HIRAM SHELL WENT SLIPPING AND SLIDING DOWN THE OUTSIDE WALL OF THE SNOW FORT.HIRAM SHELL WENT SLIPPING AND SLIDING DOWN THE OUTSIDE WALL OF THE SNOW FORT.
In his descent he struck several lads who were swarming up to the attack, and these Hiram bowled over like tenpins, so that when he came to rest he was in the centre of a pile of heaving bodies, and of threshing and swaying arms and legs, like a football player downed after a long run.
“Get off me, you fellows!” yelled Hiram, when he could get his breath. “I’ll punch some of you good and hard for this!”
“And you’ll get punched yourself if you don’ttake your feet out of my face!” retorted Peaches, who was one of the few pupils not afraid of the bully.
“Where’s that Joe Matson? I’ve got a score to settle with him,” went on Hiram, as he struggled to his feet, and disentangled himself from the mass of snow-warriors.
“You’ll have one to settle with me if you knock me down again!” cried Teeter Nelson, as he tried to shake some snow out from inside his collar. It was melting and running down his back in little cold streams. “What do you mean by playing that way?” demanded Teeter, who had not seen the impending fight between Joe and Hiram. “Why don’t you stay inside your own fort, and not make a human battering ram of yourself?”
“You mind your own business!” snapped Hiram with an ugly look. “I slipped and fell, or else Joe Matson pushed me. Wait until I get hold of him.”
With a look of anger on his face, Hiram turned and went swarming up the outer wall of the fort. At the top stood Joe, waiting, and the lad’s face showed no signs of fear, though he was a trifle pale. Though Hiram was larger, and evidently stronger than Joe, our hero was notafraid. He was debating in his mind whether it would not be better to rush to the ground below, where he would have a better chance if it came to an out-and-out-fight. Yet Joe had a certain advantage on top of the snow wall, for he could easily push Hiram down. Yet this was not his idea of a contest of that kind.
“I’ll fix you, Matson!” muttered the bully. “I’ll teach you to push me down! You might have broken my arm or leg,” he added in an injured tone.
“I didn’t push you!” retorted our hero. “You tried to hit me and missed. Then you fell.”
“That’s right!” chimed in Peaches, amid a silence, for the general snowball fight had ceased in anticipation of another kind of an encounter.
Hiram balanced himself half way up the white wall.
“What did you smash me in the face with a snowball for?” he demanded. “We made it up that no one was to aim at another fellow’s face at close range, and you know it.”
“Of course I know it,” answered Joe. “But that rule applied to hard balls, and I didn’t use one. I threw a soft ball at you, and you know why I did it, too. I’ll let Luke Fodick have one, too, if he does it again.”
“Does what again?” sneered the bully’s crony.
“Use icy balls. I saw you and Hiram take some frozen ones from that box,” and Joe pointed to the secret supply of ammunition. “Some of our fellows were hit and that’s why I threw in your face, Hiram. Now, if you want to fight I’m ready for you,” and Joe stood well balanced on top of the wall, awaiting the approach of his enemy.
Somehow the fighting spirit was oozing out of Hiram. He felt sure that he could whip Joe in a battle on level ground, but when his opponent stood above him, and when it was evident that Joe could deliver a blow before Hiram could, with the probability that it would send the attacker sliding down the wall again, the bully began to see that discretion was the better part of valor.
“Do you want to fight?” demanded Hiram, in that tone which sometimes means that the questioner would be glad to get a negative answer.
“I’m not aching for it,” replied Joe slowly. “But I’m not going to run away. If you like I’ll come down, but you can come up if you want to,” and he smiled at Hiram. “You only got what you deserved, you know.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Teeter. “You hadn’t any right to use frozen balls, Hiram.”
“Sure not!” came in a menacing chorus from Joe’s crowd of lads.
“Well, they weren’t frozen very hard,” mumbled Hiram. “I only threw a few, anyhow, and you’ve got more fellows than we have.”
“Because we captured some of yours—yes,” admitted Joe.
“Well, all right then,” answered the bully with no good grace. “But if you throw at my face again, at such close range, Joe Matson, I’ll give you the best licking you ever had.”
“Two can play at that game,” was Joe’s retort. “I’m ready any time you are.”
“Why don’t you go at him now, and clean him up?” asked Luke Fodick, making his way to where Hiram stood. “If you don’t he’ll be saying he backed you to a standstill. Go at him, Hiram.”
“I’ve a good notion to,” muttered the bully.
He measured with his eye the distance between himself and Joe, and wondered if he could cover it in a rush, carry his opponent off his feet, and batter and pummel him as they rolled down the fort wall together.
“Go on!” urged Luke.
“I—I guess I will!” spoke Hiram desperately.
Then from the outer fringe of the attacking crowd there arose a cautious warning.
“Cheese it! Here comes old Sixteen!”
Professor Rodd was approaching and the lads well knew that he was bitterly opposed to fights, and would at once report any who engaged in them.
“Come on! Let’s finish the snow fight!” cried Teeter. “Get back in your fort, Hiram, and the rest of you, and we’ll soon capture it.”
“All right,” said the bully in a low voice. Then looking at Joe he said: “This isn’t the end of it; not by a long shot, Matson. I’ll get square with you yet.”
“Just as you choose,” answered Joe, as he rallied his lads to the attack again.
Then the snow ball fight went on, with Professor Rodd an interested onlooker. Joe’s boys finally won, capturing the fort; but the real zest had been taken out of the battle by the unpleasant incident, and the boys no longer fought with jolly good-will.
“Ah, that is what I like to see,” remarked the Latin professor, as the lads, having finished the game, strolled away from the fort which hadbeen sadly battered and disrupted by the attack on it. “Nothing like good, healthy out-door exercise to fit the mind for the classics. I’m sure you will all do better in Latin and Greek for this little diversion.”
“He’s got another think coming as far as I’m concerned,” whispered Teeter to Joe. “I haven’t got a line of my Cæsar.”
