From grand stands and bleachers came cheers, yells, songs and cries of many kinds. There was a record-breaking crowd, every seat seeming to be filled when the two nines, in their natty uniforms, began their warming-up work. In the bleachers were many townspeople, both Randall and Boxer Hall adherents. It seemed as if the unprotected seats, shimmering in the hot sun, were composed of mats of straw hats, with colored bands for ornaments.
In the grand stands there was a conglomeration of many colors, formed by the hats of girls, and the gay banners they carried, the yellow and maroon of Randall mingling with the red and green of Boxer Hall, a combination lately adopted.
“Great crowd,” commented Phil to Tom.
“Yes. But say, look at Langridge send ’em in!” for the rival pitcher was warming-up with Stoddard, his catcher.
“Ruth and Madge are here,” went on Phil.
“Are they? I wonder if Miss Harrison will come?”
“Guess so. S’pose Sid will be on hand?”
“I doubt it. But come on, let’s have a talk with Leighton and Kerr. They may want to say something.”
The practice went on, the usual conferences took place between captain and captain, manager and manager. Boxer Hall, as the home team, had the privilege of batting last. Batting orders were submitted for inspection, and the umpire took several new balls from his valise, and stripped from them the foil covering. With the exception of Pete Backus in place of Sid, the Randall team was the same that had played the ’varsity games all season, though the batting order was different, Holly Cross leading off, he having improved greatly in stick work. There was no change in the Boxer team, from when she had last played Tom’s men.
The gong rang sharply. The buzzing talk and laughter on the grand stands ceased, as the umpire announced the batteries. There was a moment of consultation among the two nines, and then Stoddard, who was Boxer’s captain that year, motioned to his players to take the field. He donned his mask and protector, and adjusted his big glove. Langridge, with a cynical smile onhis face, walked to the pitcher’s box. He threw four preliminary balls to Stoddard, who then signified that he was ready.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and Holly Cross stepped up to the plate.
Langridge “wound up” and sent in a swift one. Holly did not offer to strike at it.
“Strike wan!” howled the umpire, who was a bit Irish, throwing one arm up in the air. There was an indrawing of breath on the part of the Randall players.
“It was a mile outside,” complained Tom.
“Hush!” cautioned Mr. Leighton.
Holly struck at the next one, and missed. The following was a foul, and this gave his friends some encouragement.
“Lambaste the next one!” yelled Bean Perkins from amid his throng of singers and shouters. But Holly struck out. Nor did any better luck attend Dan Woodhouse, who fanned. There was a wicked look in the eyes of Bricktop, as he walked to the plate, and perhaps for that reason Langridge walked him. He seemed to know he would have “easy fruit” in Pete Backus, who was taking Sid’s place, and he did, for he easily struck him out, and Bricktop died on second, which he had stolen. No runs for Randall that inning.
It was not without a nervous tremor that Tomwalked to the box, to see what he could do against Boxer. He wondered how his hand was going to stand the strain, though it seemed to have healed perfectly.
After exchanging the regulation number of practice balls with Dutch Housenlager, Tom was ready for Ralling, who was first up at the bat for Boxer Hall.
Dutch signalled for a puzzling drop, and Tom delivered it, but Ralling took a quick step forward, and, before the curve “broke” he got his bat on it, and sent a pretty single just over Bricktop’s head, though the plucky shortstop leaped high to get it. Ralling was safe on first.
McGherity fanned twice, but the third time he, too, found the ball, and rapped out a two bagger, bringing in Ralling, who had managed to steal to second, though Tom tried desperately to throw him out. Roy Conklin was up next, and struck out, and then came Arthur Flood’s turn. How it happened Tom couldn’t tell, but the ball twisted in his hands, and instead of an out curve it went over the plate straight, and at slow speed.
Flood hit it a mighty “poke” and away the horsehide spheroid sailed, well over the head of Holly Cross in center field. But Holly pluckily raced after it, and, though McGherity came in with a run, Flood found it expedient to linger on third. By this time all Boxer Hall was in afrenzy of delight, for they were two runs to the good, and only one out. But there were two, a moment later, for Flood, taking chances, was caught napping on the third bag, and put out by a quick throw. George Stoddard fanned, and that ended the inning, with the score 2 to 0, in favor of Boxer Hall.
