Starting Out with Java From Control Structures

through Data Structures 3rd Edition Gaddis Solutions

Manual download pdf

https://testbankdeal.com/product/starting-out-with-java-from-control-
structures-through-data-structures-3rd-edition-gaddis-solutions-manual/

Visit testbankdeal.com today to download the complete set of

test banks or solution manuals!
We have selected some products that you may be interested in
Click the link to download now or visit testbankdeal.com
for more options!.

Starting Out with Java From Control Structures through

Data Structures 3rd Edition Gaddis Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/starting-out-with-java-from-control-
structures-through-data-structures-3rd-edition-gaddis-test-bank/

Starting Out With Java From Control Structures Through

Data Structures 2nd Edition Gaddis Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/starting-out-with-java-from-control-
structures-through-data-structures-2nd-edition-gaddis-solutions-
manual/

Starting Out With Java From Control Structures Through

Data Structures 2nd Edition Gaddis Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/starting-out-with-java-from-control-
structures-through-data-structures-2nd-edition-gaddis-test-bank/

Human Biology 11th Edition Starr Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/human-biology-11th-edition-starr-
solutions-manual/
Art of Leadership 5th Edition Manning Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/art-of-leadership-5th-edition-
manning-solutions-manual/

Biology Today and Tomorrow without Physiology 5th Edition

Starr Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/biology-today-and-tomorrow-without-
physiology-5th-edition-starr-test-bank/

Exploring Social Psychology 7th Edition Myers Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/exploring-social-psychology-7th-
edition-myers-test-bank/

CB 8th Edition Babin Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/cb-8th-edition-babin-test-bank/

Macroeconomics 7th Edition Hubbard Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/macroeconomics-7th-edition-hubbard-
test-bank/
Introduction To Linear Algebra 4th Edition Strang
Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-linear-algebra-4th-
edition-strang-solutions-manual/
Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Data Structures, 3/e 1

Starting Out with Java - From Control Structures through Data Structures
Answers to Review Questions

Chapter 9

Multiple Choice and True/False

1. c
2. b
3. a
4. a
5. a
6. c
7. b
8. a
9. d
10. b
11. a
12. c
13. d
14. a
15. False
16. True
17. False
18. True
19. True
20. False
21. True
22. False
23. False

Find the Error

1. The valueOf method is static. It should be called like this:

str = String.valueOf(number);
2. You cannot initialize a StringBuilder object with the = operator. You must
pass the string as an argument to the constructor, such as:
StringBuilder name = new StringBuilder("Joe Schmoe");
3. The very first character is at position 0, so the statement should read:
str.setCharAt(0, 'Z');
4. The tokens variable should reference the array of tokens returned by the
str.split method, so the statement should read:
String[] tokens = str.split(";")
You cannot print the tokens to the screen by simply passing the tokens variable
as an argument to System.out.println. If the tokens are to be printed to the

Copyright © 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken NJ

Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Data Structures, 3/e 2

screen, a loop should be used to process each element in the array, so the
statement should read:
for (String s : tokens)
System.out.println(s)

Algorithm Workbench

1. if (Character.toUpperCase(choice) == 'Y')

Or

if (Character.toLowerCase(choice) == 'y')

2. int total = 0;
for (int i = 0; i < str.length(); i++)
{
if (str.charAt(i) == ' ')
total++;
}

3. int total = 0;
for (int i = 0; i < str.length(); i++)
{
if (Character.isDigit(str.charAt(i)))
total++;
}

4. int total = 0;
for (int i = 0; i < str.length(); i++)
{
if (Character.isLowerCase(str.charAt(i)))
total++;
}

5. public static boolean dotCom(String str)

{
boolean status;
if (str.endsWith(".com"))
status = true;
else
status = false;
return status;
}

Copyright © 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken NJ

Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Data Structures, 3/e 3

6. public static boolean dotCom(String str)

{
boolean status;
String str2 = str.toLowerCase();

if (str2.endsWith(".com"))
status = true;
else
status = false;
return status;
}

7. public static void upperT(StringBuilder str)

{
for (int i = 0; i < str.length(); i++)
{
if (str.charAt(i) == 't')
str.setCharAt(i, 'T');
}
}

8. String str = "cookies>milk>fudge:cake:ice cream";

String[] tokens = str.split("[>:]");
for (int i = 0; i < (tokens.length - 1); i++)
{
System.out.printf("%s, ", tokens[i]);
}
System.out.printf("and %s\n",
tokens[tokens.length - 1]);

9. if (d <= Integer.MAX_VALUE)
i = (int) d;

10. System.out.println(Integer.toBinaryString(i));
System.out.println(Integer.toHexString(i));
System.out.println(Integer.toOctalString(i));

Short Answer

1. This will improve the program’s efficiency by reducing the number of String
objects that must be created and then removed by the garbage collector.
2. When you are tokenizing a string that was entered by the user, and you are using
characters other than whitespaces as delimiters, you will probably want to trim the
string before tokenizing it. Otherwise, if the user enters leading whitespace

Copyright © 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken NJ

Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Data Structures, 3/e 4

characters, they will become part of the first token. Likewise, if the user enters
trailing whitespace characters, they will become part of the last token.
3. Converts a number to a string.
4. Each of the numeric wrapper classes has final static fields named MAX_VALUE
and MIN_VALUE. These fields hold the maximum and minimum values for the
data type.