“This is certainly what I like to see,” went on the instructor. “No hard feelings, yet I venture to say you all fought well, and hard. It is most delightful.”
“It wouldn’t have been quite so delightful if you’d have come along a few minutes later and seen a real fight,” murmured Peaches. “Would you have stood up to Hiram, Joe?”
“I sure would. I was ready for him, though I don’t want to be unfriendly to any of the fellows here. But I couldn’t stand for what he did. Oh, I’d have fought him all right, even at the risk of a whipping, or of beating him, and having him down on me all the while I’m here.”
“I guess he’s down on you all right as it is,” ventured George Bland. “And it’s too bad, too.”
“Oh, I don’t know as I care particularly,” spoke Joe.
“I thought I heard you say you wanted to playball when the Spring season opened,” said George.
“So I do, but what has Hiram Shell got to do with it?”
“Lots, as you’ll very soon learn,” put in Teeter. “Hiram is the head of the ball club—the manager—I guess you forgot that, and he runs things. If he doesn’t want a fellow to play—why, that fellow doesn’t play—that’s all. That’s what George means.”
“Yes,” assented George. “And Hiram is sure down on you after what you did to him to-day, Joe.”
The young pitcher stood still. Many thoughts came to him. He felt a strange sinking sensation, as if he had suddenly lost hope. He dwelt for a moment on his great ambition, to be the star pitcher on the school nine, as he had been on the nine at home.
“Well, I guess it’s too late to worry about it now,” remarked Joe after a bit. “I’m sorry—no; I’m not either!” he cried, with sudden energy. “I’d do the same thing over again if I had to, and if Hiram Shell wants to keep me off the nine he can do it!”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried Teeter, clapping Joe on the back.
“Well, Joe, what do you think about it?” Tom Davis glanced at his chum across the room as he asked this question. It was several hours after the snow battle, and the two lads were studying, or making a pretense at it.
“Think about what, Tom?”
“Oh, you know what I mean—what happened to-day, and how it’s going to affect your chances for the nine. They look rather slim, don’t they?”
“Well, Tom, I don’t mind admitting that they do. I didn’t know Hiram was such a high-mucky-muck in baseball here. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. He and I would have had a clash sooner or later, anyhow, and it might as well be first as last.”
“It’s too blamed bad though,” went on Tom.
“Yes,” agreed Joe, “especially as I picked out Excelsior Hall because their nine had so many victories to its credit, and because it had a goodreputation. That’s what partly induced you to come here, too, I guess.”
“Well, yes, in a way. Of course I like baseball, but I’m not so crazy after it as you are. Maybe that’s why I’m not such a good player. If I can hold down first, or play out in the field, it suits me; but you——”
“I want to be pitcher or nothing,” interrupted Joe with a smile, “but I’m afraid I’m a long way from the box now.”
“Yes, from what I can hear, Hiram has the inside track in the baseball game. He’s manager chiefly because he puts up a lot of money for the team, and because his friends, what few he has, are officers in the organization.”
“Who’s captain?” asked Joe. “Maybe I could induce him to let me play even if Hiram is down on me.”
“Nothing doing there,” replied Tom quickly. “Luke Fodick is captain, or, rather he was last year, I hear, and he’s slated for the same position this season. Luke and Hiram are as thick as such fellows always are. When Hiram is hit Luke does the boo-hoo act for him. No, Luke will be down on you as much as his crony is. But maybe we can get up a second nine, and play some games on our own hook!”
“None of that!” Joe exclaimed quickly. “I’m not an insurgent. I play with the regulars or not at all. They’d be saying all sorts of things against me if you and I tried to start an opposition team.”
“That’s so. Still it mightn’t be a bad idea, under the circumstances, to have another team, if it wasn’t for what the school would say.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, Excelsior got dumped in the interscholastic league last season. They play for the blue banner you know—a sort of prize trophy—and it was won by Morningside Academy, which now holds it. That’s why I say it might be a good thing to have some more ginger in the team here. I know you could put it in, after the way you pitched on the Silver Stars when they licked the Resolutes.”
“Well, it can’t be done I’m afraid,” Joe rejoined. “There can only be one first team in a school, and I don’t want to disrupt things or play second fiddle. If I can’t get on the nine I’ll have to stay off, that’s all. But it’s going to be mighty tough to sit still and watch the other fellows play, and all the while just itching to get hold of the ball—mighty tough,” and Joe gazed abstractedly about the room.
“I wish I could help you, old man, but I can’t,” said Tom. “I suppose this clash with Hiram had to come but I do wish it had held off until after the season opened. Once you were on the nine you could show the fellows what stuff you had in your pitching arm, and then Hiram and Luke could do their worst, but they couldn’t get you off the team.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but I don’t know about it,” remarked Joe. “Well, I’m about done studying. I wish——”
But he did not finish the sentence, for there came a knock on the door—a pre-arranged signal in a certain code of raps, showing that one of their classmates stood without.
“Wait a minute,” called Tom, as he went to open the door.
His quick view through the crack showed the smiling faces of Teeter and Peaches, and there was an audible sigh of relief from Joe’s roommate. For Tom had fallen behind in his studies of late, and had been warned that any infractions of the rules might mean his suspension for a week or two.
“Gee, you took long enough to open the door,” complained Teeter, “especially considering what we have with us.”
“Don’t you mean ‘whom’ you have with you?” asked Joe, nodding toward Peaches.
“No, I mean ‘what,’” insisted Teeter with a grin as he unbuttoned his coat and brought into view several pies, and a couple of packages done up in paper.
“Oh, that’s the game, is it?” asked Joe with a laugh.
“And there’s more to it,” added Peaches, as he produced two bottles from the legs of his trousers. “This is the best strawberry pop that can be bought. We’ll have a feast as is a feast; eh, fellows?”
“Lock the door!” exclaimed Tom, and he did it himself, being nearest to it. “There may be confiscating spirits abroad in the land to-night.”
“Old Sixteen is abroad, anyhow,” spoke Teeter with a laugh, “but I guess we’ll be safe. I have a scheme, if worst comes to worst.”