Randall could not score in the next inning though Tom knocked a two bagger. He stole third, and then had to stay there and watch the Jackson twins and Dutch Housenlager ingloriously fan the air. It was bitterness as of gall and wormwood, but Tom tried not to show it, as he took his place in the box for the ending of the second inning.
Things looked a little brighter when Pinkey Davenport laid down a little bingle, almost in front of Tom, who tossed it to Phil, on first, and there was one down, with scarcely an effort. Then Langridge sent a neat little fly to Pete, on second base, and Bert Hutchin fanned, making three out in such quick succession that the wild cheering of Boxer Hall was checked, and Bean Perkins and his cohorts had a chance to let loose.
“Now, Randall, do ’em up! Wallop ’em!” shouted a tall dignified man, accompanied by two pretty girls who sat well down in front on the center grand stand. “Eat ’em alive! Eat ’em alive!”
“Oh, papa!” cried one pretty girl, clasping his left arm.
“Oh, papa!” exclaimed the other pretty girl, seizing his right arm.
“That’s all right, my dears,” he answered. “Don’t you suppose I want to see my old college win? And they will, too! Those boys have grit!”
“Yes, but they’re short one of their best players,” said a man next to the “old grad,” and he told about Sid, for that was common knowledge now.
A goose egg went up in the Boxer frame that inning, and Tom looked happier. But, try as his men did in their share of the third, nothing resulted, though Woodhouse laid out a pretty liner, which was caught, after a run, by Sam Burton. Then came the heart-breaking last of the third, when three runs were added to Boxer’s score.
“Go on back home!” yelled some Boxer enthusiast at the Randall team. “You can’t play ball! Go back!”
“Not until we have your scalps!” declared Bean Perkins vindictively.
Seated together on the middle grand stand, Madge Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Ruth Clinton looked at each other.
“Looks pretty bad, doesn’t it, Ruth?” asked Madge.
“Don’t talk,” said Ruth in a low voice, as she saw her brother’s team coming in. “I’m—I’m justprayingfor them, Madge.”
A ray of light came to Randall in this inning for, though Pete Backus struck out, Tom laid down a pretty two bagger and came home on what was intended as a sacrifice hit by Joe Jackson, only it was fumbled and Joe got to first. Then Jerry fanned and Dutch got out on an almost impossible foul that Stoddard grabbed, banging up against the grand stand to do it.
“One to five,” remarked Tom musingly, as he went to his box, for the ending of the fourth. “Well, we can’t be whitewashed, anyhow, but I guess it’s all up with us.”
It seemed so, for in that inning Boxer added two runs to her credit, even if again Tom did strike out Langridge. The score was 7 to 1 against Randall now. In the fifth inning Tom’s side gathered in one run, Phil making it on a sacrifice by Holly Cross, and Boxer further sweetened her score by another tally. In the beginning of the sixth Randall had the joy of seeing another single mark go up in her frame.
“We’ve got three runs,” Tom remarked to Phil, as he went to his box. “One more in each inning will look pretty, but it will hardly do the work,” and he spoke bitterly.
“Hard luck, old man, but maybe it will turn,” came from Phil.
But, alas for hopes! Many things happened in the last half of the sixth, and when they were done occurring there were four runs chalked up for Boxer. Tom rather lost control of himself, and had walked two men, while there was ragged field work to account for the rest of the disaster. And now the score stood 12 to 3 in favor of Boxer Hall. It seemed like a farce, and even Boxer Hall was tired of cheering herself. Tom saw the championship slipping away after all his hard work. Even Bricktop Molloy, usually cheerful in the face of heavy odds, did not smile, and Mr. Leighton looked gloomy.
“Well, let the slaughter go on,” remarked Tom, as he came in with his men, to see what the seventh inning held in store for them.
“I guess you’d better let Evert pitch the rest of the game, Mr. Leighton,” said Tom, as he sat down on the bench beside the coach. “He can’t do any worse than I’ve done.”