Copyright © 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken NJ

Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
Clarence and Donald were still at work on the pajamas when Duncan
appeared in the study, pushing before him the flushed, reluctant
Reginald. Duncan yanked a chair from the side of the pile, and
standing on it began to strip off the top layer and pass the articles
down to Reginald.
"What're you doing, Dun?" demanded Donald.
"Helping these fellows clear up," replied Duncan coolly. "Pitch in,
can't you? Here's a pillow, Reggie, catch! and a blanket, too. Get a
move on you there, Clarence, and pull out that waste-basket of
shirts! We aren't going to do all the work while you stand around
with your hands in your pockets. Here! take this towel rack into the
bedroom."
Clarence obeyed, though with reluctance. Reginald was hurrying to
and fro on his errands with cheerfulness suddenly restored.
"You big fool!" ejaculated Donald, planting himself before his
brother's chair.
"Thank you!" returned Duncan, unruffled, with a warning squint in
the direction of Clarence. "Why this compliment?"
Donald turned and perceived Clarence staring at the pair with all his
eyes.
"Because you ought to be doing your Latin," he answered. "You
haven't looked at it; you'll flunk it dead."
Duncan grunted. "A bas the Latin. You'll read it to me!"
"Hanged if I will!" retorted Donald, and went out, slamming the door
behind him.
Sad to relate, when Duncan returned to his room an hour later,
having borne the burden of the restoration of the Moons to order
and happiness, Donald read to him not the Latin but a vigorously
phrased lecture, bristling with slang and exclamation points, which
naturally provoked recrimination, and a long and heated argument.
And sadder yet, poetic justice failed to tip the scales in the right
direction; the Latin instructor did flunk poor Duncan dead.