“What is it?” asked Joe.
“You’ll see when the time comes—if it does. ‘Now, on with the dance—let joy be unconfined!’ Open the pop, Peaches, and don’t sample it until we’re all ready. Got any glasses, you fellows? This is a return game for the treat you gave us the other night.”
“Then we’ll find the glasses all right,” spokeJoe with a laugh. “But what’s your game, not to let old Sixteen catch us at this forbidden midnight feast? Have you dummies in your beds?”
“Not a dum. But watch my smoke.”
From the parcels he carried, Teeter produced what looked to be books—books, as attested by the words on their covers—books dealing with Latin, and the science of physics.
“There are our plates,” he said as he laid the books down on the table. Then Joe and Tom saw that the books were merely covers pasted over a sort of box into which a whole pie could easily be put. “Catch the idea,” went on Teeter. “We are eating in here, which is against the rules, worse luck. But, perchance, some monitor or professor knocks unexpectedly. Do we have to hustle and scramble to conceal our refreshments? Answer—we do not. What do we do?”
“Answer,” broke in Peaches. “We merely slip our pie or sandwiches or whatever it happens to be, inside our ‘books,’ and go right on studying. Catch on?”
“I should say we did!” exclaimed Joe. “That’s great!”
“But what about the bottles of strawberry pop?” asked Tom. “We can’t hide them in the fake books.”
“No, I’ve another scheme for that,” went on Teeter. “Show ’em, Peaches.”
Thereupon Peaches proceeded to extract the corks from the bottles of liquid refreshment. From the packages Teeter had brought he took some other corks. They had glass tubes through them, two tubes for each cork. And on one tube in each cork was a small rubber hose.
“There!” exclaimed Teeter as Peaches put the odd corks in the bottles. “We can pour out the pop with neatness and dispatch into our glasses and at the same time, should any one unexpectedly enter, why—we are only conducting an experiment in generating oxygen or hydrogen gas. The bottles are the retorts, and we can pretend our glasses are to receive the gas. How’s that?”
“All to the horse radish!” cried Joe in delight.
“Then proceed,” ordered Teeter with a laugh; and when all was in readiness each lad sat with a fake book near him, into which he could slip his piece of pie at a moment’s warning, while on the table stood the bottles of pop with the tubes and hose extending from their corks—truly a most scientific-looking array of flasks and glassware.
“Now let’s talk,” suggested Teeter, biting generouslyinto a pie. “That was a great fight we had to-day, all right.”
“And there might have been one of a different kind,” added Peaches. “Hear anything more from Hiram, Joe?”
“No, I don’t expect to—until the next time, and then I suppose we’ll have it out.”
“I guess Joe’s goose is cooked as far as getting on the nine is concerned,” ventured Tom.
“Sure thing,” agreed Peaches.
“Yet we’re going to need a new pitcher,” went on Teeter. “Probably two of ’em?”
“How’s that?” asked Tom interestedly.
“Why Rutherford, our star man of last year, graduated, and he’s gone to Princeton or Yale. Madison, the substitute who was pretty good in a pinch game, graduated, too; but we thought he was coming back for an extra course in Latin. I heard to-day that he isn’t, and so that means we’ll have to have two new box-men. There might be a show for Joe.”
“Forget it!” advised Peaches. “Not the way Hiram and Luke feel. They went off by themselves right after supper to-night, and I heard them saying something about Joe here, but I couldn’t catch what it was. Oh, they’re down on him all right, for Joe backed Hiram to a standstillto-day, and that hasn’t happened to the bully in a blue moon.”
“Oh, well, I guess I can live if I don’t get on the nine my first season here,” spoke Joe. “I’ll keep on trying though.”
Thus the talk went on, chiefly about baseball, and gradually the strawberry pop was lowered in the bottles, and the pie was nearly consumed.
“Guess you had all your trouble for nothing, Teeter,” remarked Tom. “We aren’t going to be interrupted to-night.”
Hardly had he spoken than there was the faint rattle of the door knob. It was as if some one had tried it to see if the portal was unlocked before knocking. Slight as the noise was, the lads heard it.
“Quick! On the job!” whispered Teeter. He crammed the rest of his pie into the fake book, as did the others.
“Study like blazes!” was Teeter’s next order.
There came a knock at the door.
“Young gentlemen have you any visitors?” demanded the ominous voice of Professor Rodd.
Teeter placed the ends of the rubber tubes one in each of two glasses before Joe could answer.
“I heard voices in there—more than two voices,” went on the Latin instructor grimly, “andI demand that you open the door before I send for Dr. Fillmore and the janitor.”
Tom slid to the portal and unlocked it. Professor Rodd stepped into the room and his stern gaze took in the two visitors. But he also saw something else that surprised him.
On the table was apparatus that very much resembled some used for experiments in the physics class. And, wonder of wonders, each of the four lads held a book in his hand—a book that the merest glance showed to be either a Latin grammar or a treatise on chemistry.
“What—why——?” faltered the professor.
“Aliqui—aliquare—aliqua,” recited Teeter in a sing-song declension voice. “Aliquorum—aliquarum—aliquorum.” Then he pretended to look up suddenly, as if just aware of the presence of the instructor.
“Oh, good evening, Professor Rodd,” said Teeter calmly.
“What does this mean?” exclaimed the teacher. “Don’t you know it is against the rules for students to visit in each others’ rooms after hours without permission?”
“I knew it was—that is for anything but study,” replied Teeter frankly. “I didn’t think youminded if we helped each other with our Latin.” Oh! what an innocent look was on his face!
“Oh!—er—um—and you are studying Latin?” asked the professor, while a pleased smile replaced his frown.
“Yes, Professor,” put in Peaches. “And I can’t seem to remember, nor find, what the neuter plural accusative of ‘some’ is. I have gone as far asaliquos—aliquas, but——”
“Aliqua—aliqua!” exclaimed the Professor quickly. “You ought not to forget that. We had it in class the other day.”