“Nonsense! Things may take a turn even yet, though I admit they look rather bad for us. I hope——”
But Mr. Leighton did not finish. There seemed to be some dispute with the man on guard at the players’ gate.
“No, you can’t go in,” said the official. “How do I know you are a member of the Randall team?”
“Why, of course I am!” cried a voice, and, at the sound of it, Tom looked up quickly.
“Sid Henderson!” exclaimed the captain.
“Oh, Tom! Tom!” cried Sid. “Am I in time?” and he pushed past the gate tender.
“In time? Yes, to see us walloped,” answered the captain bitterly.
“In time? What do you mean?” and Mr. Leighton caught at a strange note in Sid’s voice.
“To play the game!”
“Play the game?” Tom had leaped to his feet.
“Yes. It’s all right. Here’s a note from Dr. Churchill. The ban is removed. I can play—I can play!”
Tom ran over, and threw his arms around Sid. The game came to a sudden stop. The note was examined. Mr. Leighton told the umpire to make the announcement that Sid Henderson would bat for Pete Backus that inning, and take his place in the game after that.
“I protest!” cried Langridge, coming up with an ugly look on his face.
There was a conference of the officials, but in the end they had to admit that Sid was eligible, and the game started again. But with what adifferent feeling among the Randall players! It was as if new life had been infused into them. Bean Perkins started the song, “We’re Going to Wallop ’em Now!” and it was roared out from several hundred lusty throats.
Nor was it unjustified; for with a grim viciousness, after Holly Cross had struck out, Dan Woodhouse rapped out a three bagger the moment he came up to the bat, and Bricktop followed with a two-sack ball, bringing in Kindlings, while Sid, with a happy look on his face, looked grimly at Langridge, as if telling him to do his worst. The stands were still trembling under the stamping that had followed Dan’s arrival home with a run, and when Sid swung at the ball, and duplicated Dan’s trick, bringing in Bricktop, there was a wild riot of yells. They were kept up even when Tom sacrificed to bring Sid home, and then Joe Jackson got to first on a fly that McGherity muffed. Jerry, by hitting out a pretty liner, enabled his brother to get to third, while Jerry was held on first. Up came Dutch and he clouted the ball to such good purpose that he got to third, and the Jersey twins scored. Then poor Dutch died on third for Phil fanned out. But nothing could dampen the enthusiasm of the Randallites then, for they had secured five runs, and the score stood only 12 to 8 against them now.
“Oh, we can catch up!” yelled Bean Perkins. “Now for the ‘Conquer or Die’ song, fellows,” and the strangely beautiful and solemn strains of the Latin melody floated over the field.
Tom’s men began to play like fiends. They seemed to be all over the field, and, though Tom was hit for a single, not another man got to first.
“Oh, if we can only hold ’em down, and bring in a few more runs we’ve got ’em!” panted Tom, as he came to the bench in the beginning of the eighth, and sat down beside Sid. “But say, old man, how did it happen that the doctor let you play at the last minute?” he asked, while the others waited for Sid’s answer.
“I’ll tell you later,” the second baseman promised. “Gee, but I had a time getting here! Trolley wasn’t running, and I had to come by train. Thought I’d have a long walk, but I met a fellow in an auto and he gave me a lift. Then, just as I got here I heard that the trolleys started running about five minutes after I left the stalled car. But, Tom, are we going to win?”
“We sure are,” declared the captain, clapping Sid on the back.
But, though things had started off with a rush in the seventh, they went slower for Randall in the eighth, and one run was all that could be gathered in. Holly Cross got to first, and managed to steal second and third, while Kindlings Woodhouse and Bricktop ingloriously fanned. Sid laid out a beautiful three-bagger, bringing in Holly with the run. Then Tom was walked, much to his surprise, with Sid on third, and Joe Jackson got a pass, thus filling the bases. Randall was wild, for it looked as if a big play would be pulled off, but Jerry Jackson fanned, and the three men expired on the bags.
“Hold ’em down, fellows! Hold ’em down!” pleaded Tom. “We only need four runs to win the game, if we can keep ’em from scoring in their next two whacks.”
“If,” remarked Phil cynically. “Ever see a white black-bird, Tom?”
