CHAPTER XXXII.CUT DOWN.
Dick was crossing the campus.
“Hello, Merry!” cried one of the group near the fence. “They tell me you’re pitching for the varsity now.”
“Not yet, Peterson,” smiled Dick, unruffled.
“Not yet, but soon, I suppose. Toleman says you were out for practice with the varsity team.”
“Note the haughtiness of his manner,” cried another chap. “I suppose the rules will be suspended in order to permit him to pitch.”
There was much more of this sort of chaffing, but Dick took it all good-naturedly and passed on his way. Buckhart was sitting on the steps of the house on York Street.
“Hey, pard!” he cried. “Waiting for you. She’s a baby!”
“Who’s a baby?” asked Dick, in surprise.
“My Sallie.”
“Your who?”
“Sallie. She’s a trim little girl. Light and airy and just my size.”
“Say, what ails you?”
“Come on and let’s hit the grub pile,” said Brad. “After we fill our baskets I’m going to introduce you to Sallie. You’ll love her, I know you will.”
“I think you had better excuse me,” said Dick. “I’m too busy just now to make the acquaintance of your Sallie, whoever the delightful damsel is.”
The Texan chuckled but continued to insist that Dick must meet Sallie. Nor would Brad accept no for an answer. In the soft twilight they made theirway down to the harbor front, and there, lying among other boats at a float, was one toward which the Texan led his chum.
“There’sSallie,” said Brad, with a proud wave of his hand. “I told you I was going to buy a boat, and I’ve done it. Paid thirty-five dollars for her. How do you like her, Dick?”
“So this isSallie?” laughed Merriwell. “Well, by Jove! I expected to meet a fair damsel with golden hair and heavenly blue eyes. She looks good to me, Brad.”
“Get the oars, boy,” said the Texan, turning to a rather tough-looking youngster who had charge of the boats. “Bring both pair.”
In a few moments the oars were brought and placed in the boat.
“Now,” said Brad, “we’re going to be able to enjoy a row every night. Three times we’ve been down here after a boat and couldn’t get anything better than an old scow. There’ll be no more of that.”
There was a soft haze on the harbor as the boys swung out from amid the piers. Both handled the oars skillfully, and the light rowboat seemed to glide over the surface of the water with scarcely a ripple. Here and there a light was commencing to gleam along the shore. On the vessels red and green lights were also being hoisted. Still, there was a golden afterglow in the western sky, which flung its orange reflection over the water. From one of the vessels at anchor came the sound of singing. Other rowboats were gliding hither and thither amid the shipping. The air was cool and refreshing.
“This is great!” exclaimed Dick, with satisfaction. “By Jove! this will be a good thing for us every night, Brad. I’m glad you boughtSallie, and I agree with you thatSallieis a peach.”
“If it wasn’t for baseball,” said the Texan, “I’d sure go in for rowing. A fellow can’t do both and cut much ice at either.”
“Look out!” called Dick, looking over his shoulder. “There’s a small steam launch cutting our course ahead of us. Let’s not try to run her down.”
They shifted their course, but a moment later, to their surprise, they found that the launch had also changed its course and was heading almost directly for them.
“Wonder what they’re trying to celebrate?” growled Buckhart. “Can’t they see us?”
“Starboard, pull—pull hard!” cried Dick.
But Brad misunderstood and pulled hard with his port oar, which offset the efforts of Merriwell.
With a rushing swish, the tiny steam launch puffed down upon them.
“Look out!” roared the Texan. “Keep off! You’ll run us down!”
Apparently the pilot of the launch did not hear this cry, for an instant later, with a cutting crash, the sharp prow of the craft struck the rowboat.
The Texan had dropped his oars and risen to his feet. With an electrified spring, he seized the gunwale of the launch and held fast as the rowboat melted beneath his feet.
Twice the Texan shouted for help. His feet and ankles were caught by a rushing current of water and this brought a strain upon his hands which threatened to break his grip.
It seemed that at last his cries were heard, for some one looked over the gunwale and discovered him clinging there. Looking upward, the Texan found himself gazing straight into the evil, malicious eyes of Mike Lynch.