Hiram Parker lived in the house with Hal and Hans. He it was who had rented the third floor room at Mrs. Malcolm’s on the same day that Hans had moved in. He had not arrived until the day following Hans and, as said before, prepared his own meals in his rooms, and was such a quiet, serious fellow that neither Hans nor Hal got very well acquainted with him, or in fact saw him very often. Parker was a Senior. He was well thought of in the university, especially among the members of the Senior Class, who knew him for his earnestness.

Parker was a poor farmer’s son. He had to work harder than any other fellow in the university, and he had to do the things the hardest way. Not over bright naturally, he had to make his way by hard study and he was able by the force of his will to overcome obstacles which one with less determination would have balked at. When he entered the university he was thirty-five years old. He was so poor and the little money he earned in vacation time was really such a small amount that he had less to spend than any other fellow in the school and he devoted all of his time to his studies and paid no attention to the social features of college life, and very little more to athletic affairs.

Shortly after the last holiday vacation he had found himself still more cramped for funds, and finding that Mrs. Malcolm would let him have the third floor front room for twenty-five cents per week less that he had been paying, he had taken her room and moved in. His constant struggle was to be able to live long enough to get through his course, and he allowed himself no penny’s worth of spending money, nor any recreation whatever. He had his mind on the main chance all the time and for him it was to be graduated with honors from Lowell.

Parker was narrow-minded then, but he became a great preacher in later years and broadened out a lot. His life was altogether serious, and being much older than Hans and Hal and having undertaken to complete the college course in three years instead of four he was too serious even for a fellow of Hans’ disposition, who while earnest in all things, managed to get the most out of life as he went along.

Occasionally the boys would meet Parker on the way home or on the stairs. Being full of baseball all the time, they tried to talk about it to Parker. He would listen attentively when they showed their enthusiasm in this way and then he’d say, “I don’t know anything about the game, boys. Never saw but one in my life and when it was over, I knew less about it than before. It looks like a good game for a lot of lunatics.”

“You wouldn’t think that way if you knew the game,” said Hal. “Nothing like it for exercising all the muscles and keeping you strong and healthy.”

“Clears your brain just to watch a game if you understand it,” said Hans. “Rests your brain after the hard work of study.”

“I never had time to rest,” said Hiram. “College is a serious thing with me.”

“It doesn’t pay to work all the time,” remarked Hans. “You know the old saying ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”

“Yes, I know that, but I’m strong yet and I have been rather dull all my life,” replied Parker without noticing the humor of his remark.

“Why don’t you take a day off and come out and see one of the games some day?” asked Hal.

“Maybe I will some day,” Parker would reply, and would then go on up to his room.

But the drawing nearer of the big games of the season caused a lot of excitement around the university, so much, in fact, that even fellows like Parker began to be affected by it.

On the day of the game with Chadwick College which was the last game at home before the first game with Jefferson now only a week off, Hal met Parker coming in just as he was going out to the grounds. Hal was not in the game that day. He had developed a bad boil on his left hand and Hughie wasn’t taking any chances on having that hand out of commission a week later, by having it further crippled.

So Hal was given a lay off from the team to give his hand a chance to heal, and as he was very anxious not to miss those great games, he made no kick against Hughie’s orders. At the same time it was tough to think of sitting in the stand while Hans and the other boys were enjoying themselves in the game with Chadwick which was generally an easy game for Lowell to win. Chadwick College was not in the same grade as Lowell, but sentiment for the founder, Father Chadwick, known as the Father of Baseball, and the memory of what he had done for the great sport served to keep the game on the regular schedule, and it had always taken place just before the first great game with Jefferson.

“Come on along to the game,” said Hal as he met Parker.

“I have a good notion to. For once I haven’t much to do to-day. Been thinking for some time I’d go out and see a game. I’ll go if you’ll find some one to explain it to me,” answered Parker.

“I’ll explain it to you myself,” said Hal. “I’m not allowed to play to-day on account of this boil on my hand.”

“All right, then, I’ll surely go.”

When they got out to the grounds Hal found a couple of seats in the stand back of first which was his favorite place when watching a game, as from there he could see all of it and watch all the plays. When play started, though, he didn’t have much time to think of the game, he was so busy answering Parker’s questions.

