CHAPTER IIISAM IS MISSING
Number 4, North Dormitory, was a revelation to Jack. The room he shared with Sam Phillips in South was comfortable enough and not at all badly furnished, but Sam “didn’t go in much for fancy gimcracks,” to use his own expression. The room occupied by Ted Warner and his chum Dolph Jones was carpeted with a dark red Oriental rug, and all the furniture, even the wide study desk in the middle, was of black oak. Most of the chairs held leather cushions that you sank into as softly as into a feather bed. The drop-light was covered by a big opal glass shade that threw the light downward and left the upper part of the room in a pleasant twilight, through which the dozens of pictures and schoolboy trophies on the walls peered dimly and interestingly to the callers.
Jack was properly introduced to Dolph Jones—aceremony he considered rather unnecessary, since he and Dolph in the rôles of candidate and captain had already spoken to each other on the baseball diamond more than once—and then sat comfortable and silent in one of the big leather cushioned chairs while Dolph and Ted and Sam drew up around the light and discussed the matter of the batting order for Saturday’s game. Both Dolph and Ted were seniors, and, save in the matter of complexion, looked to Jack very much alike. Later, however, he realized that the resemblance was due more to the fact that they were each of the same type than to any real likeness of feature. Dolph was seventeen and Ted Warner eighteen, but there was scarcely a fraction of an inch difference in heights, and each was tall, well-built and lean, with the leanness of the boy who keeps himself in perfect physical condition. Dolph was dark of hair and eyes, while Ted was decidedly light, his hair being pale brown and his eyes something between blue and gray. On the nine Dolph, who was captain, caught, and Ted played first base.
“Here’s the way; I had it fixed up,” Dolph was saying, referring as he spoke to a paper in his hand. “Truesdale, Jones, Grady, Warner, Cook, Smythe, Cassart, Watkins and Phillips. What do you think?”
“I’d have Harry Smythe bat first,” said Sam. “He’s a heap better on the bases than Truesdale.”
“He’s faster,” said Ted, “but he takes risks at the wrong times. Truesdale can draw a pass three times out of five, too. Then, with Dolph up next he’s pretty sure of second on a sacrifice.”
“All right,” agreed Sam. “I see, though, you’ve got Cook down for left field. Why don’t you give Jack here a chance? He’s every bit as good as Cook.”
Dolph glanced at Jack and hesitated. Ted smiled, and then went to the rescue.
“Cook’s had more experience, Sammy, and in a Boarders and Towners game it’s a good idea to play fellows who have been through it before. You see, Borden,” he added, turning to Jack, “everything goes in these games, andit isn’t so much science that wins as it is keeping your head. When you go to bat you’ll have thirty or forty idiots standing around and yelling like Indians and doing everything they can to rattle you. Still, Dolph, you might put Borden in for part of the game. I dare say it’s a good experience for a fellow. If Borden can get through a Towner game without getting rattled he can stand anything.”
“Don’t bother about me,” said Jack.
“That’s the ticket,” said Sam. “Put Jack in for the last four innings. You needn’t be afraid of his getting scared. I’ve never seen anything feaze him yet. He’s just about as nervous and fidgety as a granite post!”
“All right,” laughed Dolph, making a memoranda on the sheet of paper. “Borden goes in in the fifth. Heard anything, Sammy?”
“No, but something’s up; I’m dead sure of that. Gus goes around grinning like a catfish all the time and Tyler smirks every time he looks at me. I wonder what sort of a caper they’re up to this time. Last year,” he went on for Jack’s benefit, “they got a chap namedRiley from somewhere and palmed him off as a Towner. At least, that’s what they tried to do, but, of course, we got onto the dodge in a minute.”
“Yes,” said Dolph dryly, “we got onto it after he’d knocked out a three-bagger in the first inning and scored two runs!”
“I never even looked at him until he got to third,” said Sammy ruefully, “and I guess you didn’t, Dolph.”
“Well, he puzzled me when he went to bat,” answered Dolph. “I thought I knew all the fellows in school, but that chap was a total stranger. So, as there were two men on bases, I signaled you to try him with a high one, thinking he’d fan. Instead of that he reached up and got it and sent it over left fielder’s head.”
“And pretty near won the game, too,” added Ted.
