Boarding schools -- Juvenile fiction; Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Football -- Juvenile fiction; Football stories
That was as close as any one ever got to making Ginger claim the credit
for the team’s success, but they all had the conviction that modesty
alone held him back, and since baseball players, even school amateurs,
are all leavened with harmless superstition there were plenty among
them who would listen to no argument against the mascot theory. Babe
said loudly and often that it was a great day for the old school when
Ginger came on the scene! By this time the red-haired bat boy was a
school institution, in a manner of speaking. He was as much a part
of the team as――well, almost as much a part as Captain Hal Norwin
himself. He had even attained literary celebrity in the columns of
the school monthly. Holman’s had taken him for her own and was proud
of him; and rendered him the respect due one who, even if you said
it only in jest, had put the school back on the baseball map. Ginger
now appeared appropriately attired at the games. A discarded shirt of
Babe’s, bearing a green H on one breast, had been cut down to fit him,
and from Captain Hal had come the breeches. The latter, so long as
Ginger didn’t bend too far forward, were quite presentable. Ginger also
had a cap and a pair of green stockings, and thus attired, feet widely
spread, arms akimbo, eyes attentively on the game, he presented a
notable appearance. And when, thrusting back his cap――an action induced
by excitement――he revealed that unbelievably red thatch of his the
picture was almost epic!
June came on the scene with a fine run of blue skies and hot sunshine,
and the Holman’s team went on winning ball games. Of course she lost
now and then. When you came to investigate matters closely you wondered
why she didn’t lose a lot more. The pitchers were doing better, but
not so much better, the batting showed improvement but was still well
under last year’s percentage. Perhaps Fortune was rooting for the Light
Green, or perhaps the team had found faith in itself. Certain it is
that the breaks of the game went often to Holman’s those days, and any
one knows that it’s better to be lucky than rich.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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