CHAPTER XIVGLOWING HOPES
The boys all laughed at Fred’s declaration, though they hoped ardently that it would turn out to be true.
“Well,” conceded Frank, “confidence is a good thing, especially if there is good hard work back of it. One thing is certain, and that is if any team beats Rockledge it will know it’s been in a fight.”
“I suppose Larry Cronk will be pitching for Belden,” mused Fred.
“I suppose so, and he’s a corking good pitcher too. But Bobby beat him the last time he faced him and I guess he can do it again.”
“Trust Bobby,” replied Fred loyally.
“Well, I’ll have to go now,” concluded Frank. “I’m glad you boys think the league is going to be a good thing.”
“The best thing that ever happened,” declared Sparrow.
“I’m tickled to death with it,” agreed Fred.
“Hits me awful hard,” said Bobby.
“Monatook Lake League sounds mighty good to me,” added Skeets.
“There’s a lot of work to be done yet in getting it fairly started,” observed Frank. “We’ll have to work out a schedule of dates and decide on the kind of pennant we’re going to have and a bunch of things like that. But we’ll have plenty of time for that, and everything will be running slick as grease by the time the season begins. And remember what I said, Fred, about cutting out all hard feelings,” he concluded.
“I’ll do it all right,” answered Fred. “I don’t like the fellow and I never will, but I’ll forget all about that when it comes to working for the good of the team.”
“That’s the way I like to hear you talk,” returned Frank with a smile, as he went away.
“What did Frank mean by that?” asked Skeets curiously.
“Oh, it’s about that Tom Hicksley,” Fred replied. “Frank has heard that he’s a good ball player, and if he is, he wants him on the nine. He heard Bobby and me talking of the scrap we had with him this morning, and he doesn’t want trouble in the team.”
“Maybe Frank’s right, at that,” conceded Skeets. “But I don’t know that it’s good dope to have a fellow like that on the nine, no matter how good a player he is. He’ll be wanting to run things and perhaps break up the whole team.”
“We’ll hope not,” said Bobby. “At any rate, there’s no use worrying about it yet. He may not be so good a player as Frank has heard he is, and may not play on the team at all.”
“We’ll have to look over our baseball togs and see if they’re in good shape,” said Fred. “I know the spikes on my shoes need sharpening.”
“And I’ll have to pound that new baseball glove of mine until it’s good and soft and has a big hollow in the middle,” added Bobby. “We mustn’t overlook the least thing that’s going to help us to win.”
“Won’t the Clinton boys open their eyes if we can tell them when we go home for the summer vacation that we’re the champions of the Monatook Lake League?” gloated Fred.
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Sparrow. “It’s a long time yet before the end of the season.”
“It’s all over but the shouting, the way I look at it,” persisted Fred defiantly.
“Don’t wake him up, he is dreaming,” mocked Skeets.
“The pennant bee is buzzing in his bonnet,” laughed Sparrow.
For that matter, they all heard the buzzing of the same bee, and it was a very pleasant sound to them. To these four eleven-year-old boys the words “league” and “pennant” conveyed a sense of dignity and importance that they had never felt before.
From that time on, baseball took up a large part of their thoughts, even though the ground was covered with snow and the lake held fast in icy fetters.
The gymnasium was warm and comfortable, and though they had no regular cage and the limited space did not give much chance for batting practice the boys got in quite a lot of pitching and catching. And this was quickened by the news that came to them that Belden had taken up the idea of the league with as much enthusiasm as they had, and were already predicting that they would be the victors in the coming struggle. It was said that two of the new Belden boys were hard hitters and could “send the ball a mile.”
“But we heard something like that before the last game, and we licked them just the same,” remarked Fred, who expected to play short stop, the same position he had held the previous season.
“Belden’s bark is worse than its bite,” confirmed Bobby. “But because they didn’t come through the last time doesn’t say they won’t now. We’ll have to be right up on our toes all the time. It isn’t going to be a walkover for anybody.”
The study hours at Rockledge were not excessive, and had been arranged with a view of giving the growing boys all the time they needed for wholesome exercise and recreation. Dr. Raymond knew that a well trained mind and strong body must go together in order to get the best results. And on the occasions of the big baseball and football games he was always sure to be present as a keenly interested spectator.