When Parker had told him he didn’t know anything about the game of baseball, Hal thought of course, he didn’t mean that he knew nothing at all about it. He supposed Parker would know what the idea of the game was, but when Parker asked him what they had those big bean bags out there for, Hal commenced to realize that here was a fellow who didn’t know as much as a girl even about the great American game.

Once he had taken a girl cousin to see a game in California, and the foolish questions she asked him made him vow never to take a girl to a ball game again.

“What has that fellow got the cage on his face for?” was one of the first questions Parker asked.

“That’s Gibbie, the catcher,” answered Hal. “He stands behind the plate and he might get hit by a foul tip.”

“What’s a foul tip?” was the next question.

“A foul tip occurs when a batter strikes at a ball and almost misses it. The ball just touches the rounded side of the bat, and of course changes its direction. It does this so quickly that the catcher sometimes can’t see it and it might hit him on the head,” replied Hal.

“I see,” said Parker. This was during practice before the game.

“What’s the idea of the game anyhow?” asked Parker next.

“Well,” began Hal, looking at Parker to see if he was serious or joking. Parker was serious. “There are nine men on each side. One side goes out in the field and the other side is at bat. When there are three out they——”

“I thought you said nine were out,” broke in Parker.

“No, there are only three put out. I guess you were thinking about what I said that one team of nine players takes position in the field to catch the ball.”

“Does it take nine men to catch a ball?” asked Parker.

“No, only one,” said Hal, “but they have a man in each of the locations where the ball is likely to be hit.”

The people in the seats in front turned around to look at Parker to see who it might be. They wanted to see what a fellow looked like who was as ignorant of the great American game as he seemed to be. Just then the game began, the umpire said “play ball,” and after Hal had told him that the umpire was the judge of play, Hal and Parker directed their attention to the diamond. Presently the pitcher threw the ball. Ross was at bat. It was a ball and Ross didn’t strike at it.

“Why didn’t he hit it?” asked Parker.

“It wasn’t the right kind of a ball to strike at,” replied Hal.

“Do they use different kinds of balls?” asked Parker.

“No, they use the same ball all the time.” Hal saw that he would have to explain about balls and strikes.

“You see, a batter can get four balls or three strikes. If he gets four balls he runs to the base. If he gets three strikes he’s out.”

“Why don’t he always take the four balls?”

“Well, you see the pitcher fools him.”

“How?”

“The pitcher tries to make the batter think balls are strikes and strikes are balls.”

“Doesn’t the batter know the difference?”

“Not until the umpire tells what it is. Sometimes even the pitcher doesn’t know if it is a ball or strike until the umpire says what it is,” explained Hal. He was thinking of the many times umpires have called balls when the pitchers thought they were over the plate.

“Then what’s the use of having a batter?” asked Parker, bringing his logic into play. “Why don’t the batters stand up in line behind the umpire and let him tell each one in his turn if it’s a ball or a strike?”

Before he could answer, however, Ross had hit the next ball. The umpire called “foul ball” and the Chadwick shortstop, third baseman, and catcher were all running to make the catch as it was a high foul over toward the third base stands.

“What are they all running for?” asked Parker.

“To catch the ball,” answered Hal.

“I thought you said it only took one man to catch a ball.”

Again Hal tried to explain.

“You see, when a batter hits the ball the fielders try to stop it and throw it to the base ahead of the runner. If the ball gets there before the batter, he’s out. If he gets there first he is still in the game. The player who throws to the base is credited with an assist, or a put out if he catches the ball before it hits the ground.”

“But why doesn’t the batter run if he hit the ball?”

“Foul ball,” said Hal. “A foul ball, that is a ball which strikes the ground outside of those white lines” (pointing to the foul lines left and right) “doesn’t count as a hit. For a hit, a ball must be fair, which means striking inside those lines. A foul ball counts as a strike, but if it is caught it’s an out.”

“I see,” said Parker.

The game had meantime proceeded. Ross had three balls and two strikes. The pitcher sent up the deciding one. “Four balls, take your base,” called the umpire. Ross walked down to first.

“Why doesn’t he run?” asked Parker.