CHAPTER IV
PAYNER THE MARPLOT
Owen might have known nothing of all this had Payner not taken a
hand in the affair. Two months of Seaton had improved Payner. His
mental attitudes were just as twisted and morbid as ever, and his
motto seemed still to be "the world against Payner and Payner
against the world," but his truculence had modified sufficiently to
allow him to reply when addressed, and occasionally to volunteer a
civil remark. He disliked the Pecks heartily and with much reason, for
the pair showed him little respect, and would sometimes amuse
themselves by shouting across the entry to each other a series of
questions and answers on the subject of New Mexico which were not
entirely flattering to the inhabitants of the territory. Still nothing had
as yet occurred which could be counted an overt act of hostility.
Payner happened along that morning just as Duncan was leaving the
rehabilitated room, receiving as he went, in a curious confusion of
shame and complacency, the blessings of the Moons. Payner
fumbled long at his lock, screwing his head around over his shoulder
so as to take in the whole unusual character of the scene,—unusual
because boys are not likely to be profuse in their expressions of
gratitude, but especially remarkable in that a Peck seemed to have
been engaged in a labor of love.
"Has he been doing something good?" he asked, jerking his thumb
in the direction of the door behind which Duncan had just
disappeared.
"Well, I guess!" replied Reggie. "He's just straightened us all out.
He's a brick! You ought to have seen the pile when we came in. It
almost—" The abrupt ending of Reggie's speech was prompted by a
side swing of his elder brother's foot. It must not be inferred that
this was Clarence's usual method of guiding Reginald's conversation.
He had begun with an unheeded nudge. The kick was effectual, but
late.
Reggie turned in wonder, and perceived from Clarence's black looks
that he had said something amiss. While he stood gaping in a
startled and uncomprehending manner at his brother, Payner left the
door which he had succeeded in opening, crossed the entry, and
peered into the Moons' room.
"Where's the pile?" he demanded in the rapid, explosive way which
the boys liked to mimic. Payner's phrases were jerked out in
diminishing puffs, like the irregular snorts of a laboring gasolene
engine.
Clarence said nothing, and Payner, turning his back upon him,
addressed himself once more to Reggie.
"There isn't any," replied Reggie. "We've taken it all down. It was
right there where the table is."
"Been rough-housed, have you?" asked the visitor, wheeling now
upon Clarence, and breaking into a most unsympathetic snicker.
"Who did it?"
Clarence scowled. "How do you suppose I know? We found it here
when we came from Latin, and Duncan Peck has been helping us
clear up."
"Wasn't the other one with him?"
"No, he had to study," explained Reginald; "but Duncan stayed till
the last thing was put away. It was awfully nice of him, wasn't it?"
"How'd they happen to be here?"
"Oh, they came up the same time we did, and we called 'em in."
"They'd been at recitation?" persisted Payner.
"No, at the Gym," growled Clarence, who did not see why he should
be questioned in this peremptory fashion.
"They'd been here awhile, too," added Reggie, "but they didn't hear
any one come to this room."
"I reckon they could if they'd wanted to," Payner observed dryly.
Reggie did not understand Payner's meaning at all, and Clarence
only in part. So they stood for a moment in silence; then Reggie
spied Clarence's knotted pajamas in the corner of the sofa and was
just opening his mouth to exclaim over them, when Clarence spoke.
"Do you mean to say that they knew when it was done?"
"They knew when it was done, and how it was done, and who did
it," asserted Payner, boldly. "It's my belief they did it themselves.
They're just the fellows to do the thing and then look on and laugh
while you grind your teeth. Who else could have done it anyway? I
wouldn't, and I couldn't either, as I can prove to you. Owen wouldn't
and Smith wouldn't and neither would Lindsay nor any of the other
fellows round here. There's only the Pecks left. It's dollars to
doughnuts they would and did."
"I won't believe it!" cried Reginald, indignantly.
Payner sniffed. "Then don't. I'll bet all the same you can't find out
what they were at all the morning."
Clarence explained the case at length, and Reginald protested, but
Payner asserted with undiminished confidence, and departed,
leaving behind the memory of various pungent sentiments, such as
"they're playing you for suckers," "you'll find out sometime," "you're
dead easy for those guys," to work in his absence.
All that afternoon the ferment went on in Clarence's mind. He was
too indolent to seek facts to inculpate or clear the Pecks, too
sensitive to put the experience wholly from his mind as a mishap of
the day which he had fortunately survived. Much more distressed by
the suspicion that the Pecks were deriding him than by the mere fact
of the "rough-housing," he at last decided to lay the matter before
an impartial third person.
Late in the evening, when Owen was busy with the last lines of the
Virgil for the next morning's eight-o'clock, Clarence offered himself
as a caller, bashfully unfolded his tale, and craved an opinion.
The justice heard the case and gave judgment. He liked the Pecks
and did not care for Payner. Like Payner, he judged according to
previous prejudice. The Pecks were, to his mind, innocent objects of
another's malice, and Payner's suspicions wholly groundless. These
were not the judge's words, but they represent fairly well his
thought. What he said was that Payner was crazy, which in a general
way may or may not have been true.
Clarence departed with pride soothed and composure restored. Rob,
in the firmness of his conviction, hurried over to the Pecks to share
with them his laugh over Payner's ridiculous charge. He had hardly
broached the subject when he began to question the correctness of
his recently delivered opinion. The Pecks looked very indignant and
protested very loudly, but the manner of their indignation was so
clearly forced and their underlying glee so obvious, that the
unguarded wink which Donald threw at his brother and which Rob