“What did you do to him?” asked Jack interestedly.
“Ran him off the field,” replied Dolph grimly. “The umpire called time and we had a tenminute riot. The last we saw of Riley, though, he was streaking it for town.”
“One year,” said Sam, “before any of us fellows got here, they moved the first and second bags about four feet nearer each other than they should have been, and the Boarders wondered why almost every Towner that reached first got to second ahead of the throw!”
“It must be a funny sort of a game,” laughed Jack.
“It is,” Ted grinned reminiscently. “Remember last year, Sammy, when they had men on second and third and needed two runs to tie the score? And Wicks stood alongside Dolph and every time you pitched a ball he yelled ‘Drop it’?”
“I remember it,” growled Dolph. “I didn’t mind it at first, but after awhile I got so rattled I didn’t know where I was.”
“And when the ball did get by you finally you couldn’t find it,” laughed Ted.
“Couldn’t find it! Of course, I couldn’t find it! Some one kicked it into the crowd!”
“Did they score?” Jack asked.
“Two runs. But we hammered the stuffing out of the ball in the eighth inning and won. What was the score, Ted?”
“Nine to six.”
“Nine to seven,” corrected Sam.
“Nine to six.”
“I’ll tell you.” Dolph pulled open a drawer in the desk, took out a score book and found the game. “Nine to seven, Ted.”
“I stand corrected, gentlemen. Anyway, it was a peach of a game, all right. I hope we’ll have as much fun this time. I suppose Mort Prince will pitch for them.”
“They haven’t any one else that I know of,” said Sam.
“Well, he’s pitching pretty good ball this Spring so far,” said Dolph. “But I guess we’ll have the better of the pitching argument with you in the box.”
“They’ve got some good batters, though,” replied Sam. “Gus Turnbull, Tyler Wicks, Dick Furst; Prince himself isn’t so bad with the ash.”
“I’m not afraid of what they can do withthe bat,” said Ted. “It’s their schemes for breaking up the game that worry me. They’ll probably spring something brand new on us this time.”
“Well, we’re going to do a little rough-housing ourselves,” Sam smiled. “About ten of the fellows will be there with tin horns and a drum and a broken-winded cornet, and they ought to make some sensation!”
“Bully!” laughed Ted. “Music will be rendered by the Boarders’ Cornet Band!”
“Executed, you mean,” said Dolph. “Well, then, this batting list is all right, you think?”
“Sure,” said Sam.
“Don’t see how we can better it,” remarked Ted.
“Then I’m off for a line of study.” Sam arose and Jack followed his example. “We’d all better keep our ears wide open and our eyes peeled between now and Saturday. If we can find out what they’re up to maybe we can get ready for them. I don’t half like the way Gus is grinning!”
“I’ve got a private detective on the job,”answered Dolph. “Young Green, Midget Green, you know, came to me this afternoon and said he’d heard that the Towners were going to do something this year that would just give them the game. He didn’t know what it was, however; he’d just heard some of the kids boasting. I told him to try and find out what the Towners were up to and he’s hot on the trail now, I guess.”
“I suppose,” said Ted, “you promised him that if he found out anything you’d let him chase balls in Finkler’s meadow for the rest of his natural life!”
“Something of that sort,” agreed Dolph smilingly.
“Isn’t it possible to get hold of some of that field?” asked Jack. “I heard the fellows talking about it this afternoon, and Sam says Finkler won’t sell or lease or anything.”
“Wish we could,” said Dolph. “No, the old rascal has it in for us good and hard. It’s a wonder he doesn’t stand down there with a shotgun and keep us from getting the balls that go over there!”
“Has he been asked about it lately?” pursued Jack.
“Lately? Why, no, not for a year or so, I suppose. I guess Benny’s tired of making him offers. The last time he offered old Finkler about twice what the land was worth, I heard. What the school ought to do is to get some land across the road and put the athletic field there. We need a running track pretty bad, Borden.”
“So I should think. I was wondering whether if the fellows sort of got together and agreed not to—to worry Mr. Finkler, or to trespass any more, he wouldn’t rent a strip of that meadow to us.”
“You don’t know the old chap,” said Ted. “He simply won’t listen to reason. I guess we’d all be glad enough to let him alone if he’d hand over enough of that meadow to give us a decent athletic field.”