“Oh, we’ll do it!” declared Sid savagely.
Tom did manage to retire Boxer without arun, surpassing himself by the excellence of his curves. He was more like himself now.
Then came the memorable ninth inning, which, when Dutch started it off by fanning out, looked as if the end had come. It looked even more so when Phil Clinton also whacked only the air and there was a curious hush over the big crowd as Holly Cross walked to the plate.
“Now, Holly!” yelled Bean. “Another like you gave us before. There’s only two out!”
It looked rather hopeless, with two out, but Holly slammed out a single bagger. Dan Woodhouse followed, and hit well, Holly getting to third in the confusion. Then came Bricktop, his red hair all awry.
“For the love of Cæsar hit it on the nose, old man!” pleaded Tom.
“I’ll do it for your sake, me lad,” answered Bricktop calmly, and he proceeded to swing on the ball. He knocked a hot little liner to Langridge, and there was a groan as the pitcher, seemingly, caught it, but it bounded out of his hands, rolled between his legs and when he had picked it up Bricktop was at first, where he was called safe, though the Boxer players protested it. Holly had started for home, but when he saw Langridge stop the ball he ran back, and it was well he did so, for he was now safe there, as was Dan Woodhouse on second.
The bases were full, there were two out, and it needed four runs to win the game when Sid Henderson came up to the bat. He was as cool as if he was the first man up in a small game, and not one on whom a championship depended.
“Oh, Sid, old man, bat! bat! bat!” pleaded Tom in a low voice. “Bat to win! It all depends on you, now!”
“BAT TO WIN! IT ALL DEPENDS ON YOU!”“BAT TO WIN! IT ALL DEPENDS ON YOU!”
Sid did not reply. He was watching Langridge narrowly, for he knew that pitcher’s tricks of old. Sid did not strike at the first ball, for it was away to one side, but the umpire called a strike on him and there was a howl of protest. It was quickly hushed. Langridge “wound up” again, and sent in a swift one.
With an intaking of his breath Sid swung at it. Almost before he connected his bat with the horsehide he was aware that he would make a good strike. There was a sweetness to the resonant vibration of the stick, as he cast it from him, and sprinted for first. He could not see where the ball had gone, though he had had a momentary glimpse of it going over center field, but he trusted to Tom, who was in the coaching box at first, urging him on.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“Pretty hit!”
“What a soaker!”
“Run! Run! Leg it, you old sock doger!”yelled the man with the two pretty daughters, as he recklessly swung his silk hat in the air.
“A home run! A home run!” cried Phil, capering about, and hugging the Jersey twins, one in each arm.
Upward and outward sped the ball, away, far away over the center fielder’s head. He ran back for it, became confused and began wildly searching around in the deep grass of far outfield.
“Come on in! Come on in, everybody!” Tom was yelling, and swinging his arms like the sails of an old windmill.
Holly raced over home plate, followed by Kindlings. Bricktop was racing in from third, followed by Sid, who had made such a magnificent hit. Bricktop tallied the tying run, and Sid was now running up from third, running as he had never run before, for he felt that it all depended on him now. The fielder had the ball by this time, and had thrown it to the second baseman, who swung about and relayed it home, but it was just a second too late, and Sid crossed the rubber on a grand slide. Four runs in succession! Oh, how the Randallites did yell! How they howled! How they stamped until the grand stands trembled, while as for the members of the team they fairly smothered Sid!
But the game was not over yet. Tom Parsons was up next, and, though as nervous as a girl, hemanaged to make a single off Langridge, much to the latter’s disgust, for he was being hooted and howled at almost to the limit. Then Joe Jackson was struck out, and that ended Randall’s chances. But the score was 13 to 12 in her favor, and if they could retire Boxer Hall without a run, the championship was theirs.
Tom did it. How, is Randall history now, and any “old grad” will gladly relate it to you. How two men were struck out in almost less time than it takes to tell it, and how Tom caught an almost impossible fly by leaping high in the air as it was sailing over his head, and downed his third man. And that was the end. Randall had won the championship.
Oh, what a scene there was on the diamond then! Of course, Boxer cheered her rival, and then, hardly waiting for the answering compliment from Tom’s men, they filed to their dressing rooms.