surprised was hardly necessary to confirm the visitor's growing belief
that Payner had been right after all. And how the gentle-mannered
twins did malign the insolent Payner for his interference! It was none
of his business; he was butting in where he didn't belong; he was a
fresh gazabo, an uncivilized cub, an outlaw in disguise, who would
wreck a train for a pipe of tobacco or shoot a benefactor from
behind a fence; he had probably saved himself from being hanged
for horse-stealing by taking refuge in Seaton; he certainly belonged
behind the bars.
Rob returned to his room with the feeling unpleasantly vivid in his
mind that in the matter of the Moons' stacked room he had been
guilty of more than one error of judgment.
 CHAPTER V
THE FAVORS OF FORTUNE
When Donald Peck greeted the elder Moon next morning, there was
considerable coolness in the reply; Clarence's suspicions had revived
over night. Later in the day Duncan got hold of Reggie, and
succeeded in extracting from him the confidence that Clarence still
nourished the absurd idea that the Pecks might have stacked the
room themselves.
"It's all rot, of course," said the lad, looking trustingly up into
Duncan's face. "I know you wouldn't do a thing like that, and so
does he, but he's so wild about it he can't think straight. I told him
that if you were the ones you wouldn't have come around as you
did, and helped us out."
Duncan glanced away and felt uncomfortable.
"I hate to have him act so," went on the boy; "it seems so much
worse since you were so good about it. He'll get over it in a day or
two. I hope you won't mind."
Duncan answered cordially that he shouldn't, and, putting an abrupt
end to the conversation, went home to upbraid his brother for
getting both into the scrape. Donald jeered at his scruples, averred
that it was all for the Moons' real good, and charged him with
entering into the scheme without raising objections, and then
crawling. Duncan flung back this charge with indignation, and a
high-pitched, virulent, and illogical argument followed, wherein all
the disastrous enterprises in which the pair had ever engaged were
reconsidered and the blame properly apportioned. This scene of
mutual recrimination ended only when the inhabitants of the room
above fell to thumping on the floor and emitting catcalls and dog
yelps; and Payner, who happened to be passing, actually had the
effrontery to knock at the door to inquire if any one was hurt.
The instant effect of this last interruption was to divert the angry
feelings of the brothers from their former course and combine them
against Payner. He was the cause of all the trouble; without him and
his outrageous interference, the Moons would never have had a
suspicion. He should be punished; his room should be ripped up,
and ripped up thoroughly. The discussion of a plan reinfused in the
twins the old spirit of unity and harmony.
But Payner was not so easily caught as the heedless Moons. The
twins obtained a schedule of his recitations and laboratory hours,
which they agreed afforded the only safe occasions to work. At some
of these hours they were themselves employed; at others, when
they tried his door, it proved to be securely locked.
Once, indeed, during a laboratory period, they found the door ajar,
and pushing it open went boldly in to make the most of their
opportunity. Donald was in the van, his eyes eagerly sweeping the
walls of the room in search of material suited to his purpose.
Duncan, close behind him, glanced over the table, and perceived a
bristly head of hair just appearing above the table edge. Before they
could draw back, the bristling scalp rose higher, and two savage little
eyes looked straight into Donald's face. It was Payner himself, who
had been sent back from the laboratory for the note-book which he
had neglected to bring with him.
Donald sprang back speechless. Duncan came forward pulling out
his watch.
"Well?" said Payner. He was not given to long speeches, but he could
put much vigor into short ones.
"Have you the right time about you?" Duncan asked with a certain
degree of composure. "We saw your door open and thought we'd
come in."
"So I see," remarked Payner. "He"—jerking his head toward Donald
—"seemed rather surprised to find me in."
"It's enough to surprise any one to have a fellow pop up like a jack-
in-the-box from behind a table!"
"Jack-in-the-box!" repeated Payner, angrily.
"Well, anything you like," said Duncan, smiling. "Did you say you had
the right time?"
"No, I haven't; my time is always wrong."
"Thanks," returned Duncan; "then we won't trouble you any longer.
Come on, Don, let's try Owen."
The brothers turned to go. "The next time you come you'd better
knock first," shouted Payner. "It'll save your nerves!"
"We'll try to remember," said Donald, who had regained his
composure. It was his only part in the interview.
The brothers crept back to their room and there chuckled mightily
over their escape. Payner listened to see whether they really did visit
Owen, and then locking his door carefully, walked over to the
laboratory, far more disturbed by the problem of the Pecks' presence
in his room than by any difficulty which an experiment in physics
might offer. And Payner did not shine in physics.
After this Payner's door was always locked, and, mischievous as the
twins were, they had no heart for breaking and entering. Weeks flew
by; Christmas came, bringing the long recess. Owen and Carle both
returned to Terryville for the holidays, the latter especially elated. He
had got his scholarship. His work in the classroom had flagged a
little toward the end of the term, as the seductive influence of
popularity made itself felt, but his honest efforts in the first two
months had given him a good margin, as well as impressed his
teachers. He knew a lot of fellows, was already patronized by a
certain conspicuous set, and enjoyed, as far as it was possible to
anticipate the credit of great deeds as yet unperformed, the glory of
being the master pitcher who was to win the Hillbury game. It was
possible, of course, that these anticipations might prove
unwarranted; that Carle's glory, like the great Kuropatkin's military
reputation before the battles of Laioyang and Mukden, might not