“He doesn’t have to run,” replied Hal.

“But you said if he got four balls he could run to first base.” This showed Hal that Parker was absorbing the points and he took some encouragement.

“They usually let them walk on four balls, as he can take his base on a walk by the time the pitcher is ready again,” he replied. By this time Ross had reached first and was standing there with one foot on the bag.

“Why doesn’t he take the base if it is his?” was the next question.

“He doesn’t really take the base,” explained Hal. “He is simply entitled to go to it and be ready to run to second base.” He saw that he would have to be very careful in his choice of words if he was to teach Parker much of the game. Everson was next at bat. He hit the first ball for a long fly to left and started on a slow trot toward first, while Ross remained at the bag.

“Why doesn’t the fellow on first run?” asked Parker.

“He is waiting to see if the ball is caught,” said Hal.

“Can’t he run unless the ball is caught?” Parker went on.

“Not on a fly. He has to wait until the ball is caught. After a fly is caught he can run to the next base.” The fielder muffed the ball and Ross ran like the wind to second, Everson reaching first easily.

“I thought you said he couldn’t run until the ball was caught. That fellow out there missed it,” came from Parker.

“I ought to have told you at first that if a fielder muffs a fly ball everybody runs, except in the case of a foul,” explained Hal.

“Yes, but there are only two of them running,” Parker replied.

Hal laughed. Everybody near them was paying more attention to them than to the game. They were calling Parker “the Rube.” One freshman said: “Get a copy of the ‘Book of Rules,’ Rube, and learn it by heart before the next game.”

The game proceeded for some time and Hal did the best he could to answer the many questions Parker put to him. He had his own troubles when it came to explaining the “hit and run play,” “the double steal,” and the “squeeze play,” especially the latter. Some one in the stand said when Ty was on third base and Tris at bat with one out, “They’re going to work the squeeze.” They did work it, and successfully, as sometimes happens, and the fans yelled, “Did you notice that squeeze?”

“I didn’t see anybody get squeezed,” said Parker, “who was it?”

“Why,” said Hal, “Ty was on third and Tris squeezed him in.”

“Did he hurt him?” asked Parker.

The crowd around them yelled. Hal knew it was almost as hard to describe the squeeze play as to justify it, but he did his best and Parker said finally he understood it all right, but it is doubtful if he really did.

The game had developed into a really exciting one for an inning or two. For the first few innings the pitchers had held the batters safe and there were few hits made. In fact, up to the beginning of the seventh inning Lowell had secured but three hits and Chadwick three. Lowell had one run, worked out by a two bagger by Robb, a clean steal of third and he had been brought home by Tris on the squeeze play already mentioned. In the first half of the seventh, Chadwick knocked out three runs on a couple of hits mixed with a bunch of errors on the part of Lowell.

In the meantime by repeated explanation of the different plays, Parker had begun to understand some of the first principles of the game. He had already gotten to the point where he didn’t ask as many questions. He was watching the game. Six short innings of baseball had planted the seed out of which would some day grow a “full fledged fan.” He didn’t understand much of it, of course, but he had begun to feel the alternate strain and relaxation which everyone feels when watching a game. It has been the same for years with all of us.

When “our” side is at bat you are always hoping the batter will hit it safe. You watch the pitcher wind up. Your muscles are tense. You see the ball leave his hands. You see the batter prepare to strike at it. He strikes and misses. The umpire calls “one strike.” You relax. Again the pitcher delivers the ball. Again the muscles become tense. The umpire says “one ball” and again you sink back in your seat in perfect repose. By this time the pitcher is again ready. The third time the ball is sent toward the batter like a white streak. Somehow you feel he is going to hit it this time. As before, your muscles become tense. You hear a crack of wood against leather. You raise yourself up in your seat. It’s a foul fly back of the plate. You see the catcher throw off his mask and run up for the ball. You are absolutely rigid. You see the set and determined face of the catcher as he comes running toward you, his mind on nothing but the catch he hopes to make, he sees nothing but the ball. You, yourself, are thinking of nothing else. You hope he misses it. Now it’s coming down close to the stand. He’s almost under it. He’s going to get it. Just then he stubs his toe on a pebble and he muffs it. You are glad. You relax. You cheer him for missing it. You look round you. There are ten, twenty, forty thousand people, a moment ago just as tense and rigid as you, thinking of nothing else but that catch, who are now settling back in their seats, happy and content, everyone of them, excepting of course the few “rooters” for the other side.