“Oh, Sid, it was great! Great!” cried Tom, hugging his chum. “Simply great, old man!”
“Up with him!” commanded Phil, and Sid was hoisted to the shoulders of his fellows, and carted around, much to his embarrassment.
“A bully game! Whoop-de-doodle-de!” cried the man with the pretty daughters.
“Oh, papa!” they cried protestingly, blushing at the notice attracted to them.
“Let me alone!” he retorted. “Didn’t my old college win? Wow! Wow! Wow!” and he began to dance, while his daughters blushed more deeply. But who cared?
The diamond was overrun with spectators, anxious to shake hands with the victorious players, especially with Sid, who had batted the way to victory.
Three pretty girls made their way through the press.
“Are congratulations in order?” asked one.
“Of course, Miss Tyler,” answered Phil.
“Sure,” added Tom, clasping the hands Ruth Clinton held out to him. Sid stepped to one side, as Mabel Harrison came up. He was rather pale under his tan.
“Come on, let’s all go off and have some cream,” proposed Phil. “Come along, Sid, you and Miss Harrison——”
He paused in confusion, for he had, for the moment, forgotten the cloud between the two. Mabel Harrison blushed, and was about to turn away, but Sid stepped forward.
“I will only be too happy,” he said, “if Miss Harrison will——”
“You know—you know——” she stammered in confusion. The six were somewhat by themselves now, for the crowd had surged away.
“It’s all right!” exclaimed Sid, and there wasa joyous look on his face. “I can, and I’m going, to explain everything, now. You needn’t hesitate about coming with me, Miss Harrison. See this,” and he held out a duplicate of the newspaper clipping that had been fraught with such results. “I don’t wonder you fellows thought I was going the pace,” continued Sid, “nor do I blame you, Miss Harrison, for not believing in me. This is the first chance I’ve had to explain. I was in that gambling raid told of here.”
“You were?” and the girl recoiled a pace.
“Yes,” resumed Sid, with a little smile, “I went there to rescue my cousin. His name is Guy Norton, and he is the same flashily-dressed young man you saw me with at the picnic. Guy’s father died a short time ago, leaving him a fortune, which he proceeded to get rid of as quickly as possible. He took to gambling, and fast company, though his widowed mother never knew it. She supposed him attending to business in Dartwell, but, instead, Guy was dissipating. His sister, Clara, knew of it, however, and wrote to me to try to save her brother. She came to Dartwell to help look after him, and boarded with him. I had considerable control over Guy, for we used to be little chaps together, and I once saved him from drowning, so he would generally do as I said. So I promised his sister I would save him, and gave my word not to tell anythingabout it, as she wanted to keep all knowledge from her mother, who had a weak heart, and who, she knew, would die if she ever knew her son was a gambler.
“My first service was to take Guy out of a gambling hall, his sister having written me a hasty note to the effect that he had gone there with a large sum of money.”
“That piece of paper, with the word ‘trouble’ on it must have been from her note,” remarked Phil. “We picked it up in the room, after you went out so quickly that rainy night, Sid.”
“Yes,” assented the victorious second baseman, “Guy was in trouble, sure enough. I went to Dartwell, and managed to get my cousin to leave the place, just before the raid. As we went out, however, the police came in, and Guy and I were caught. He fought the officers, and called out my name, in asking me to help rescue him. Instead I advised him to submit. He was taken away, but I easily proved that I had nothing to do with the gambling, and I was allowed to go. I went to Guy’s boarding place, and, from his sister, got money enough to pay his fine, together with some I had. In some way my name got in the papers. Guy might have recklessly given it instead of his own, thinking to keep the knowledge from his mother.
“My cousin was released the next morning,but he made me promise never to tell of his scrape. That was what sealed my lips. He promised to reform, if I kept silent, and I did, though it was hard—terribly hard,” and Sid looked at Miss Harrison, in whose blue eyes there were traces of tears.
“As I knew Guy’s mother had a weak heart, and that the least shock might be fatal, I dared not even ask her advice. Clara and I decided to fight it out alone. She arranged to send me word by a messenger, whenever her brother went off with his gay companions, and I promised to go and bring him away, no matter what the hour.