survive the actual test. But at least he had every prospect of being
the school pitcher, and this was in itself a definite honor.
Owen had not fared as well. He had worked faithfully, had won fair
rank, had made a few good friends; his teachers spoke of him as
steady but slow. He had developed no striking qualities to impress
his boy acquaintances; he was not witty like Rogers, nor literary like
Ware, nor a wonderful scholar like Salter, nor a football hero like
Laughlin or Lindsay, nor a track athlete with a record like Strong, nor
a musician like Truslow, nor clever with a pencil like Fox, nor a
ladies' man like Richmond, nor even a jolly idiot like Kleinschmidt. To
be a candidate for the nine, with the possibility of becoming
substitute catcher if luck served, was not in itself and at this early
day a sufficient ground for distinction. So Rob had few successes to
report to his family on his return. Mr. Owen was satisfied that the
boy had honestly endeavored to do his duty in school, and follow the
principles laid down in the parental code. In the father's eyes the
discouraging outlook for baseball was rather a cause for
congratulation. Mrs. Owen was wholly pleased to have her son at
home again, and to find him a little bigger and a little stronger and a
little more manly than before, but just as fond of his home as ever,
and just as interested in all that concerned it. Except for two things,
Rob himself was completely happy. One was the disappointment
about baseball, which he could not forget; the other, the constant
reminder of his inferiority to Carle. When Carle confessed on the
train, with a certain imposing air of one whose honors were
burdensome, that he had been asked to join the Omega-Omicron
fraternity, Rob was smitten hard with jealousy, but he threw off this
feeling in an instant and spoke eagerly.
"That's an honor, isn't it! Are you going to join?"
"I haven't decided yet," replied Carle, negligently.
"Aren't they rather a rich set?" asked Rob, as he ran over the list of
several who were reputed to be members. He had picked up a good
deal of information during his first term about many things which did
not immediately concern him.
"Most of 'em have money, but they don't insist that every one else
should."
"I should think that it would be hard all the same," returned Rob,
thoughtfully. "You see, there'll be a lot of things these fellows do that
you can't afford. You won't want to refuse if you're with them, and
you can't stand the pace they set. That makes it awkward for you."
"Oh, they make a way for a fellow who hasn't much," Carle replied.
"You see they like to get in fellows that are well known, specially the
athletic men. It's to their interest to sacrifice something, if they want
the important fellows."
"I'm thinking of you, not of the fraternity," said Owen, resisting
another attack of jealousy. It grated on him to hear Carle speak so
confidently of his assured athletic position. "It'll be harder for you to
study and keep your place in the class, if you're going with those
fellows all the time; and then there'll be a temptation to spend more
than you can afford."
At this argument, which was certainly worthy of consideration,
Carle's face clouded and he burst out savagely: "It's mighty mean to
be always kept tied down to figuring on pennies, and have to slave
to get a scholarship, when other fellows who haven't anything to
make them popular can throw money around and loaf, and float
along on the top wave. It isn't right!"
Rob looked at him in surprise. "You don't have to spend money to be
popular. There's Laughlin; he hasn't a cent that he doesn't earn, and
fellows like Poole and Lindsay and Cutting don't make any show of
money if they have it. And who thinks anything of Bowers with all
his dough?"
"They have all they need, at least," returned Carle, "and I haven't.
Laughlin's different, but there aren't many like him. All I say is that
it's mighty tough to send a fellow to school, and not give him money
enough to keep him there decently."
Rob listened without knowing what reply to make. He recalled the
eagerness with which Ned had forced his plan upon his parents, his
declaration that he would not let himself be a burden to them, and
his promise to be content with what they could afford to give him,
and rely upon himself for all other needs. Why should he speak as if
he had been sent to school against his will and there neglected,
when he had besought his parents to let him go at his own risk? And
why should he complain at all when he had apparently had complete
success, earned a scholarship, and had such prospects of an
important place in school life?
Ned's successes were soon known in Terryville. Mr. Carle repeated
often and proudly the tale of his son's high rank in his school, and of
the great popularity which he enjoyed among his school-fellows. Ned
added the information that he should probably do the bulk of the
pitching on the school nine; he was to begin pitching practice with
the regular school catcher after the holidays. When people
questioned Rob concerning these statements, as many did, he
readily confirmed them; when they asked him further, as some did,
why he had not succeeded as well, and why he wasn't "good enough
to catch Carle," he laughingly declared his inferiority. When he was
safe from observation, however, and the questions returned to him,
he had no heart to laugh. The fact that he was "outclassed," as Ned
calmly explained it, or better that he had been quietly put aside on
the assumption that he wasn't the equal of Borland, while Carle was
taken at his own highest valuation and given in advance the honors
of achievement—this was indeed an unpleasant subject for
reflection. But Rob, though lacking the worldly experience which
might have taught him that in the general sifting and settling of life,
undeserved elevation usually leads to deserved humiliation, still was
fortunate in possessing a modest self-esteem and reasonably good
sense. That he envied Carle's rapid rise cannot be denied; but that
he in any way wished his friend ill on account of it, or would have
liked to pull Carle down that the difference between them should be
less manifest,—this feeling, I am pleased to say, was wholly absent
from his mind. Rob Owen was no cad.
 A Corner of the Yard.