The next ball pitched is a good one, fast and straight over the plate. The batter sets himself to meet it fair and square. You do likewise, as if you would help him. Now he pulls back his bat, he swings, he meets it fair, you can tell by the sound it makes that it’s a long hit. You see the center fielder, look once to get the direction, then turn his back to the ball and run just as hard as he knows how. You stand up, everybody stands up, not a word is spoken. It seems as though minutes are passing until the play is decided. Soon you see the fielder turn half way round to look and then he goes on running. He is still too far away. You see him getting near the ball, but not near enough to catch it. By this time the ball is going over his head. He has lost it. No, he makes one try at the right moment. He takes a mighty leap into the air, up goes one hand, the ball hits his glove and sticks, he comes down to earth, he rolls over half a dozen times on the grass, but he comes up finally with the ball in his hand and you begin to relax. Then you start to jump up and down, you wave your hat, you throw it up in the air, and wave your arms and you try to yell louder than your neighbors. If you look around, you will see forty thousand people doing the same. Yelling and cheering and waving arms, hats or anything that comes within reach. You are cheering the other side, but you don’t mind. It was a wonderful catch.

And so it goes, through nine whole awfully short innings always. Time flies so quickly at a ball game. It’s over before you want it to be. Our side wins! You go home happy. Our boys lose? Well, better luck to-morrow.

In the second half of the seventh inning of the game with Chadwick, this Lowell team just had to get at least three runs, so Hughie told the boys and he would be obliged if they would get a half dozen. Everson was the first man up and he got an infield hit to short which he beat by inches. Then the Lowell boys on the bench commenced to get busy, for they had sensed the “break.” There comes a time in almost every game of ball, which has become known as the “break,” when the game can be won for one team or the other. There is no definite period of the game when this occurs, but the players seem to sense it. Let a batter get to first and if you see the players on the bench commence to reach for their bats, swing them a few times, laugh, get excited and dance up and down like boys with a new toy, you will know that the “break” has come then, and that the game will be won or lost right there. So it was at this point in the game with Chadwick.

Delvin was the next man up. He got a single to right field. Next came Hans. He hit a grounder over second base which couldn’t be stopped and the bases were full. Ty came up with his little black bat and hit the ball over third base for a two bagger and Everson and Delvin raced home for runs. Hans got to third and Ty reached second. Tris knocked the ball to shortstop, who was nervous by this time and made an error. Hans got home and Robb reached third while Tris was on first. One more run. The Larke hurried to the plate and after fouling off a couple, hit one fair and square and the ball made a high flight straight for the left field fence, and went over. A home run, and Robb and Tris scored ahead of him. The “break” was over, the opposing players settled down. The pitcher steadied himself, recovered his nerves, and the next three men went out in order. The rest of the game went along without any further excitement. The “break” in the seventh inning was the meat of the whole game.

Parker and Hal went through the inning like all the rest. It got so exciting for Hal that he forgot all about Parker and when he did remember him he saw that Parker had forgotten him. Parker was standing up on his seat with all the rest of them, bareheaded, for his hat had been discarded many minutes before. His hair was disheveled, his coat was in his left hand and he was whirling it above Hal’s head while with his other hand he was slapping his neighbor on the right violently on the back with a newspaper, while that party was hugging the fellow in front of him.

“I see you have joined the ranks of the lunatics, you told me about the other day,” said Hal.

“Me for the ball game after this,” replied Parker. “Think of it. Here it’s my first game of ball since I came to college, nearly the last game of the year, and me a Senior. I’ve been asleep. I’ve missed things.”

“That’s the way it gets everybody,” said Hal. “It surely is the great American game.”

Parker was sorry when the game was over. It was a great experience for him, and during the remaining few days of the term he had many talks with Hans and Hal about baseball and after he was graduated and became a famous preacher he became and remained a faithful enthusiast. Thus are “fans” made.