Mr. Carrier, too, the second assistant on the teaching staff, had himself been an athlete in his college days, and his advice and coaching on the diamond and the gridiron were very valuable to the Rockledge boys.
With the lake so near at hand, there were plenty of winter sports. The smooth level of the ice, stretching away for miles in every direction, made skating a delight and offered a splendid field for hockey games. On all fine afternoons and every Saturday from morning till night, the ice was alive with darting figures, and rang with the music of steel against the frozen surface and the merry laughter of the skaters as they cracked the whip or flew by in impromptu races.
There was plenty of snow on the ground this year and this gave a chance for some good coasting. Most of the boys had sleds, and Bobby had brought along the splendid one that he had received as a Christmas present.
He had had considerable trouble in settling on a name. Billy Barry’s suggestion that it be called “Lightning” and Betty Martin’s laughing idea that it ought to be called “Oyster,” because it “slipped down so easily,” had received due consideration, but Bobby had finally settled on “Red Arrow.” This seemed to him to cover both its color and its speed. And that speed could not be questioned. It certainly shot down hill like an arrow from a how. None of the other sleds at the school could do such fetching.
Naturally Bobby took great pride in his sled, and the runners were rubbed with emery and oil until they were as smooth as silk and shone like silver.
There were several good hills in the vicinity of the school, but most of them were dangerous; one because it crossed the railroad at its base and others because cross streets, along which there was much travel, offered chances for collisions. These were therefore forbidden to the boys.
On one hill, however, they were permitted to coast whenever they wanted to do so. This stretched away from the town, and there were no cross streets throughout its entire length. It was absolutely safe, and as it was very long and reasonably steep, the boys felt no special regret at not being allowed to use the other hills.
For several days before Lincoln’s Birthday the weather had been mild and there was a considerable thaw. The snow on the hill had become soft and mushy and coasting had been impossible.
This interfered with the plans of the boys in Bobby’s dormitory, who had expected to have a big coasting carnival on the night of the holiday, when there would be a full moon. Now it looked as if the ground might be bare.
But on the eleventh of February there came a sudden change in the weather that gladdened the hearts of the would-be coasters. The thermometer fell rapidly until it was ten degrees below zero. The hill froze solid and was even better than it had been before, because the water from the melting snow now formed a glare of ice over the whole surface.
Bobby and his chums were jubilant over the change as they got together in the gymnasium after breakfast on the morning of the holiday.
“Isn’t it just bully?” cried Fred, doing a handspring.
“The hill will be like glass,” gloated Mouser.
“I’ll bet we fetch further than we ever did before,” exulted Bobby, who could see himself scudding like the wind on his trusty Red Arrow.
“But, gee! won’t it be tough climbing up to the top again,” put in Pee Wee, who liked well enough to ride down but hated the task of walking back.
“Don’t worry, Pee Wee,” chaffed Fred. “We wouldn’t let a hard-working fellow like you walk back. We’ll take turns drawing you up on our sleds.”
“Sure we will,” added Sparrow. “We’ll just fight for the privilege.”
“I’d hate to have Pee Wee bark his shins again,” laughed Bobby.
The boys were so engrossed in the lively give and take that none of them noticed that Tom Hicksley, who had been practicing on the rings and had been near enough to hear their conversation, had quietly slipped out of the gymnasium.
There had been no open trouble between him and Bobby and his friends since that morning when the coming of Mr. Carrier had stopped the quarrel. None of the boys took any special pains to avoid him but had simply left him alone. Hicksley had cast sullen and angry glances at them as they passed him on the campus or in the halls, but they cared nothing for that. They did not doubt that he was nursing his grudge and would lose no chance to get back at them if he could, but they felt able to take care of themselves.
As a matter of fact, Hicksley had only two friends in the school. These were Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, the two most detested boys at Rockledge. They were of the same type as Hicksley, mean and tyrannical. They were two of the largest pupils and took advantage of their size to make themselves thoroughly disliked by the other boys.
They had “cottoned” to Hicksley at once, recognizing him as a kindred spirit, and the three were almost constantly together.
Bronson and Jinks belonged to neither of the dormitories, but occupied one of the smaller rooms together.
To this room Hicksley went straight from the gymnasium and rapped on the door.