“Well, couldn’t we tell him that?” asked Jack earnestly. “It wouldn’t do any harm to try, would it?”
“N-no, but I don’t believe I’d care to be the fellow to talk to him.” This from Dolph.
“Oh, we couldn’t do anything,” protested Sam. “Benny would have to make the offer. And I guess Benny is tired of it by this time. Never mind about old Finkler now, Jack; come on home and put your nose in your books.”
Back in Number 12, South, Sam remarked as he pulled his books toward him: “I’m glad we worked Dolph to let you into the game, Jack. There’s nothing like getting a start. You can play just as well as Cook if you have a little more experience.”
“Well, I’m glad of the chance to play,” answered Jack, “but I don’t like having to ask for it.”
“Huh!” Sam tried his fountain pen on his thumb nail and then wiped his nail on his dark hair. “Modesty’s all right, Jack, as long as it don’t interfere with getting what you want. All folks aren’t mind readers and sometimes you’ve got to speak out.”
Having delivered this bit of philosophy Sam leaned his elbows on the desk, got a firm grip of his hair with each hand and plunged into French.
The weather began to warm up toward the last of the week, and Saturday was like a day in the middle of May. There are no “hours” on Saturday at Maple Ridge except for the Seniors, who have recitations from nine to half-past ten. At eleven Dolph Jones got his Boarders team together for an hour in order that the reconstructed nine might get accustomed to its new formation. The loss of Gus Turnbull, Jim Curtis and Tyler Wicks, all Towners, weakened the team not a little. The Towners would not show up until just before the time set for the game, two o’clock, and were doubtless holding practice this morning at the Fair Grounds. Although the Boarders had done their best to discover what particular brand of torture the enemy had invented for the occasion they had learned nothing. Midget Green, the amateur sleuth, had utterly failed in his mission and was much cast down thereby.
“We’ll just have to keep our eyes open,” said Ted Warner as he and Dolph and some of the others talked it over before practice. “Andwe’ll make sure, too, that they don’t monkey with the bases!”
Mr. Shay, the coach, not being on hand, Sam and Harry Smythe, the shortstop, batted balls for the fielding practice, Hal Morris, a substitute pitcher, taking Smythe’s place in the infield. Afterwards there was batting practice, Sam pitching until just before twelve, when a message called him away.
“It’s up to you, Hal,” said Dolph to Morris. “You’d better let yourself out a bit. You may have to go in for awhile this afternoon.”
Shortly after twelve the fellows went back to the campus to get ready for dinner. Sam wasn’t in the room when Jack got there, nor did he return before dinner time. In the dining hall Sam’s seat was empty when Jack went in and remained so when the latter had finished his meal. Jack, however, thought little of it; doubtless Sam’s message accounted for his tardiness. In the confusion succeeding dinner Jack forgot all about his room-mate. With others of the players he watched from the steps of School Building the formation of the line ofmarch to the field. Leading the procession was Pete Sawyer, a battered cornet in his hands. Then followed the rest of the “band,” with a decrepit snare-drum, several tin horns and some assorted instruments of torture such as watchmen’s rattles, accordions and mouth-organs. A strip of unbleached muslin with the inscription “Champions” lettered upon it in fresh and sticky green paint was secured to two poles and borne aloft. Old clothes were the proper regalia, and many of the fellows had added to the color and picturesqueness of the occasion by turning their coats inside out, while those who possessed any eccentric article of apparel wore it. With a discordant riot of sound from the “band” the procession, cheering and capering, moved off to the field and the players followed laughingly to the gymnasium.
While they were changing into baseball togs a burst of noise summoned them to the windows. The Towners had arrived. The nine marched ahead, Ducky Drake leading the way in the rôle of drum major, with a bat in lieu of baton. Then came the non-combatants andtheir village friends, a good half-hundred boys all together. They shouted and jeered at the players at the open windows and passed down the terrace path and out of sight.
“There’s quite a bunch of them, isn’t there?” observed Jack.
“Yes,” replied Ted. “They bring their friends, you see. Say, where’s Sammy? Isn’t he here?”
Jack looked around and shook his head.
“I haven’t seen him since he left the field.”
Ted stared.