“Oh, yes, so we did!” exclaimed Teeter. “I just remember now; don’t you, Joe?”
“Yes,” murmured Joe, wondering whether or not they had turned the tables on the teacher.
“I am glad to see you so studious,” went on Mr. Rodd. “And I see you do not neglect your physics, either. Ah—er—what is the red liquid in the bottles,” and he looked at what remained of the strawberry pop.
It was the question Tom and Joe had feared would be asked. But Teeter was equal to the emergency.
“Professor,” he asked innocently, “isn’t there some rule regardingquisused in the indefinite in connection withaliquis?”
“Yes, and I am glad you spoke of that,” said Mr. Rodd quickly, rubbing his hands, much pleased that he had a chance to impart some Latin information. “Quisindefinite is found in the following compounds:aliquis—someone;si quis, if any;ne quis, lest any;ecquis,num quis, whether any. I am very glad you brought that up. I will speak of it in class to-morrow. But I must go now.”
The boys began to breathe easier and Teeter, who had been whispering declensions to himself, left off.
“Oh, by the way,” spoke the Professor, as if he had just thought of it: “I don’t mind you boys studying together, if you don’t stay up too late. But it is better to ask permission. However, I will speak to Dr. Fillmore about it, and it will be all right from now on. I am pleased that some of my students are so painstaking. I wish more were.”
With a bow he left them and they tried not to give way to their exultation until he was far down the corridor.
“Say, talk about pulling off a stunt! We did it all right!” exclaimed Joe.
“I should say yes,” agreed the others.
“Well, you ought to get out a patent on this,” remarked Joe, when they resumed the eating of the pie and the drinking of the pop, following the withdrawal of the professor.
“You sure had,” agreed Tom. “Let Joe give you some points. His father has taken out several patents.”
“Oh, I guess we’ll make it free for all—any fellow is welcome to the idea,” replied Teeter. “So your dad’s an inventor, eh, Matson?”
“Yes, harvester machinery—his latest was a corn reaper and binder, and he nearly lost it,” and Joe briefly told how Isaac Benjamin and Rufus Holdney had nearly ruined his father, as related in detail in “Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars.”
“Ever hear anything more of those fellows?” asked Tom, following the recital of the schemes of the plotters.
“No, they seem to have disappeared,” answered Joe. “They cleared out after dad won his case in the courts. But he’s on the watch forthem, he told me. His business isn’t all settled yet, and there is some danger. But I guess Benjamin or Holdney won’t bother him, though some other rascals may.”
“Anything more to eat?” asked Peaches, during the pause that followed.
“Say, what are you, a human refrigerator?” demanded Teeter. “I couldn’t carry any more pie if I tried.”
“It’ll be our treat next time,” observed Joe. “Why didn’t George Bland come with you?”
“Had to bone on trigonometry, I guess,” replied Peaches.
“Does he play on the team?” Joe wanted to know.
“Yes, we all do. George is short, I’m on third, and Teeter holds down first sometimes. But you never can tell what Hiram is going to do. He and Luke are always making shifts, and that’s what lost us the Blue Banner last season. The fellows would no more than get familiar with their positions than Hiram would shift ’em. Oh, he runs things to suit himself.”
The hour of ten boomed out from the big school clock and the visitors left.
“Spring fever!” exclaimed Joe one day, as he and Tom came from a physics lecture.
“Yes, I’ve got it, too,” admitted Tom. “It’s in the air, and I’m glad of it. What’s that Shakespeare says about ‘now is the winter of our discontent?’”
“Oh, cheese it! Don’t begin spouting poetry. Besides I’m not sure it was Shakespeare, and I don’t give a hang. All I know is that Spring is coming, and soon they’ll begin getting the diamond in shape.”
“Precious lot of good that will do you—or me, either. Hiram is as down on me as he is on you.”
“I know it, and I was going to speak of that, Tom. There’s no use in your losing a chance to play on the nine just because I’m on the outs. Why don’t you cut loose from me? You can get another room, and maybe if you do——”
“Hold on!” cried Tom quickly. “Do you want me to go, old man?” and he looked sharply at Joe.
“Nonsense! Of course you know I don’t.”
“Then drop that kind of talk, unless you want a fight on your hands. You and I stick together, Hiram Shell or no Hiram Shell—and Luke Fodick.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” spoke Joe softly.
“Here, come on; let’s have a catch,” proposed Tom. “I’ve got an old ball that we used in oneof the Star games. Get over there and sting some in to me. Wait until I get my glove on,” and he adjusted his mitt.
“Jove! This is like old times!” exclaimed Joe, as he lovingly fingered the horsehide—dirty and stained as it was from many a clouting and drive into the tall grass and daisies. “I wish we could go and see a game, even if we couldn’t play.”
“Same here,” came from Tom, as he crouched to receive the ball his chum was about to deliver. Joe wound up and sent in a “hot” one. It landed squarely in Tom’s glove for the first-baseman (a position he sometimes had played on the Stars) was not a half bad catcher.
“How was that?” asked Joe.
“Pretty good. Not quite over the plate, but you can get ’em there. Let ’em come about so,” and Tom indicated a stone that would serve for home.
“Watch this,” requested Joe as he wound up again and let drive.
“A beaut!” cried Tom. “Give me some more that way, and you’ll have the man out.”
“Say, what are you fellows doing?” demanded a voice, and the two chums looked up to see Hiram Shell gazing at them with mingled expressions on his fleshy face.
“Oh, having a little practice,” replied Joe easily. The feeling between himself and the bully had nearly worn off, and they were on speaking, if not on friendly terms.
“Practice for what?” demanded Hiram.
“Well, the baseball season opens pretty soon,” went on Joe, “and Tom and I sort of felt the fever in our veins to-day. Want to have a catch?”
“No,” half snarled Hiram. “Say, did you fellows play ball before you came here?” he demanded.
“Sure,” put in Tom. “Joe was one of the best pitchers on the Silver Stars.”
“The Silver Stars? Never heard of ’em!” sneered Hiram.