CHAPTER VI
THE THIRD STRING
When the school gathered again after the holidays, Poole called his
candidates for baseball together, and after a vehement harangue in
which he sought to impress upon each man the importance of doing
his utmost to develop a good nine, whether by making it himself or
by spurring on some better man to outdo him, arranged the periods
and combinations for winter practice. As the general routine, or as
much of it as concerns the fielding and batting, has been described
in a former book, the subject must be dismissed here with this
passing mention. In the work of the batteries we are more directly
interested.
Carle and Borland were put at the head of the battery combinations,
apparently with as little hesitancy as if they had been veterans
carried over from a triumphant season. The first choice of hours was
theirs, their opinions were listened to with respect; their position as
fixtures seemed almost as well recognized as that of Poole himself.
In spite of all self-preparation, Rob was almost startled to find what
a gap existed between himself and his old battery mate; and as he
remembered how often in past games when bases were full and
things were going wrong with the pitching, he had guided the
bewildered Carle out of his difficulties, he could not help a feeling of
pique, nor avoid wondering whether Borland would succeed as well.
After Carle, O'Connell, one of the class pitchers of the year before,
held the next position of favor, and Poole quietly put down the
combination, Owen and O'Connell, for cage hours together. There
were also Patterson, a new man about whom nothing was known,
and Peters, right fielder on the nine the year before, who was
learning to pitch. For these, also, practice catchers were arranged.
From the outset, Owen found his practice with O'Connell unpleasant.
It could not have been from any prejudice against the pitcher, for
Rob, who was eager for any opportunity which seemed to offer him
a "show," was at first greatly pleased at the prospect of being mated
with the man who, before the advent of Carle, had been regarded as
the most promising of the school pitchers. Whatever secret hopes he
may have cherished of building up a rival battery were in a fortnight
wholly dispelled. O'Connell couldn't pitch, and wouldn't learn. He
couldn't pitch because his whole idea seemed to be to throw a ball
with as big a curve as possible, without much care as to where it
was going, or how near the plate it was destined to come; the only
ball which he could surely put over was a straight waist ball which
any child could hit. He wouldn't learn, because he thought it a
pitcher's business to pitch, and a catcher's not to give instruction but
to catch. To Rob's suggestions that any kind of a waist-high ball was
dangerous, that the best pitcher he ever saw did not cover a width
of more than three feet in a whole game, keeping the ball constantly
at the plate—O'Connell paid not the slightest attention. He was quite
unwilling to suppose that a man who had enjoyed the privilege of
Seaton coaching for a year could learn anything from a country boy
from western Pennsylvania. The result was that Rob soon ceased to
try to help the pitcher, and contented himself with taking the balls
within reach in silence and letting the rest strike the net. The
loungers about the cage could not have been impressed with the
skill of the catching.
One day toward the end of the discouraging fortnight, when Rob
was feeling particularly blue over the situation and wondering
whether it would not be better after all to let the catching go
altogether and take his chances on his hitting for a fielding position,
he fell in with Patterson on the way down street, and asked him
casually how he was getting on with pitching.
"Not very well," answered Patterson, ruefully. "I can't seem to learn
anything."
"Who catches you?" asked Rob.
"Foxcroft," replied Patterson, gloomily. "He's a good backstop, I
suppose, but he never tells me anything, and you can't learn by
yourself. Poole ought to fix it so that we can get some instruction, I
think."
Rob did not answer. He was marvelling at the contrariness of
circumstances. Here was O'Connell who might have instruction but
wouldn't take it, and Patterson who wanted it but couldn't get it!
"A man who ought to know told me once that I had the makings of
a pitcher in me,—the arm swing, snappy wrist, and all that, you
know,—but I've had mighty little chance for coaching and no such
experience as these fellows here get, so I don't know whether he
was fooling me or not. I don't seem to be getting ahead at all now."
"Oh, you mustn't be discouraged," said Rob, unfairly assuming in his
own discouragement the right to blame the other's faint-
heartedness. "It takes time to learn to pitch."
"It takes something more than time," Patterson declared with
emphasis. "A year of the kind of thing I'm getting won't be much
better than a month. You don't have to eat a bushel of apples to find
out whether they're rotten or not. One is enough."
Rob hesitated. An idea had suddenly occurred to him, an idea that
might be good. Why shouldn't he catch Patterson, and let O'Connell
take Foxcroft? He knew nothing of Patterson, it was true, but he did
know about O'Connell, and under the circumstances the unknown
seemed attractive.
"How would you like to take me for a change, and let O'Connell have
Foxcroft?"
Patterson's face spoke instantly a joyful acceptance of the proposal.
His words, which came later, evidently represented second thoughts.
"Wouldn't I! But O'Connell would kick, though. He isn't going to
swap you for Foxcroft."
"I don't believe he'd mind," returned Owen, with a smile of
amusement tinged with sadness. "He can't learn anything from me,
so Foxcroft would do just as well. I'd like to catch some one I could
work with, and feel an interest in and try to push along. A net would
be about as good for O'Connell as I am; all the advantage I have
over the net is that I throw the balls back."
"Let's change, then," said Patterson, eagerly. "If O'Connell doesn't
want your help, I do. You'll find me ready to learn all right. You see
Poole,—no, I'll see him and tell him we'd like to bunk in together. I
don't believe it'll make any difference to him."
Poole was seen, and gave his consent without suggesting any
obstacle except a possible difficulty in arranging new hours.
O'Connell growled a little, not at losing Owen, whom he considered
too officious, but at the notion that he should be given a third-string
catcher instead of a second. But the change was made, and the new
pair settled quietly down into obscurity, an obscurity which was the
deeper in contrast with the glare of publicity in which the first
battery displayed itself.
Carle and Borland were the unquestioned athletic heroes of that
winter term. Borland showed himself an excellent backstop. His
manner was that of one whom no ball thrown by human arm could
disconcert. He could take in-curves with his mitt unsupported, tip
them jauntily into his right hand, and toss them back with the best
air of a professional in a great city team showing his tricks to a big
audience before a game. The lads who in a perennial group peered
admiring through the netting would nudge each other and exclaim
and wonder; the knowing ones would talk with wise patronage; the
ignorant ask foolish questions in awe-struck tones. Then the
company would exchange places with a similar squad at the pitcher's
end, and, big-eyed with amazement, watch the unintelligible signals,
and try to detect the jump or the break, the out or the in, the lift or
the drop, which the conductor of the party assured them was to be
seen. Those were great days for battery one at Seaton school. No
disillusionizing games to shatter the sweet ideal with brutal facts, no
heartbreaking succession of base hits, no feverish gift of bases on
balls, no missed pop fouls, no overthrown bases, but just fancy
pitching, with opportunity for flourishes unlimited, and spectators
unanimous in admiration. Poole himself, with all his steady-
mindedness and fear of fostering vain hopes, yielded to the general
exultation and looked forward with full complacency to the contest
of batteries in the spring.
Meantime the humble third string was pursuing its unnoticed way. To
his surprise, Owen found Patterson possessed of a very good
mastery of one or two curves, and pitching with apparent ease and
considerable speed. He was very eager to learn, and so modest as to
be entirely distrustful of himself. This fault of timidity Rob sought to
overcome by encouragement and by plain lessons from the
successes of pitchers whom he had known. When once Patterson
understood that by good pitching was meant, not "doing things"
with a ball, but merely success in fooling batsmen; and that to
accomplish this object, control and speed and cleverness in
alternating balls, rather than ability to juggle curves, were of prime
importance, the pupil took courage and began to learn.
It was now that Rob regretted that he had not paid more attention
to McLennan's words of counsel to Carle when the latter had had his
lessons. Much that the professional had said he recalled under the
stimulus of the need. Some things about which he felt uncertain he
found out from Carle, who, as a rule, however, remembered less of
the technical teaching than Owen. But in the main it was the
fundamental principles which Patterson needed, and as to these his
catcher was well informed. They were left much to themselves. The
general public had no interest in the third battery. Poole occasionally
looked in on them for a few minutes, but on these occasions Rob,
with a perversity perhaps excusable, deliberately kept his charge