“Well, some one must find him and tell him to hurry up. Joe, you’re dressed. Run up to South and find Sam. Tell him to hurry it up, will you?”
“He wasn’t at dinner,” said Jack, “so maybe he’s in hall now.”
“Yes, Joe, if you don’t find him in his room look in the dining hall, will you? Only tell him to get a move on. What do you think of Sammy, Dolph?” Ted continued as Joe Cassart sped away on his errand. “What time does he think the game begins, I wonder.”
“Sam? Isn’t he here? Where is he? I haven’t seen him since practice.”
“Neither have I. You don’t suppose——” Ted stopped and stared incredulously at Dolph.
“Nonsense!” answered the captain impatiently. “He’s around somewhere. Come on, fellows, and let’s go down.”
Nevertheless, Ted remained uneasy, and so, I suspect, did Dolph in spite of his seeming confidence. Their appearance on the field was the signal for a blare of music and cheering from the Boarders and groans and cat-calls from the enemy. The rival camps were on opposite sides of the diamond. A few boys were lolling in the grandstand, but the majority clustered as near the foul lines as they could get in order that their vocal and instrumental efforts at enlivening the contest might have full sway. The Towners were at practice and so the Boarders passed balls until their turn came to get on the diamond. Ted and Dolph kept an anxious watch for Sam, but he didn’t appear, nor was there any news of him. The Towners finished their warming-up and yielded the field.Dolph summoned Midget Green, who, as always, was hovering as near his hero as he could get, and whispered instructions in his ear. Midget lit out for the campus, while many of the Towners, guessing his errand, smiled broadly.
The umpire was Mr. Shay, the coach, and at two he called the Boarders in. Dolph won the toss and selected the field.
“We’re not ready to start yet, though,” said Dolph. “We’re waiting for Phillips. I’ve sent for him.” He spoke confidently enough, although his gaze wandered anxiously toward the terrace path.
“It’s time to play,” said Morton Prince, captain and pitcher of the Towners. “I insist, Mr. Umpire, that the game begin.”
“We’ll wait five minutes,” responded Mr. Shay.
Prince shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“They’ve bought the umpire, fellows,” he announced with a laugh. “We might as well go home.”
Shouts of “play ball!” came from the Towners. At that minute Joe Cassart appeared breathlessly and drew Dolph aside. It was quite apparent that something had gone wrong and both Towners and Boarders ceased their shouting.
“I can’t find him anywhere, Dolph,” reported Joe. “He isn’t in his room and he hasn’t been in dining hall. I went to the Residence, too; thought he might have been called to see Benny; but Benny doesn’t know anything about him. I looked everywhere.”
Dolph shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.
“They’ve got him,” he said. “They probably sent a decoy message and Sammy walked right into the trap. There’s no use looking for him. We’ll just have to go ahead without him. Hal, you’re in the box. Sam can’t be found.”
The news spread instantly and shouts of anger arose from the Boarders. “Kidnappers! Thieves! Let’s rush ’em!”
“None of that, fellows!” warned Dolph. “We’re here to play ball and we’ll do it. And we’ll lick ’em in spite of all!”
These sentiments were greeted with a cheer, a loud peal from the cornet and a frenzied beating of the drum. Good nature was restored. Dolph sent his team into the field just as Midget Green put in an appearance.
“I—I can’t find him, please, Jones,” he stammered. “I—I looked everywhere!”
“All right, Midget. Much obliged. We’re going to beat them without Sam. You look after foul balls, like a good chap.”
“I will,” Midget beamed and ran to his position on the stone wall. Morris began to pitch to Dolph, and Tyler Wicks, with bat in hand, came across to the plate to start the game for the Towners.
“Aren’t you going to pitch Sam?” he asked innocently.
“You know mighty well we’re not,” growled Dolph as he tossed the ball back to Morris. “Where’d you put him?”
“Put him?” Tyler grinned maddeningly. “Dolph, your suspicions wound me.”
“Do, eh? Well, you stand up here and see what happens to you, my friend.” He steppedforward and launched the ball down to Grady on second. “We’ll make you wish you hadn’t been so smart before we’re through with you.”
Mr. Shay pulled his mask on and took up his position behind Dolph.
“Play ball!” he cried.