“Oh, it was only an amateur nine,” Joe admitted modestly. “Tom here was first baseman, and we had some good country games.”
“Huh! Maybe you camehereto play baseball!” suggested Hiram with a leer. “Seems to me I heard that you had some such notion.”
“Well, I have,” asserted Joe confidently. “I like the game, and I’d give a good deal to get on the nine. So would Tom, I guess.”
“First base is filled,” snapped Hiram.
“How about pitcher,” asked Tom eagerly, anxiousto put in a good word for his chum. “I hear you need a new pitcher.”
“Oh, you did; eh?” exclaimed the bully with an unpleasant laugh. “Well, you’ve got another ‘hear’ coming. Besides, if there wasn’t another pitcher in the country, you wouldn’t get a chance, Matson!”
“No?” queried Joe easily.
“No, and a dozen times no! What, you pitch? Say, you may have been all right on a sand-lots team, but there’s some class to Excelsior Hall. We don’t want any dubs on our nine. You think you might pitch onmyteam? I guess nixy! We want some fellow who can deliver the goods.”
“Joe can!” exclaimed Tom eagerly.
“Aw, forget it!” sneered Hiram. “Why, you’d be knocked out of the box first inning with some of the teams we play. You pitch! Ha! Ha! That’s pretty rich. I’ll have to tell the fellows about this!”
“I didn’t ask you to let me pitch,” said Joe quietly though an angry spot burned in either cheek.
“No, and you’d better not!” snapped Hiram. “You pitch! Ha! Ha! It makes me laugh,” and with a sneering look at Joe the bully strode off, chuckling unpleasantly.
For several minutes Joe stood staring after the baseball manager. The young pitcher’s arm hung listlessly at his side. There was a look on his face that would have been sad, had Joe been that kind of a lad—showing his feelings needlessly. But our hero was full of spunk and grit, and, though Hiram’s unnecessarily cruel words hurt him grievously, Joe shut his teeth with a firmer grip, squared his shoulders, drew himself up, and then he smiled at Tom.
“Well, of all the mean, unmitigated, low-down, cantankerous, sneaking, bulldozing and——” sputtered the first baseman.
“Hold on!” exclaimed his companion. “You’ll blow up if you go on that way, Tom. Besides, save some of those big words for a time when you may need ’em.”
“Need ’em? Say if I don’t need ’em now I never will. I wish I had thought to get rid of a few when that bully was here.”
“You’d only gotten into trouble. Better keep still about it.”
“I can’t Joe. Just think of it! We came here to play ball, and the first crack out of the box that fellow goes and tells us we can’t.”
“Well, I don’t know as I have any particular right to play on the nine here.”
“Yes, you have, the best right in the world! I’ll bet they haven’t got a pitcher here who can stand up to you, and I’m going to tell that sneaking bully so, too,” and Tom started off after the departing Hiram.
“No, don’t!” cried Joe quickly. “It will only make matters worse.”
“But you want to pitch; don’t you?”
“Sure, but that would be the best way in the world to insure that I wouldn’t. Hiram Shell is just the kind of a fellow who, if he thinks a chap wants anything, is going to do his best—or worst—to stop him.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I’m going to lie low and saw wood. The baseball season hasn’t opened yet. The team isn’t made up. Nobody knows who is going to play and——”
“Well, Hiram as good as told us two fellowswho weren’t going to play,” interrupted Tom. “That’s you and I.”
“Wait a bit,” advised Joe. “I was going to say that when the season has started and several games have been played there may be a change. I may get a chance to play then, just as I did on the Stars. I’m willing to wait. The Summer is long, and there’ll be more than one game. Just say nothing.”
“Well, if you say so, I suppose I’ll have to,” answered his chum, “but it’s mighty hard to keep still when a fellow like Hiram Shell rubs your nose in the dirt, and then kicks you in the bargain. He’ll have to ask me to play now. I won’t volunteer!” and Tom shook his fist in the direction of the manager. “Yes, he’ll have to get down on his knees and——”
“Precious little danger of that,” remarked Joe with a laugh. He was feeling more like himself now, though the memory of the bully’s sneering words rankled. They had cut deep.
“Guess there’s no use catching any longer,” resumed Tom after a pause. “I don’t exactly feel like it.”
“Me either. I guess we’ve gotten over our touch of spring fever,” and Joe’s voice was a bit despondent. Really, he cared more about whatHiram had said than he liked to admit, even to himself. He had had high hopes when he left the Riverside High School to come to Excelsior Hall that he would at once become a member of the nine. His ambition, of course, was to pitch, but he would have accepted any position—even out in the field, for the sake of being on the school team. Now it seemed that he was fated not even to be one of the substitutes.
“What are you fellows up to?” asked a voice suddenly, and the two chums turned to behold Peaches and Teeter walking toward them.
“Oh, we were having a catch,” replied Tom, “until we got called down for it. It seems you have to have a permit at Excelsior to indulge in a little private practice,” he added sarcastically.
“What’s up your back now?” asked Teeter.
“Yes, who’s been rubbing your fur the wrong way?” Peaches wanted to know. “What’s riled Sister?”
“Who do you reckon would, if not Bully Shell?” asked Tom. “He’s the limit,” and he rapidly told how Hiram had sneered at Joe’s efforts, and had said that he never would be on the team.
“Well, it’s too bad, for Hiram has the inside track,” admitted Teeter. “I’m as sorry about itas you are, and so are a lot of the fellows. The trouble is that the athletic committee is too big. There are a lot of lads on it who don’t care a rap for baseball or football, who don’t even play tennis, yet they have a vote, and it’s their votes that keep Hiram as manager, and Luke as captain.”
“Can’t it be changed?” Tom wanted to know. Joe was maintaining a discrete silence, for he did not want to urge his own qualifications as a pitcher. Tom was eager to fight for his chum.
“Well, it’s been tried,” spoke Peaches, “but Hiram has his own set with him—a set that isn’t the sporting element of Excelsior by a good lot, and their votes keep him in. He spends his money freely and toadies to them, and they fairly black his shoes. Luke Fodick, too, helps out. He has his crowd and they’re all with him. I tell you it’s rotten, but what are you going to do?”