from showing his best work. With O'Connell and Carle, and others
who might be expected to look with critical eyes, he followed the
same course, as if he courted obscurity. The result was that the two
worked on alone during the long winter practice unmolested by
critics, and free from distracting suggestions of would-be helpers.
With Patterson, Rob soon felt himself on terms of hearty intimacy,
though at times their relation suggested that of patron and client. So
frankly modest was the pitcher, so naturally distrustful of himself and
ready to follow another's lead, that outside the cage he fell naturally
into the position of follower. He studied with Owen, skated with him,
loafed in his room, sided with him in the discussions, profitable and
unprofitable, to which boys' conversation usually runs, and confided
to him the facts as to his home life which one usually reserves for
his most intimate companion. Yet with all his friendliness and
willingness to follow the steps of another better fitted to lead,
Patterson was by no means weak. There was a substantial basis of
character and principle underlying his naturally trustful disposition.
He followed only a presumably wiser guide; he yielded only up to a
certain point and in certain directions. While possessing the unusual
faculty of recognizing his faults before his virtues, when once
assured of his power he would push on undaunted by obstacles. It
was this peculiar combination of traits that so endeared him as a
friend and rendered him so apt as a pupil. Most young athletes need
the experience of the contest to dissipate their conceit, and open the
way for development. With Patterson experience was necessary
before a reasonable self-confidence was possible.
 CHAPTER VII
FACILIS DESCENSUS
Carle joined the Omega Omicron. This was evident, even before the
acquisition of the distinctive hatband, from the furious and absorbing
intimacy which he developed with a certain coterie of fellows
belonging to the fraternity. A dispassionate observer—Mr. Graham,
for instance—would have perceived two distinct strains in the
membership of the Omicron: an extravagant set of sports, courting a
reputation for fastness; and a steadier, wiser, more manly group of
well-to-do fellows who fell in naturally with others possessing similar
monthly allowances, without adopting their views or their principles.
It was this latter element which procured for the fraternity the
countenance of the faculty. If any member of the Omicron had been
asked—by his father, let us say, for no student would have ventured
upon such dangerous ground—what kind of fellows belonged to the
society, he would have answered emphatically "mighty nice fellows."
And the answer would have been in the main true, for the tendency
toward conformity is strong in boys, often holding in temporary
check the individual instinct which is destined to make the character
of the man; and boy loyalty is notorious. But between Durand and
Hendry, who represented the best of the Omicron, and Jones and
Nicholson, who led the fast set, there was as much real difference as
between blades of wheat and blades of grass. Poole and Lindsay
belonged to another fraternity.
"You'd better look after your pitcher," said Durand one morning to
Poole. "He's getting in debt."
Poole stopped short in his walk and stared in amazement into his
companion's face.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say," returned Durand, soberly. "He's borrowing and
running bills."
"Where?"
"Where does he borrow? Well, Jones and Stratton are two he's
borrowed from. There may be more. He's running bills at one drug
store anyway, and I think with two of those out-of-town agents that
show things down at Perkins's."
"Why don't you look after him?" demanded Poole, angrily. "He
belongs to your bunch."
Durand shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not his guardian. I don't run
the Omicron, either, as I've told you before."
"You ought to!" retorted Poole. "What did you get him in there for
anyway?"
"I didn't get him in. In fact, and between ourselves, I voted against
him."
"I should think you might have helped him along anyway, or at least
not let your gang lead him off. You knew he was a scholarship man
and hadn't money to throw away. Why didn't you stop him?"
"I did try to, Phil; honestly, I did," returned Durand, at last becoming
warm; "but what could I do against all you fellows flattering him and
praising him and kowtowing to him as if he were a little tin god? You
don't suppose he cares anything for my opinion, do you? You don't
suppose that Jones and Stratton and Nicholson are going to throw
around less money because he's with 'em, do you? Not on your life!"
Poole thought a few moments in silence. Then he looked up with a
smile and dropped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't believe
it's as bad as you make out," he said. "You always were prejudiced
against the fellow, you and Lindsay too; and I think I know why.
Owen's soured because he can't catch Carle here as he did at home.
That made him throw over O'Connell in a sulky fit; and now, I
suppose, he runs down Carle, and you fellows in Hale take his
opinion."
Durand was listening with lips parted and eyes set in a stare of
astonishment. "Well, of all the crazy ideas that is the limit! Owen has
never, so far as I've known, said one word against Carle to any one.
He did say why he changed O'Connell for Patterson. Patterson
wanted to learn, and O'Connell couldn't be taught because he knew
it all without telling. You're entirely off about the whole business."
"I hope I am," said Poole.
"By the way, have you seen Owen catch?"
"Of course. I look in on him every now and then."
"What do you think of him?"
"A good, fair man. I was counting on him and O'Connell as second-
string battery, but he doesn't seem to want the job."
"Have you heard him coaching Patterson?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so. There was nothing remarkable about it."
Durand laughed a provoking, mysterious, sententious laugh, waved
his hand, and disappeared into his dormitory entry, leaving Poole to
meditate on the conversation. The meditation concerned but one
subject, the possible difficulties of the popular pitcher. Of Owen, he
did not think again.
The captain's first active step was to make inquiries among the
upper middlers concerning Carle's standing. The answers were
various, depending largely upon the standard of the boy questioned.
A few whose own records were high, or who remembered some
especially striking failures on the part of Carle, were of the opinion
that he was falling in rank. The great majority of middle weights
considered him, in general, good. After this investigation Poole had
an interview with Carle himself, who protested that he was "all
right," declared that his debts didn't amount to anything, and
avowed the most superior principles.
Poole returned home reassured. When he met Durand in the
afternoon he reported the results of his investigations, and jeered at
his little third baseman as a croaker. And Carle, after sitting silent at
his desk for an unpleasant half hour, and later having performed a
little problem in addition and subtraction which apparently gave him
no relief, accepted unhesitatingly the invitation of Jones to join him
and two others in a drive with a span of horses, though he knew
that the livery charge to be divided would be at least five dollars.
You can't be mean, if you want fellows to like you!
As a matter of fact Carle's classroom work was falling off. He was
not perhaps conscious of the change, and some of his teachers had
likewise failed to perceive the trend. When a boy trots his
translations, he may, if he is quick and observant in the recitation
room, deceive his instructors for a very considerable time. A good
teacher necessarily repeats questions and reemphasizes principles,
and Carle was bright enough to take full advantage of opportunities
afforded by the recitations. But all the time, as his outside interests
increased, and the circle of intimates with whom he idled grew, his
study became more superficial. The translation book was no longer
reserved for special emergency; it lay open on his desk from the first
line of the lesson to the last. His newly developed method in
mathematics was to gather all possible solutions from his
acquaintances before trying any problems himself. He was growing
distinctly clever in the art of cribbing. Still he seemed to be doing fair
work, for such a process is one of gradual and secret undermining
rather than of open destruction. One does not perceive the extent to
which the foundations are injured until the crash comes.
"What is the matter with Carle?" asked Mr. Rice, the young teacher
of history, at a faculty meeting in February. "Isn't he falling off in his
work?"
Mr. Moore turned on him an indulgent smile. "I haven't noticed it,"
he said, "and I have him five times a week."
As the young instructor had Carle's section but two hours weekly,
this answer appeared to the questioner equivalent to a rebuke; so,
taking Kipling's advice to the cub, he thought, and was still. The
result of his thinking was first that Mr. Moore, being faculty member
of the Omicron, must know Carle's habits of work much better than
he himself did; and, secondly, that he was but a tyro at the business,
with much to learn, both as to boys and the ways of the school. He
did not see that the Principal made a note of his question, or that
Lovering, one of the Latin men, and Pope, a middle-aged confrère
who had sections in mathematics, exchanged a few words in low
tones. Otherwise, he might have felt less chagrin over his apparent
error.

CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST PLAGUE
The inhabitants of the east entry of Hale were enjoying a season of
unusual quiet. Duncan Peck, because of unacceptable work, lay
under the ban of study hours,—a fact which damped the ardor of
both the brothers. Clarence Moon had apparently learned wisdom
from experience, for he had much less to say about the exalted state
in which he lived at home, and in general bore himself with more
becoming modesty. Lindsay and Owen and their room-mates had
other ambitions than to be disturbers of the peace, and Payner lived
solitary and secure in his fortress. There remained but the
conscientious Smith and Crossett the absentee, neither of whom was
likely to spend time in fomenting discord in the dormitory.
Smith studied continuously. His lamp was lighted at five every
morning, he was always in bed at ten at night; but between these
two periods, except for the time inevitably wasted on meals and
devoted to school exercises, he plodded unweariedly at his books.
And did he accomplish great things? I wish I could answer yes. I
would not willingly detract one jot from the value of habits of
industry. They are rough diamonds which Young America is too
prone to throw aside for the flashing brilliants of smartness and wit.
But the truth must be spoken. Smith's industry earned no apparent
dividends. With the gift of great perseverance, nature had also
bestowed on him a very thick head, through which ideas soaked but
slowly. He rarely got a conception right without having first tried all
the possibilities of error. His influence was ambiguous: some jeered
at him as an example of the ineffectualness of grinding; others,
among whom was Owen, felt a kind of reproof in the patient,
untiring, undiscourageable zeal of this oft-discomfited drudge. To
most who knew him he was merely "Grinder Smith."
Owen came in one day from cage practice with Patterson, who had
fallen into the habit of doing his afternoon study in Rob's room. At
the head of the stairs they met a tall, light-haired boy coming out of
Payner's room. Owen nodded.
"Who was that?" asked Patterson, as soon as they were out of
hearing. "I didn't suppose Payner had callers."
"His name's Eddy," Rob replied. "No, Payner doesn't have many
callers. Eddy and I are about the only ones, I guess."
"Who's Eddy, anyway?"
"He's a senior. I met him once over at Poole's room."
"I wonder what he can find in a freak like Payner," pursued
Patterson.
"Payner isn't such a freak as you think," returned Owen. "I couldn't
make anything of him for a long time; but when once you've broken
through his shell you'll find there's something in him."
"I never shall. No fun in a sour apple like him. Give me the Pecks
every time. Payner's just a snapping turtle."
A door slammed in the entry; quick, elastic footsteps, accompanied
by a whistle, passed.
"Lindsay," observed Owen.
"Wasn't it great the way he blocked that kick in the Hillbury game!"
exclaimed Patterson. "If I could play football as he does, I'd be
willing to work a hundred years."
"I'd rather play on a winning nine, myself," observed Rob.
"Would you? I wouldn't. You see, in football you catch the spirit of
the thing, and you're swept right along with the gang. There's a
swing that carries you. You just rush in and give a big drive for all
that's in you. But in baseball it's different. Everybody has to stand
around waiting and watching and quivering while one man does the
work. When you pitch a hard baseball game, every ball's got to go
just so. If it's two inches too high, or two inches wide, or an out
when it ought to be an in, it's all wrong. And then there are about a
thousand things that can happen whenever a man hits the ball."
Rob nodded in agreement. "And you've got to be ready for any one
of those thousand things. That's where the fun comes in, and the
skill. When you know you can handle any ball that's likely to come
your way and handle it right, there's fun just in waiting."
"I suppose that's true. I wish I knew as much baseball as you do.
Honestly, now, do you think I'm ever going to learn to pitch?"
This was one of the times when Patterson needed encouragement.
"Yes, I do," Owen replied earnestly. "You're gaining all the time. If
you're willing to count by the weeks instead of the days, you'll see a
gain yourself. You may never be able to do the things with a ball that
Carle can do,—he's got a wonderful wrist, that fellow!—but you may
be just as good a pitcher."
"As good as Carle!" cried Patterson, with a grin of incredulity. "You're
jollying me!"
"Not a bit!" Owen retorted. "You never will see that it isn't what you
do to the ball, but what the batsman doesn't do to it, that shows
that you are a pitcher. Suppose Carle has ten chances and throws
five of them away, and you have eight and throw away only two,
who is the better man?"
Patterson shook his head doubtfully. "It's one thing to stand in the
cage and put 'em where you say; it's a different thing to face a
batter in a game and feel that he may drive the next one over the
fence."
"You can put 'em where I say just the same, can't you?" retorted
Owen, sharply, as he opened his books. There was good promise in
Patterson, but these attacks of despondency were of distinctly bad
omen.
"You didn't tell me how Payner got hold of Eddy," said Patterson,
returning again to the topic from which he had been diverted by the
ever recurrent baseball.
"Didn't I? Well, Payner is a great fellow for bugs,—in fact, for every
kind of animal, big or little, that has more than two legs; and Eddy is
cracked on trees and birds. Payner spent all his half-holidays last fall,
when he ought to have been at the football games, up the river
looking for bugs and slugs. He found Eddy up there watching birds.
So they got acquainted."
Patterson emitted a little sniff, midway between a sneer and a
chuckle.
"Oh, you needn't laugh! He doesn't loaf away his Saturday
afternoons like the rest of us. Why, he's got one of the best
collections of coleoptera in existence!"
"Oh, has he!" exclaimed the bewildered Patterson.
Owen swung round as if to end the conversation, and raising his
book to the level of his eyes, sniggered covertly into its pages.
Opposite him sat Patterson, awed into silence by the ponderous
polysyllable, of whose meaning he was loth to confess his ignorance.
So the study began.
That evening Eddy came in after dinner to see some new specimens
that Payner had just received from Florida. It was lecture night, and
the bell sounded just as Payner opened the case.
"Look here, Eddy, I want to go to that lecture to night. It's on the
Grand Canyon, you know. Are you going?"
"I don't believe I shall," said Eddy, absent-mindedly, as he picked up
a card to which was pinned a beetle with a rainbow stripe down his
back. "That's a beauty, isn't it?"
"Yes, they're all fine. I think I'll hurry over and get a seat. You won't
mind, will you? Look at them as long as you want."
"Thank you!" said Eddy.
"And be sure you latch the door, do you hear?"
"All right," said Eddy, passing on to the next card.
Payner hesitated as if not entirely satisfied with Eddy's answer; then
turned to the door.
"Just let down the catch, see?" he called once more, pausing with
his hand on the fastening.
"Yes, yes, I'll do it," returned Eddy, with a little petulance. It seemed
hardly necessary that the injunction should be so often repeated.
Payner went out, shutting the door behind him.
Duncan Peck stood in the entry hallooing to some one below. He
waited until the steps of the collector of coleoptera died away at the
entrance of the building, then crept softly up to the door just closed,
and gently tried it as he had done many times before. To his surprise
it yielded to the pressure of his hand. Made cautious by a former
experience, Duncan pushed the door very slowly until, through the
widening crack, he perceived Eddy, standing before the table intent
on the specimens. At this sight the evil-doer closed the door as softly
as he had opened it, slipped back to his room, found his brother, and
sent him over to the lecture to make sure of Payner's presence
there. With great foresight, the Pecks had invented a device suited
to just such an emergency as the present. They had prepared a little
wooden plug which would almost fill the socket into which the door-
latch springs, leaving but a thin edge to catch the latch. This slight
hold of the latch would be sufficient to keep the door shut, but quite
incapable of resisting pressure. As the locks of all the rooms were
uniform, the plug which had been made to fit the Pecks' door could
be counted on to produce the same effect on any door in the
dormitory. Armed with this burglar's contrivance, Duncan crept back
across the hall, pushed Payner's door ajar once more, and inserted
his plug; then closed the door again and sneaked back to safety. In
a few minutes the twins, secretly watching from their room, saw
Eddy come out, slam the door, and go whistling downstairs. His
whistle was still audible in the distance when Duncan stole down the
entry and gave a hard push at Payner's knob. The door swung on its
hinges. The long-desired opportunity had come at last!
The ripping up of Payner's room was not as thorough a job as that
by which the unhappy Moons had suffered. The twins were too
much excited, and their eagerness to finish was too great to permit
much elaboration. They dragged the chief articles of furniture
around the desk; piled the bedding on the heap, and wet it down
with a dash of water; smashed the lamp-shade in trying to make it
sit securely on top, and filled the fireplace with pictures from the
wall. To give distinction to the effect, the precious beetles were
taken from their case, and pinned up over the fireplace in a hasty
attempt to form the letters of the Latin Salve.
When Payner returned from the lecture, half an hour later, he ran
into the outworks of the heap, and sent the ruins of his shade
crashing to the floor. The twins listened through the crack of their
door, and trembled with excitement and eagerness, lashed by guilty
consciences and yet defiant. But this one crash was all they heard.
The door did not reopen, and no other sound came from within to
indicate the feelings of their victim.
Next morning when they went out to breakfast, they noticed that
the card in the indicator at the entrance to the dormitory on which
had been written opposite No. 7, D. and D. Peck, now bore the
legend The D—D Pecks. It was Payner's defiance, his challenging
gauntlet! But the Pecks, in their vainglory, laughed loudly and feared
nothing.
Two nights later when Donald, who was the first undressed, jumped
into bed and thrust his feet down into the depths, he uttered a
shriek and sprang headlong out.
"What is it?" cried Duncan, turning around in amazement.
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

testbankdeal.com