“I did go, many times, to your wonderment, Tom and Phil, and once I had to cancel a promise I made to take Miss Harrison to an affair. But I could not break my word. On one occasion Guy, who was not himself, recklessly came to the college seeking me. He had a bottle of liquor with him, and I took it away from him, hurrying him back to Dartwell. But Mr. Zane caught me, and, as I was on my honor to Guy and his sister to keep silent, I could not explain. I took my punishment, being barred from the team, and kept still, though it was hard—very hard.”
“You were a hero!” exclaimed Mabel Harrison, her blue eyes bright with admiration.
“Oh, no, hardly that, I guess,” answered Sid,but he smiled gratefully. “Well,” he resumed, “so it went on. I dared not tell, for I had given my word, though I was sorely tempted that day he came for me at the picnic, and nearly disgraced me. But Guy would not release me, and his sister pleaded for just a little longer try at saving him, and I consented. I paid his gambling debts many times, and, often, it left me temporarily without money.
“Things looked very black, Guy would not heed my requests to stop gambling, and I did not care what happened. I even went to Bascome’s dinner, thinking to get away from my troubles. Then, when everything seemed to go by the board, and I had been expelled for being caught out late, when I had gone one night to get Guy away from reckless companions, he suddenly reformed. He met some girl, I believe, who had a hand in it. At any rate he turned over a new leaf, gave up his gambling, and, what relieved me, confessed everything to his mother.
“She was much affected, but she forgave him, and is to take him abroad this week, to straighten him out. That was the end of my thralldom. To-day Guy went with me to Dr. Churchill, made a clean breast of it, told what I had done, and why, and before the assembled members of the faculty, proved my innocence. It was just in time to allow the lifting of the expulsion ban, andpermit me to play—only I had a task to get here in time——”
“But you did, old man!” cried Tom, seizing his chum’s hand—only one, however, for, somehow Mabel Harrison had the other. “You were in time to help us bat to win! Sid, can you forgive us?”
“Forgive? There’s nothing to forgive,” declared Sid, and his eyes were moist. “I don’t blame you in the least for thinking I was doing the very things I was trying to save my cousin from. Many a time I went broke on his account, but I didn’t mind, for he was worth saving, for the sake of his mother and sister, if not for himself. He’s all right now, I believe, and thoroughly ashamed of himself.”
“Thanks to you,” put in Madge Tyler.
“Oh, I think you were perfectly splendid, Mr. Henderson!” cried Ruth Clinton, with shining eyes.
Mabel Harrison did not say what she thought, but the look from her blue eyes was enough for Sid. He held her hand, and—Oh, well, what’s the use of telling on a chap, anyhow? You’d have done the same, I guess, if you had been there.
There was a little pause after Sid had finished his story, and all about sounded the victorious yells and songs of the exulting Randallites.
“Well, are you ready for those plates of cream,now?” asked Phil. “Talking is dry work. So that was your secret, Sid?”
“That was it, and hard enough it was to keep, too, at times, let me tell you,” and the second baseman sighed.
A little later a jolly party sat in an ice-cream parlor, and their merry laughter and jests brought smiles to more than one countenance, as the other guests looked on and listened.
“Why do you suppose Mr. Langridge sent that false clipping from the newspaper to you—I mean the one about Sid?” asked Ruth of Mabel.
“Oh, I—I don’t know—exactly,” answered the blue-eyed girl, but I suspect that she did know, but did not want to say, for she was done with Langridge forever.
“Now for college, and a procession in honor of our victory, the loving cup, and Sid Henderson—with bonfires and feasting on the side,” remarked Captain Tom, a little later, when reluctant good-bys had been said to the girls. And the celebration in Randall that night was marked for years afterward in prominent letters in the college annals. Dr. Churchill made a thrilling speech, and even Professor Tines condescended to smile. The loving cup was carried at the head of a triumphant procession, the light from many gala-fires glinting from its polished surface.
“Well, it’s all over,” remarked Tom, several hours later when he, Phil and Sid were together in their room. “My, but it has been a baseball season, though!”