“I know what I’m going to do if I stay here!” declared Tom.
“What?” demanded Peaches and Teeter eagerly.
“I’m not going to tell until I’m ready to spring it,” said Tom, “and when I do I think you’ll see some fur fly. How soon before the school team is picked?”
“Well, they ought to get at it pretty soon now,” answered Teeter. “There is a meeting of the athletic committee some time next week, and a manager and captain will be elected. It’s always done that way here, though in some places they do it right at the close of the season. But it has always been a cut-and-dried affair as long as Hiram has been here. He got in—he and Luke—and they’ve stayed in ever since.”
“Can we go to that athletic meeting?” asked Tom.
“Oh, yes,” said Teeter quickly. “It’s open to every lad in the school, but lots don’t take the trouble to go,—they know how it will turn out.”
“Well, maybe there’ll be a different turn to it this time,” predicted Tom.
“I’m afraid you’ve got another guess coming,” was the retort of Peaches; and then the four friends strolled toward the school buildings.
“What do you say to a scrub game?” asked Teeter.
“I’m willing!” said Joe eagerly; and so it was arranged.
The school diamond was not in very good shape, but two teams, of seven lads on a side, gathered for the first impromptu baseball game of the season the following afternoon. Tom, Joe, Peachesand Teeter tried to get more out, but there were various excuses, and it might be noted that aside from Teeter and Peaches not one of the former regular nine appeared.
“I guess they’re afraid Hiram will release them if they play with us,” commented Tom.
“Maybe so,” admitted Teeter. “George Bland would come only he had some experimental work to finish. George isn’t any more afraid of Hiram than we are.”
“Well, let’s play ball,” suggested Joe; and the game started. Joe occupied the box for his side, an honor that came easily to him since none of the others had had any experience as a twirler of the horsehide.
Our hero felt a little nervous as he took his place, for he knew he was out of practice. Also he felt that he was being watched, not only by his particular friends, but by others. And some of them might not be friendly eyes—nay, some might be spying on behalf of Hiram Shell.
But Joe pulled himself well together, laughed at his idle fears, and sent in a swift curve. It broke cleanly and completely fooled the batter.
“Say, that’s the way to get ’em over!” cried Teeter admiringly from behind the bat as the ball landed in his mitt. “Do it some more!”
“I’ll try,” laughed Joe, and he repeated the trick.
The man was easily struck out, and the next at the bat fell for a like fate, but the third found Joe’s curve and swatted the ball for two bags.
“Oh, well, Joe just allowed that so you fellows wouldn’t get discouraged,” exclaimed Teeter as an excuse for his pitcher. “Get ready to slaughter the next man, Joe.”
And Joe did. He was delighted to find that his ability to curve the ball, and send it swiftly in, had not deserted him during the long winter of comparative inactivity. He knew that he could “come back with the goods,” and there was a feeling of hope welling up within him, that, after all, there might come a chance for him to pitch on the Excelsior nine.
The game went on, not regular, nor played according to the rules by any means. But it was lots of fun, and some of the lads discovered their weak points, while others found themselves doing better than they expected. Joe’s side won by a small margin, and just as the winning run came in our hero was aware of a figure walking toward the bench on which the side was sitting.
“Huh! Starting off rather early, ain’t you?” demanded a voice, and they turned to behold LukeFodick. “Who said you fellows could use the diamond, anyhow?”
“We didn’t ask anybody,” retorted Teeter with a snap.
“Well, you want to—after this,” was the surly command. “I’m captain of the nine and what I say goes. I’m not going to have the diamond all torn up before the season opens, see! I’m captain!”
“Not yet,” spoke Peaches quietly. “The election isn’t until next week.”
“What’s that got to do with it? You ain’t thinking of running opposition to me; are you?”
“No,” and a bright spot burned on the fair cheeks of the light-complexioned lad.
“Because if you are you’ll have a fight on your hands,” threatened Luke. “Who’s been pitching?” he asked, his gaze roving over the crowd of lads.
“I was for our side,” replied Joe quietly.
“Oh, you—yes I heard about you!” exclaimed Luke with a grating laugh. “You’re the fellow who wants to pitch on the nine; ain’t you? Well, you want to get that bee out of your bonnet, or you may get stung, see? Hiram told me about you. Why, you are only an amateur. We want the best here at Excelsior. By Jove, it’s queer how tackysome of you high school kids get as soon as you come to a real institution. Talk about nerve, I——”
Joe fairly leaped from the bench. In another stride he confronted Luke.
“Look here!” cried our hero, anger getting the best of him for the time being. “I’ve taken all of that kind of talk I’m going to either from you or Bully Shell! Now you keep still or I’ll make you. I’ll give you the best licking you ever had; and I’ll do it right here and now if you say another word about my pitching! I didn’t come here to take any of your sneers, and I don’t intend to. Now you put that in your pipe, and smoke it, and then close up and stay closed,” and shaking his finger so close to the astonished Luke that it hit the buttons on his coat, Joe turned back and sat down.
For a moment there was silence—a sort of awed silence—and Teeter uttered a faint cheer.
“That’s the way to talk!” he exclaimed.
“You’re all right!” declared Peaches.
Luke turned and glared at them. Afterward several lads said the bully’s toady looked dazed, as if he did not understand what had happened.
“He’ll go tell Hiram now, and he’ll be laying for you, Joe,” was Tom’s opinion.
“Let him. I’m ready to meet that bully whenever he is, and I’m not afraid, either.”
“That’s the way to talk!” exclaimed Teeter admiringly. “If Hiram got one good licking he wouldn’t be quite so uppish. But I’m afraid this will put you on the fritz for the nine, Joe.”
“I don’t care if it does. I’m going to let ’em know what I think.”
Yet in the quietness of his room that night Joe rather regretted what he had done. He realizedthat he might have turned off Luke’s insult with a laugh.
