ‘The Lily,’ as they call Bill Van Orman, get on the home base in the fifth inning. He never stopped to look for the ball. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, and just as he was on the point of being caught out, when he was at least ten feet from the home base, he gave a lunge and threw himself flat on his stomach, ploughed up the turf as he plunged forwards, and, reaching out, grabbed the bag with his hands before he could be put out. Ten feet did I say? Well, I should say it was nearer fifteen feet. And you should have seen ‘The Lily’s’ track where he scooted along that turf.”

“The Leaf’s correspondent telegraphed that Ben Burton covered himself all over with glory,” remarked Jason Elderkin. “How was that?”

“Well, you see that Ben, being at shortstop, had many opportunities to do good work, and he put in some very fine licks at different times. For instance, in the first play he put out Harris, the Black Hawk’s pitcher, after having muffed the ball, and then picked it up on the run. Everybody said it was one of the best infield plays of the day. And in the eighth inning, he made a beautiful run, stealing two bases just as easy as falling off a log. Oh, I tell you, Ben is a first-rate player, and they say that the Captain of the Chicago Calumets was down there and wanted to know if Ben would go into their Nine, next season. Ben was very high and mighty about something, and I guess that that was what was the matter with him. He was very much set up about something.”

The mention of the famous Calumets evoked much enthusiasm among the baseball connoisseurs of Catalpa, and it was noised about the town that that club might be induced to accept a challenge from the Catalpa Nine. Albert Heaton, when asked what he thought of the possibility of such an event, shook his head.

“I tell you what, Doctor,” he said to Dr. Selby, “we all thought it pretty cheeky in our boys to accept a challenge from the Black Hawks, and it is astonishing that we got out of the scrape as well as we did. To be sure, we came off with flying colors, and we have made a great reputation, that is to say, the boys have, for I am not in the Nine. But the Calumets are the champions of the State, and I suppose they will be to the end of the season; to the end of the chapter, unless something very unexpected happens. I guess our boys had better be contented with the laurels they will win outside of Chicago, this year, at any rate.”

But that very day while Albert was strolling across the bridge with Miss Alice Howell, and pouring into her ear a glowing account of Larry Boyne’s prowess in the field at Sandy Key, he told her, in the strictest confidence, that the Catalpas would never be satisfied until they had measured their strength with the famous Chicago nine, the Calumets.

Alice’s eyes sparkled, whether with the excitement stirred by Albert’s narrative of Larry’s exploits, or at the prospect of so bold a dash for fame as that proposed by the Catalpas, it is not easy to say. The young girl’s ardor cooled when she considered the chances against the success of the Catalpas in so unequal a contest.

“I did not believe that we should beat the Black Hawks,” said she. “I was almost sure that we should be defeated, and when the tide began to turn in favor of the Catalpas, I could not bring myself to believe that we were actually going to carry off the honors of the day. It was a famous victory, to be sure, and I hope that the Nine will be able to do as well through the season, and then, if all goes well, another season may see them pitted against the best nine in the state, even the best in the country; who knows? They have made a glorious beginning, haven’t they, Albert?”

Of course this was conceded by so fast a friend of the absent Nine as Al Heaton certainly was, and it was also clear to even an impartial observer that the Nine had made something of a name for themselves, at the very outset of their career, by defeating the Black Hawks, a Nine of established reputation, victors in many fields.

“What would you think if our nine were to play the Calumets, papa?” asked Alice that night, as they lingered over the tea-table.

“Think?” said the Judge. “I should think that it was a great piece of assurance.”

“So should I!” replied Alice; “but I wish they could do it.”