“A great one,” commented Phil. “We’ve got a corking good team. I only hope we have as good a one when it comes time to kick the pigskin.”
“Oh, I guess we will,” spoke Sid slowly. They did, as will be related in the next volume of this series, to be called “The Winning Touchdown,” a tale of college football in which we shall meet all our old friends again.
“Well,” went on Sid, after a pause, “I don’t know what you fellows are going to do, but I’m going to turn in. I’m dead tired after my long tramp,” and he began to get ready for bed, while Tom and Phil, sitting by the open windows, listened to the shouts of the revelers out on the campus, for many had not yet had enough of the joys of victory. Then, as the captain threw himself on the old couch, and Phil curled up in the easy chair, the fussy alarm clock went off with a whirr, the bell jangling discordantly.
“Time to get up, Sid, instead of going to bed,” remarked Phil with a laugh, as he silenced the racket, and then the three chums—the inseparables—stood and looked at each other, while theclock resumed its interrupted ticking, and the shouts of the celebrators came in faintly on the night wind.
THE END
THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES
By LESTER CHADWICK
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors
Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid
The College Sports Series
Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself.
Tom Parsons, a “hayseed,” makes good on the scrub team of Randall College.
A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick’s best style, that is bound to grip the reader from the start.
Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players on Randall College team. There is a great game.
After having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randall makes a touchdown that won a big game.
The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremely exciting.
Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track, gridiron and diamond.
Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
SEA STORIES FOR BOYS
By JOHN GABRIEL ROWE
Large 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored jacket
Price per volume, $1.00 Net
Sea Stories for Boys
Every boy who knows the lure of exploring and who loves to rig up huts and caves and tree-houses to fortify himself against imaginary enemies will enjoy these books, for they give a vivid chronicle of the doings and inventions of a group of boys who are shipwrecked and have to make themselves snug and safe in tropical islands where the dangers are too real for play.
Dick, Alf and Fred find themselves stranded on an unknown island with the old seaman Josh, their ship destroyed by fire, their friends lost.
With much ingenuity these boys fit themselves into the wild life of the island they are cast upon in storm.
Their ship and companions perished in tempest at sea, the boys are adrift in a small open boat when they spy a ship. Such a strange vessel!—no hand guiding it, no soul on board,—a derelict.
Modern Pirates, with the ferocity of beasts, attack a lightship crew;—recounting the adventures that befall the survivors of that crew,—and—“RETRIBUTION.”
Telling of a mutiny, and how two youngsters were unwillingly involved in one of the weirdest of treasure hunts,—and—“THE GOLDEN FETISH.”
Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
THE JACK RANGER SERIES
By CLARENCE YOUNG
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors
Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid
The Jack Ranger Series
Lively stories of outdoor sports and adventure every boy will want to read.
You will love Jack Ranger—you simply can’t help it. He is bright and cheery, and earnest in all he does.
This volume takes the hero to the great West. Jack is anxious to clear up the mystery surrounding his father’s disappearance.
Jack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of school games. There are numerous contests on the athletic field.
How Jack was carried off to sea against his will makes a “yarn” no boy will want to miss.
Jack organizes a gun club and with his chums goes in quest of big game. They have many adventures in the mountains.
Jack receives a box from his father and it is stolen. How he regains it makes an absorbing tale.
Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
Everybody will love the story ofNOBODY’SBOYBy HECTOR MALOTNOBODY’S BOYThe dearest character in all the literature of child life is little Remi in Hector Malot’s famous masterpieceSans Famille(“Nobody’s Boy”).All love, pathos, loyalty, and noble boy character are exemplified in this homeless little lad, who has made the world better for his being in it. The boy or girl who knows Remi has an ideal never to be forgotten. But it is a story for grownups, too.“Nobody’s Boy” is one of the supreme heart-interest stories of all time, which willmake you happier and better.4 Colored Illustrations. $1.50 net.At All Booksellers
Everybody will love the story of
NOBODY’SBOY
By HECTOR MALOT
NOBODY’S BOY
The dearest character in all the literature of child life is little Remi in Hector Malot’s famous masterpieceSans Famille(“Nobody’s Boy”).