“For if I had done so I’d stand a better chance of getting on the nine,” mused Joe.
Then a different feeling came to him.
“No, I couldn’t do that either,” he reflected. “I’m not built that way. I’m not going to lie down and be walked on, nine or no nine, and I’m going to find some way to play ball, at that!”
There was a determined look on Joe’s face, and he squared his shoulders in a way that meant business. If Hiram and his crony could have seen our hero then they might not have been so sure of what they would do to him.
“So that’s how he acted, eh?” asked the bully, when his crony had reported to him what Joe had said. “Well, he’ll gethisall right. He’ll never play ball here as long as I am manager.”
“No, nor while I’m captain,” added Luke. “Nor that friend of his either, Tom Davis.”
“That’s right; we’ll make it so hot here for both of ’em that they’ll leave at the end of the term,” predicted Hiram.
What a pity he did not know that Joe and Tom were not of the “leaving” kind. The hotter it was the better they liked it, for they both came of fighting stock.
But with all his nerve, and not regretting in the least what he had done, Joe was a bit uneasy as the time for the baseball organization meeting drew near. He hoped against hope that somehow he might get on the team, but he did not see how. He talked with other students, and they all told him that Hiram, Luke and their crowd ran things to suit themselves.
“But I’ve got something up my sleeve,” declared Tom. “There may be a surprise at the meeting.”
“What are you up to?” asked Joe. “Nothing rash, I hope.”
“You wait and see,” his chum advised. “I’m not saying anything.”
As the days went by, Tom might have been seen talking in confidential whispers to many students. He made lots of new friends, and it was remarked that they were neither of the “sporting set,” nor the crowd that trained with Hiram and Luke. To all questions Tom turned a deaf ear, and went on his way serenely.
It was almost a foregone conclusion as to who would constitute the nine, with the exception of the pitchers. As already explained, the students who, as regular and substitute, had filled the box the previous season had left, and it was up to Hiramand Luke to find new pitchers. Hiram did not play on the nine, being content to manage it, but Luke was catcher and some of the friends of Joe and Tom filled regular places.
“How do you dope it out?” asked Tom of Peaches one day, shortly before the organization meeting.
“Well, it’ll be about like this,” was the reply. “We will all gather in the gymnasium—as many as want to—and Hiram will be in the chair. He’ll call the meeting to order and state what we’re there for, which everyone knows already, without being told. Then he’ll ask for nominations for secretary, and one of his friends will go in. Then he’ll spout about what we ought to do to win this season, and how to do it, and say we’re sure to be at the head of the league and win the Blue Banner and all like that.
“Then he’ll ask for nominations for players and they’ll be voted on; we’ll have a little chinning about money matters, Hiram may say who the first few games will be with, and it will be all over but the shouting.”
“Well, won’t lots of fellows have a chance to nominate players, or won’t the players themselves ask to be given a chance?”
“Oh, yes, but what’s the use? It’s all cut and dried.”
“Who’ll be on the nine?”
“I can pretty near tell you, all but the pitcher. And that will lay between Frank Brown and Larry Akers—both friends of Hiram. Luke will catch—that’s a cinch. George Bland will be in centre-field. I may be at first, though I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because I dared to say Joe was right for answering Luke back that time. I’ll probably be sent out in the daisies, but I don’t care, for with Luke catching it’s no easy matter to hold down the first bag. He throws so rotten high. Then Teeter will be on second. Nat Pierson on third, Harry Lauter in right, Jake Weston at short, and Charlie Borden in left. That’s how it will be.”
“And no show for Joe?”
“I can’t see any, nor for you, either.”
“Oh, I don’t care about myself, but I’m interested in Joe. Idowish he could pitch.”
“I’m afraid he can’t,” answered Peaches with a sigh. “I’d almost be willing to give my place to him, but I’m not altogether sure that I’ll get on the nine, though I’m going to make a big fight for it.”
“Oh, Joe wouldn’t think of doing anything like that!” objected Tom. “But maybe my plan willwork. If it does, Hiram won’t have so much to say as he does now.”
“I hope to gracious you can work something. It’s rotten the way things are now, and it is our own fault, too. But I’m afraid it’s too late to change. No, you can figure that the nine is already made up between Hiram and Luke—that is, all but pitcher.”
“Then I think Joe has a chance!” exclaimed Tom. “I’m not going to give up until the last minute. I’m working hard for him, but don’t say anything to him about it. I want to surprise him.”
“I’m afraid it will be a disagreeable surprise,” commented Peaches, as he left his friend.
The time for the meeting was at hand and on all sides there seemed to be but one question:
“Who will pitch?”
There were many shakes of heads and much speculation, but Hiram and Luke kept their own counsel.
“The meeting will come to order!” called Hiram. “I’ll cuff some of you fellows over the head if you don’t sit down.”
It was rather an unparliamentary way of doing things, but it proved effective, and at length quiet reigned. As Peaches had said, Hiram began by stating what they were there for, and by announcing that the make-up of the nine was in order.
Some unimportant business was disposed of, there were remarks from several lads about what the season might have in store, there were many determinations expressed about how well the Excelsior team would play that season, and then Hiram said:
“Nominations for the team are in order. Of course we expect that there will be a lot more fellows named than we can use, but there’ll probably be a weeding-out when we get at practice. The team named to-night will only be a tentative one.”
“Like pie!” murmured Tom. “You and Luke have it all up your sleeves.”
“Has the nominating committee anything to report?” asked Hiram, looking over at Luke. His crony arose. Luke was chairman of the nominating committee, as well as chairman of the committee on membership.
“Your committee would recommend the following names,” said Luke, and then he read off most of those named by Peaches to Tom. He did not call off his own name, however, and there was a blank opposite the positions of pitcher and left field.
“Say, what’s the matter, don’t I play?” demanded Peaches, jumping up.
“Oh, yes,” answered Luke quickly. “But we haven’t just decided where. I’m going to leave that with Hiram, and also the position for left field.”
“Well, I’ll settle it right now!” exclaimed the manager. “You’ll play left field, Peaches, and Charlie Borden will move up from there to first base.”
“What did I tell you?” murmured Peaches to Tom. “What about the stunt you were going to pull off?”
“It isn’t time yet. See the gang I have withme?” and Tom motioned to a lot of lads in the rear of the hall.
“What is it—a rough house?” asked Peaches, and then he noticed for the first time that the athletic meeting was much better attended than usual.
“Those are new members,” declared Tom in a whisper. “I’m counting on turning the balance of power away from Hiram and the crowd with him. I’ve been canvassing the last week, and I’ve got a lot of fellows to join who never took an interest in sports before.”
“Oh, ho! So that’s your game!” exclaimed Peaches. “Well, it’s a good one all right.”
“They’ll all vote for Joe for pitcher,” went on Tom.
“I notice that there are still two vacancies in the team,” spoke Jake Weston, who had been named as shortstop. “We had such success with Luke as catcher last year, that I move that he again go behind the bat.”
“Second it,” sung out Harry Lauter.
“It has been moved and seconded,” began Hiram, and there came a shout of “ayes” before he had finished.
“That’s the way it always is,” whispered Peaches. “Luke pretends he’s too modest toname himself, and some one else does it for him. Oh, the cut-and-dried program is going through all right!”
“Wait and see,” suggested Tom with a wink.
“Are the selections of the nominating committee sanctioned?” asked Hiram.
Again came a chorus of “ayes.”
“What about the pitcher?” asked Luke. “Will you name him, Hiram?”
“Yes!” said the manager and he looked about the room until his eyes lit on those of Joe. “I’ll name Frank Brown as regular pitcher with Larry Akers as substitute.”
Again came the chorus of confirmation.
“Just as I told you,” murmured Peaches.
Tom was on his feet as the murmurs died away. Hiram was speaking.
“That completes the regular nine,” the manager said, “and it only remains to name the substitutes. I think we will let them go until you fellows have had some practice, so we can get a line on you. There’s time enough. We’ll begin regular practice next week, if the weather permits, and then I’ll arrange for games. I have some in prospect, and the Blue Banner——”
“Mr. Chairman!” interrupted Tom.
“Well, what is it?” snapped Hiram. “I’m talking, and I don’t want anyone to butt in.”
“I rise to a point of order,” went on Tom, in a loud voice. “The nominations have not been closed, and I want to put in nomination the name of a friend, who is one of the best pitchers that ever——”
“None of that!” cried Hiram. “Get down to business. I’ll allow your point of order. Who do you name?”
“Joe Matson!” cried Tom, “and——”
“You can’t elect him, what’s the use of trying?” sneered Luke.
“Maybe I can’t, with your crowd, but I came here to-night with some friends of mine, new members of the athletic committee, and they’ll vote for Joe, and I think we can outvote you!” cried Tom defiantly.
“That’s right!” yelled the lads toward whom he waved his hand. “Joe Matson for pitcher.”
Luke turned pale. So did Hiram as they looked at each other. This was something they had not counted on—an effective trick.
“For myself and for these new members I demand a vote on the name of Joe Matson!” went on Tom, ignoring Joe’s efforts to stop him.
“That’s right—we’re for Joe!” yelled thenew crowd. There were many of them, and with the usual element always ready to break away from him, Hiram knew that he would lose on the combination.
“One moment!” he shouted, banging his gavel. Then he hurried over to Luke and the two conferred excitedly, while there was a near-pandemonium in the gymnasium.
“I have an announcement to make!” shouted Hiram after a bit, making his way back to the platform. “It is true that you have the right to nominate any one you please—that is, a member of the athletic committee has, and members have the right to vote as they please. But I have to inform this audience that Sister Davis is not yet a fully-qualified member of this committee. That is not just yet.” Hiram sneered disagreeably.
“Why not? I signed my application, was properly endorsed, and paid in my dues!” cried Tom. “And so did these other fellows.”
“That’s right,” shouted his crowd in a chorus.
“Very true,” went on Hiram coolly. He was master of the situation now, and he knew it. “But there is a rule of this organization, which states that at the discretion of the chairman, and the manager and captain of the team, or any two of them, new members may be taken on probationfor three months, and during that term of probation they have no voting power, so you see——”
“That’s an old rule!”
“It’s never been enforced!”
“It’s rotten!”
“That’s only a trick!”
These were some of the cries that greeted the announcement Hiram made.
“It may never have been enforced, but it’s going to benow!” he shouted. “It was made to cover just such snap cases as this. You tried to work a trick, Tom Davis, but you got left. You and those other lads can’t vote for three months, and so the team stands as originally named.”
“But we have no captain—your rule won’t work. You said the manager, chairman and captain could apply that rule. Who is the captain?” demanded Tom, as he saw his game blocked.
“Luke Fodick is captain of this nine; isn’t he?” shouted Hiram, closing the last loophole.
“Aye!” yelled the bully’s crowd.
“No!” yelled Tom’s.
“The ayes have it,” announced the chairman, “and Luke and I agreed on enforcing that rule at this time. Besides, I am acting as chairmanin place of Henry Clay, who isn’t present, and I have his voting proxy, so Henry and I also agree on it, if you question the election of Luke.”
“That ends it,” murmured Peaches in Tom’s ear. “Henry Clay never does preside as chairman. He’s only a figurehead for Hiram, and that’s well known. Hiram always votes for him. I guess you’re beaten Tom.”
“I’m afraid so. I wish I’d known about that rule.”
“I’d forgotten it myself,” admitted Peaches. “It’s rotten, but you can’t do anything unless you outvote Hiram.”
The bully was smiling mockingly at Tom and Joe. The young pitcher felt rather foolish, but he gave Tom credit for originating a bold move and one that, under ordinary circumstances, would have been effective.
“You may renew your nomination in three months, if you like, Sister Davis,” spoke Hiram sarcastically “as you and the others will then be voting members. I believe that is about all the business to come before us to-night.” And he announced the adjournment of the meeting.