All love, pathos, loyalty, and noble boy character are exemplified in this homeless little lad, who has made the world better for his being in it. The boy or girl who knows Remi has an ideal never to be forgotten. But it is a story for grownups, too.
“Nobody’s Boy” is one of the supreme heart-interest stories of all time, which willmake you happier and better.
4 Colored Illustrations. $1.50 net.
At All Booksellers
CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers New York
THE KING OF THEMOUNTAINS(Le Roi des Montagnes)By EDMOND ABOUTTranslated by Florence Crewe-JonesIllustrated by George Avison12mo. Illustrated. Beautiful cloth binding, stamped in gold. Jacket in colors.Price $1.50 NetThe King of the MountainsEdmond About’s classic masterpiece of whimsical humor, romantic action and wild surroundings, appeals to all classes and ages of readers. The lawless, happy-go-lucky bands of the Grecian mountains, bargaining with prisoners and government officials in a kind of uncivilized traffic, affords the uncertainty in adventure which makes delightful reading for boy or man.Hadji Stavros is the never-to-be-forgotten representative of the right to get without limits. To him the only injustice or error in life was in being weak, in which any unselfishness was weakness. And yet, he allowed his love for his daughter to overthrow his system of life. To be entertained by “The King of the Mountains” as a dramatic story is not enough, it is a profound study of character and life.
THE KING OF THEMOUNTAINS
(Le Roi des Montagnes)
By EDMOND ABOUT
Translated by Florence Crewe-JonesIllustrated by George Avison
12mo. Illustrated. Beautiful cloth binding, stamped in gold. Jacket in colors.
Price $1.50 Net
The King of the Mountains
Edmond About’s classic masterpiece of whimsical humor, romantic action and wild surroundings, appeals to all classes and ages of readers. The lawless, happy-go-lucky bands of the Grecian mountains, bargaining with prisoners and government officials in a kind of uncivilized traffic, affords the uncertainty in adventure which makes delightful reading for boy or man.
Hadji Stavros is the never-to-be-forgotten representative of the right to get without limits. To him the only injustice or error in life was in being weak, in which any unselfishness was weakness. And yet, he allowed his love for his daughter to overthrow his system of life. To be entertained by “The King of the Mountains” as a dramatic story is not enough, it is a profound study of character and life.
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
The Webster Series
By FRANK V. WEBSTER
The Webster Series
Mr. Webster’s style is very much like that of the boys’ favorite author, the late lamented Horatio Alger, Jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date.
Cloth. 12mo. Over 200 pages each. Illustrated. Stamped in various colors.
Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid.
Only A Farm Boyor Dan Hardy’s Rise in LifeThe Boy From The Ranchor Roy Bradner’s City ExperiencesThe Young Treasure Hunteror Fred Stanley’s Trip to AlaskaThe Boy Pilot of the Lakesor Nat Morton’s PerilsTom The Telephone Boyor The Mystery of a MessageBob The Castawayor The Wreck of the EagleThe Newsboy Partnersor Who Was Dick Box?Two Boy Gold Minersor Lost in the MountainsThe Young Firemen of Lakevilleor Herbert Dare’s PluckThe Boys of Bellwood Schoolor Frank Jordan’s TriumphJack the Runawayor On the Road with a CircusBob Chester’s Gritor From Ranch to RichesAirship Andyor The Luck of a Brave BoyHigh School Rivalsor Fred Markham’s StrugglesDarry The Life Saveror The Heroes of the CoastDick The Bank Boyor A Missing FortuneBen Hardy’s Flying Machineor Making a Record for HimselfHarry Watson’s High School Daysor The Rivals of RivertownComrades of the Saddleor The Young Rough Riders of thePlainsTom Taylor at West Pointor The Old Army Officer’s SecretThe Boy Scouts of Lennoxor Hiking Over Big Bear MountainThe Boys of the Wirelessor a Stirring Rescue from the DeepCowboy Daveor The Round-up at Rolling RiverJack of the Pony Expressor The Young Rider of the MountainTrailThe Boys of the Battleshipor For the Honor of Uncle Sam
CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK
The Boy Hunters Series
By Captain Ralph Bonehill
12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid.