That was perhaps the quickest trip a Rutter’s Point car ever made, and almost before Gordon realized that town had been reached, and certainly before he had fully recovered from his experiences, the big yellow-sided car was coming to a stop at the foot of B Street, from where it was but two short blocks to Brentwood. The prolonged and frantic whistling had summoned a knot of curious persons to the corner as the car trundled around the curve and there were plenty of willing hands to bear the still unconscious form the remaining distance.
Gordon, not a little faint and weak, followed slowly. Someone had sped ahead and when the little throng reached the house anxious faces were already at the doorway. Gordon remained without and soon the men who had carried Morris inside returned to linger about the door and await the doctor’s verdict. The latter reached the gate a minute later, and, leaping from his buggy, hurried up the walk, his black bag swinging briskly.
There was a long wait after that. The accident was discussed in low voices by the small gathering outside and Gordon was forced to go through his story again. Presently he left the front steps and wandered around to the side of the house. From an upper window came the low mutter of voices. Near at hand was a rustic seat, placed against the wall of the screened porch, and on this Gordon subsided with a big sigh of relief. Inside the house a telephone bell rang shrilly. Footsteps hurried. The voices in the room upstairs still came indistinctly through the open window. It was pretty late, Gordon reflected, and he ought to be at home. His father would be angry with him if he was late for supper. But he didn’t want to go until he had heard whether Morris was going to get well. Meanwhile, it was fine and comfortable in the corner of the rustic seat and he would just close his eyes a minute——
Someone was shaking him gently and calling “Gordon! Wake up!” He stretched and opened his eyes. “Yes’m,” he muttered sleepily. But it couldn’t be morning, for it was almost dark and—and where was he? He sat up quickly then and gazed about him in blank surprise until his roaming glance encountered the smilingly concerned face of Louise Brent bending above him. “Oh!” he said, recollection coming to him.
“Have you been here all the time?” asked Louise. “You poor boy!”
“I—I must have fallen asleep,” admitted Gordon sheepishly. “How—how is he, Louise?”
The girl’s face went suddenly serious in the twilight. “He’s pretty badly hurt,” she said. “One leg is broken and he hurt his head horribly, Gordon.”
“Is that all?” he asked anxiously.
“They think so. Seems to me it’s quite enough, though.”
“Of course, only——” Gordon heaved a sigh of relief—“I was afraid he was dying. He—he looked so awfully!”
“Yes, didn’t he?” Louise shuddered. “He is still unconscious, but Doctor Mayrick says he will get his senses back in a little while. He must have had an awful blow on his head. Would you mind telling me just how it happened, Gordon, or are you too tired?”
He recounted the incidents of the unfortunate ride rather uncertainly. Somehow, they had got pretty much mixed up by now.
“But I think you were splendid,” said the girl warmly. “To think of stopping the trolley car was fine, Gordon. You must have been dreadfully scared and—and everything. And wasn’t it a wonder you weren’t hurt too?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I guess it would have been better if Morris had been thrown out of the car too. It was the steering wheel that kept him in, I think.”
“I don’t see how you ever thought of lifting the car up with the—that thing you spoke of,” she said admiringly. “Goodness, I’d have been so frightened I’d have just cried!”
“I guess I’d better be going home,” said Gordon.
“Yes, it must be quite late. And you haven’t had any supper, have you? I wish I’d found you here before.”
“I don’t believe I want any,” he murmured. “I—I’m mighty glad he isn’t hurt any worse. I’ll come around to-morrow if you don’t mind and see how he is.”
“Please do. Mama will want to see you, Gordon.”
“I suppose your father is pretty angry, isn’t he?” asked Gordon.
“He’s too upset and anxious now to be angry,” replied Louise. “But I suppose he will have something to say to Morris later. I felt all the time that he shouldn’t run that car. It was horrid of him to get it without letting anyone know.”
“I guess he’s got his punishment,” replied Gordon grimly. “A broken leg will keep him laid up a long time. I’m awfully sorry for him. Good-night, Louise.”
It seemed a terribly long distance to his home, although it was in reality but two blocks. His father was on the porch, reading under the electric light, when Gordon reached the steps. Down went the paper and Mr. Merrick viewed his son with cold severity.
“Well, Gordon, where have you been?” he asked.
“Over to the Point, sir. I—we——”
“I think I have told you fairly often that I do not like you to be late for your meals?”
“Yes, sir,” assented Gordon wearily.
“Exactly. It is now—hm—nearly eight o’clock. I think you had better go up to your room. You don’t deserve supper at this hour. And—hm—after this kindly give a little consideration to my wishes.”
“Yes, sir.” Gordon wanted to tell him what had happened, but he was frightfully tired and the thought of getting upstairs and into his bed was very alluring. Mr. Merrick showed that the conversation was at an end by again hiding his face behind the newspaper and Gordon went indoors and quietly climbed the stairs, rather hoping that his mother would not hear him. But she did, and came out of her room with the secrecy of a conspirator.
“Gordon, dear,” she whispered, “your father was very angry and said you were to have no supper, but I put a little something on a plate for you. It’s on your bureau. You shouldn’t stay out like this, though, dear. Your father doesn’t like it and—and it makes me worried, too.”
“Yes’m, I won’t again,” replied Gordon. “I—I’m not very hungry, though. I’m going to bed.”
“Aren’t you—don’t you feel well?” inquired Mrs. Merrick anxiously.
“Yes’m, I’m all right. I just feel sort of tired. Good-night.” He kissed her and went on up the second flight. Half-way up, though, he paused and called down in a hoarse whisper: “Thanks for the eats, ma!”
In spite of his weariness, sleep didn’t come readily. It was a hot, still night and, although his bed was drawn close to the two windows that looked out into the upper branches of the big elm, not much air penetrated to his room. He lay for a while staring out at the motionless leaves, intensely black in shadow and vividly green where the light from the big arc on the corner illumined them, reviewing the incidents of the day. He was awfully glad that Morris wasn’t dangerously hurt, grateful for his own escape from injury and sorry that Morris would have to lie abed for many weeks while his broken leg knit together again. Finally he dozed off only to awake in a terror, imagining that he was riding in an automobile that was just about to plunge down a cliff so steep and deep that the bottom was miles away! He awoke shaking and muttering and it took him several seconds to reassure himself and throw off the effects of the nightmare. After that he tossed and turned until he remembered the plate on the bureau. He got up and brought it back to bed with him, and leaned on one elbow and ate a little of the cold chicken and bread-and-butter his mother had placed on it. But he wasn’t really hungry and his appetite was soon satisfied. He put the plate on the floor beside him and settled down again. A clock downstairs struck nine and a moment later the town hall clock sounded the hour sonorously. Then the telephone in the first floor hall rang sharply and he heard his father’s chair scrape on the porch and his father’s feet across the hall.
“Hello? Yes.... No.... What say?...”
Gordon must have dozed then, for the next thing he knew someone was pushing open his bedroom door cautiously and asking if he was awake.
“Yes, sir,” answered Gordon.
Mr. Merrick closed the door and came over to the bed. “Time you were asleep, son,” he said concernedly. “Having trouble?”
“I—I’ve been asleep once, sir. Something wakened me.”
“Hm. Er—I was just talking to Mr. Brent on the telephone, Gordon.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hm. He told me about the accident, son.”
“Yes, sir. Did he say how Morris was?”
“Doing very well, he said. Why didn’t you—hm—why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I was sort of tired, and——”
“Brent says you carried Morris almost half a mile to the trolley, Gordon.”
“It wasn’t nearly that far. And I didn’t carry him. He was too heavy. I—I pulled him.”
“Well, the doctor says it’s a lucky thing you got him home as quick as you did. Mr. Brent is—hm—very grateful. He’s going to stop in the morning and see you.”
“He needn’t be,” murmured Gordon. “It wasn’t anything.”
“Hm. You can tell me about it in the morning. I-hm—I’m sorry I was so short with you, son. If you’d explained——”
“Yes, sir, I ought to have. It—it’s all right, dad.”
“Well, but—if you’re hungry, Gordon——”
“I’m not, sir. I—no, sir, I’m not.”
“If you are I guess you and I can forage around and find something. Sure you wouldn’t like a little bite?”
“No, sir, thank you.”
“Well—hm——” Mr. Merrick laid a hand on Gordon’s arm and pressed it. “Sorry I scolded, son. I—we—we’re proud of you, boy.”
Gordon didn’t answer. It was rather embarrassing and he was glad of the darkness.
“Good-night, Gordon.”
“Good-night, sir.”
Mr. Merrick turned away, there was a sound of cracking and crunching china and an exclamation.
“What’s this?” asked Mr. Merrick in surprise, peering down at the floor.
“It—it’s a plate, sir. Mother—that is——”
“Hm,” said Mr. Merrick, and then again “Hm!” He pushed the broken fragments under the bed. “I—hm—I can understand that you aren’t very hungry,” he said dryly. “Evidently your mother—hm—well, good-night, Gordie.”
The door closed. Gordon smiled at the black and green foliage beyond the window. It was all right about that lunch. If it wasn’t his father would never have called him Gordie.
Gordon was up at seven the next morning, having had, as he reckoned, a good nine hours and more of sleep. At breakfast he told again the story of the accident, this time to an interested audience of three. The third was Fudge, who, since almost an hour before, had been hanging around waiting for Gordon’s appearance, and who now was seated at table with a cup of coffee and one of Mrs. Merrick’s graham muffins in front of him. Fudge acknowledged that he had rather skimped his breakfast. Mr. Merrick mildly censured Gordon for accepting Morris Brent’s invitation to ride, but it was evident that he was too proud of Gordon’s part in the affair to be severe. Fudge was anxious to know what had become of the runabout and Gordon replied that so far as he knew it was just where they had left it.
“I guess,” he said, “it’s pretty badly smashed up. I know one wheel has about all the spokes out of it, and I think the axle is busted. Still, I dare say it can be mended.”
“B-b-bet you Morris will never run it again, though,” said Fudge. “Guess it’s a good chance for someone to buy an auto cheap. Wish I could!”
“Why, William!” murmured Mrs. Merrick. “The idea!”
“Oh, a fellow doesn’t have to run it the way Morris did,” replied Fudge knowingly. “Tim Turner’s father has had a car for two years and he’s never had an accident yet.”
“Why don’t you see Mr. Brent?” suggested Gordon. “I dare say he will let you have it for almost nothing.”
Fudge thrust a hand in a pocket and gravely counted the change he drew out. “If he’ll let me have it for sixty-three cents I’ll take it,” he said.
Mr. Merrick pushed back his chair. “If I ever hear of either of you riding in an automobile without permission I’ll see that you get what you deserve,” he said grimly.
Fudge grinned. “You’d have to catch me first,” he said.
Gordon announced his intention of running over to see Dick and his father reminded him that Mr. Brent was going to call. Gordon replied evasively that he guessed Mr. Brent had changed his mind. He secretly hoped that he had. But when, after Mr. Merrick’s departure for his office, Gordon wheeled his bicycle down the steps he saw Mr. Brent coming along the street, his ivory-topped walking-stick thumping the pavement briskly. Escape was impossible and so Gordon leaned his wheel against the gate post and waited. Fudge melted into the background. Mr. Brent was about the only person Fudge was in awe of.
“Well, my boy,” greeted Mr. Brent, “you got off lucky.”
“Yes, sir. I’m awfully sorry about Morris. How is he?”
“Better than he deserves,” replied Mr. Brent with a snap of his jaws. “The doctor tells me it will be six weeks or more before he will be on his feet again. I suppose he was running the thing like mad, wasn’t he?”
“No, sir, he was going quite slowly. I don’t know just how it happened, Mr. Brent. I think there must have been a bad place in the road.”
“Of course it wasn’t his fault,” said the other dryly. “Well, it was a merciful thing he had you with him, my boy. His mother and I are very grateful to you, Merrick. You did a very plucky thing.”
“It wasn’t anything,” muttered Gordon, looking longingly at his wheel. Perhaps Mr. Brent saw that he was more than willing to avoid further expressions of gratitude, for he smiled and said:
“Well, that’s all. I wanted to see you and thank you. And as I told your father last night I’m ready and anxious to prove my gratitude to you. If there’s anything I can do, Merrick, you call on me.”
“Thank you, sir, but I guess there isn’t anything.”
“Perhaps some day there will be. When that time comes don’t forget what I say, Merrick. I wish you’d stop in at the house to-day or to-morrow and see Mrs. Brent. She wants to see you, my boy. And after Morris gets where he can talk to folks I’d like you to pay him a visit too. He doesn’t deserve it, but—well, I guess he’s in for a long, hard siege of it.”
“Yes, sir, I will. I—I was going to call to-day and ask after him, but now that I know how he is——”
“Better go just the same. My wife is anxious to tell you how she feels about it, Merrick. She can do it better than I can, too. Your father at home?”
“No, sir, he’s gone down town.”
“That’s where I ought to be. I waited around for the doctor to call. By the way, Merrick, there’s something you can do for me if you will. See this man Stacey and get him to take that automobile away from there. If I talk to him I’ll fly off the handle and tell him what I think of him. I don’t care what he does with the thing. He may burn it up or fix it up or anything he likes, but you tell him from me that he will never get another cent in payment. Will you do that?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll see him right away. I guess the car will be worth quite a good deal after it’s fixed up. I mean, sir, I don’t think Mr. Stacey will be out much.”
“I don’t care if he is,” replied Mr. Brent grimly. “Morris tells me he paid three hundred and fifty dollars and owes about two hundred more. He will never get it. You tell him so. If he wants to sue, let him. I wish he would!” Mr. Brent flicked angrily with his cane at a spray of leaves that peeked through the fence. “Well, I’ll be grateful if you’ll attend to that for me, Merrick. Good morning.”
After Mr. Brent had gone Gordon summoned Fudge with a whistle and that youth sauntered around from the back yard. “I guess Stacey will be mad,” he commented when Gordon had told him of the commission he had accepted. “I’ll go along with you. I like a scrap.”
“There isn’t going to be any scrap,” said Gordon. “I’ll just tell him what Mr. Brent says and come away.”
“All right. Wait till I get my wheel.”
Mr. Stacey’s place of business was on Oak Street, a smart shop with two big plate-glass windows behind which were displayed shining new automobiles. The proprietor was a small man under thirty who affected brilliant neckties and a jovial smile. But the smile faded when Gordon delivered his message. Mr. Stacey looked angry and ugly.
“Is that so?” he demanded truculently. “Old Jonathan Brent said that, did he? Well, you tell him I hold Morris’ note for two hundred and thirty-five dollars and I mean to collect it. Why, that car’s no good to me, son! What would I do with it? It isn’t mine, anyway. I sold it fairly and squarely. If he wants me to fetch it in and have it repaired I’ll do it and charge him only what it costs, but as to taking it back and calling quits—nothing doing, son. You tell him that, see?”
“It isn’t my affair,” replied Gordon calmly. “I’ve only told you what Mr. Brent asked me to. Why don’t you talk to him about it?”
“Because I haven’t any dealings with him. I sold that car to his son. If he wants to talk to me let him come here or call me up on the telephone. It’s nothing to me. I’ve got Morris Brent’s note——”
“It isn’t worth anything,” piped up Fudge, who found proceedings dull. “He isn’t old enough to give a note.”
“We’ll see whether he’s old enough,” was the answer. “I’ll go to court with it if it isn’t paid prompt. Get me?”
“Sure. But Jonathan Brent’s a bad man to fight, I guess,” said Fudge with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t want to do it.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t.” Mr. Stacey had to smile in spite of himself. “But I would—if I had to. I’m not in this business for my health, son. You tell Mr. Brent that if he wants me to haul that car in and repair it I’ll do it, but I won’t take it back.”
“All right,” answered Gordon. “Seems to me, though, you could fix it up for a few dollars and have a perfectly good car.”
“There’s no market here for second-hand cars,” replied the dealer shortly. “Tell you what I will do, though. I’ll fix that car up as good as new as cheap as it can be done and take it on sale. Maybe I’d find a buyer for it.”
“You mean you’ll let Morris off on the balance he owes?”
“No, sir, I don’t mean anything of the sort! I mean that he’s to pay what he owes when it comes due. If I can sell the machine he’ll get what it fetches, less my commission of twenty per cent. Understand?”
“Well, I’ll tell Mr. Brent what you say,” agreed Gordon. “But I don’t believe he will be willing to have it that way.”
“There’s no other way he can have it,” snarled Mr. Stacey. “He may have a heap of money and own this town, but he don’t own me! And he can’t cheat me out of what belongs to me, either! And you can tell him so! You tell him that if that two-thirty-five isn’t paid by the tenth of October I’ll sue for it.”
“Think of him suing Mr. Brent!” chuckled Fudge as they went out.
“I guess he’d have a pretty good case, though,” said Gordon. “Of course Morrisdoesowe that money to him.”
“Pshaw, Morris’ note isn’t worth a cent.”
“Maybe not; I don’t know about that; but he’s morally liable, isn’t he?”
“I guess so. Going to tell Mr. Brent now, Gordie?”
Gordon shook his head. “Not—not right away. I think I’ll see Dick first. I told him I’d be over last night.”
Fudge chuckled again. “You’re scared,” he said. “I’d be, too. Tell you what, Gordie; tell him over the ’phone, why don’t you?”
“I was thinking of letting you tell him, Fudge.”
“Me! Gee, I wouldn’t d-d-do it if he g-g-gave me the car!”
They found Dick on the porch. “Hail to the Hero!” he declaimed.
“Shut up!” said Gordon.
“Modesty is very becoming,” pursued Dick. “Hello, Fudge. I’m glad to see you in such distinguished society. Sit down, Gordie, and tell me about it. First, though, how’s Morris getting on? Lanny told me that he was pretty well broken to pieces.”
“He’s got a busted leg. Broken in two places. That’s all. He was unconscious when they brought him home, but he’s all right that way now. There isn’t much to tell. We were coming along that stretch where the white fence is and——”
Gordon went through with it again, Fudge interpolating details where Gordon failed to do full justice to the narrative. Afterward Gordon told about his visit to the automobile agent. “I don’t know what to do,” he ended. “I hate to tell Mr. Brent what that fellow said, Dick.”
“I don’t see why. It isn’t your fault. Besides, Mr. Brent is in the wrong, anyway. It’s Morris’ duty to pay what he owes. The dealer isn’t supposed to find out before he makes a sale whether the buyer’s relatives want him to own a car!”
“That’s all very well,” grumbled Gordon, “but he will be as mad as a March hare. I don’t see why he got me to do it for him, anyway.”
“Because you’ve made a hit with him,” laughed Dick. “I believe if you asked for it you could get a yearly pass over the trolley line. And speaking of trolleys reminds me that I’ve got to hustle over to the Point and get busy with young Mr. Townsend. What time is it?”
It was almost ten, and Dick seized his crutches and swung himself hurriedly into the house to reappear a minute later ready for the journey. Gordon and Fudge walked to the corner with him.
“How about another game with those fellows, Dick?” asked Gordon. “Are you going to see Billings to-day?”
“If you want me to. There’s time enough, though, I guess. We’ve got a game with Lesterville the day after to-morrow, as you perhaps recall.”
“I know, but I was thinking we might get the Pointers to come over and play us a week from Saturday. You might see what Billings thinks about it.”
“All right. If I can find him I’ll ask. By the way, he’ll have to find someone to take Morris’ place, won’t he? Guess, though, it won’t be hard to do. Here comes my car. See you later, fellows.”
Gordon and Fudge mounted their wheels again when the trolley had rolled off and pedaled leisurely along Sawyer Street.
“Too bad,” observed Fudge, “that Dick hasn’t got that automobile, Gordie. It would save him a lot of hard work, wouldn’t it? Say, someone may run off with it if it stays out there on the road much longer. Bet you half of it’s gone already!”
There was no reply from Gordon, who was riding slowly along with his gaze fixed intently on his handle-bar.
“You ought to have hidden it behind a tree or something before you came away, Gordie.”
“Eh? Hidden what?”
“The automobile, of course. Say, what did you think I was talking about, anyway?”
“I guess I didn’t hear you,” replied Gordon apologetically. “I—I was thinking.”
“Some day you’ll be doing that and get run down by a trolley car,” commented Fudge crushingly. “What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing much,” answered Gordon. “Want to play some tennis?”
“My racket’s busted. I can borrow Lanny’s, though. But I guess it’s too hot for tennis, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. I suppose, anyway, I’d ought to see Mr. Brent and tell him what that fellow said. There’s no use putting it off. Will you come with me?”
“Not to speak of! I’d do most anything for you, Gordie, but not that!”
“Well, ride down town with me. You needn’t go in.”
“That’s fair. And I’ll try to catch you when he drops you out the window. Come on.”
Mr. Brent was not in. The clerk, recognizing Gordon as the youth who had called previously and been admitted, explained, in answer to his look of perplexity, that Mr. Brent had been suddenly called to New York and would be gone at least overnight.
“He didn’t leave any message for me, did he?” asked the boy.
“No. He went away hurriedly. If it’s very important, you can reach him in New York by telephone this afternoon.”
Gordon departed, shaking his head. On the sidewalk he was presently joined by Fudge, who came out of Castle’s drug store, a few doors away, with a suspicious moistness about the mouth.
“You’re soon back,” he said. “Did he throw you out?”
“He’s away. Gone to New York. Now what’ll I do?”
“Do nothing. That’s easy. I should think you’d be tickled to death.”
“But that automobile can’t stay out there on the road forever, Fudge. Someone will steal it or pull it to pieces or something. I guess I’ll go over to the Brents’ and see what Louise thinks we’d better do.”
“Huh! What’s a girl know about it?” demanded Fudge. “Say, I had a soda. Want one?”
Gordon shook his head at first but finally allowed himself to be conducted to the front of the long white marble counter. A nice cold raspberry phosphate is an awfully good thing to soothe the mind, and Gordon felt more cheerful when he emerged. Fudge, who had followed his original root beer with a pineapple phosphate, confided to Gordon on the way home that he believed he’d apply at Castle’s for a job at the soda fountain.
“You see,” he explained, “I never had enough soda yet, and if I worked there I’ll bet I’d have a dandy time!”
Gordon postponed his call at Brentwood until after dinner and in the meanwhile presented his problem to his father. Mr. Merrick’s advice was caution. He thought Gordon had best let the automobile alone unless he obtained authority from Mr. Brent or perhaps Mrs. Brent to rescue it. When he reached Brentwood he asked for Louise and that young lady soon joined him. Morris, she reported, was very comfortable, considering the fact that his left leg was in a cast, but the doctor didn’t want him to see anyone quite yet. Gordon was secretly relieved, for he was afraid he wouldn’t know just how to behave or just what to say to an invalid. Louise led the way to the porch and then disappeared in search of her mother. When that lady appeared Gordon had to listen to many nice things and many expressions of gratitude, all of which embarrassed him horribly.
Mrs. Brent was a short, comfortably stout lady with soft, quiet manners and a voice to match. Gordon liked her immensely, but just now he found himself wishing that he might have escaped her. It was Louise who, noting his unhappiness, finally came to his rescue.
“There, mama, you’re embarrassing Gordon awfully. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be thanked any more. Besides, he didn’t come to make a social call; he’s here on important business. He told me so.”
Gordon explained the difficulty about the abandoned automobile and asked them what he had better do. “You see,” he pointed out, “Mr. Stacey won’t go after it unless someone tells him to. I was thinking that perhaps the best thing would be to have one of the liverymen bring it back and keep it until Mr. Brent decides about it.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” replied Mrs. Brent. “If Mr. Brent says he won’t pay the man the rest of the money, why, he won’t, and that’s all there is to that. But, of course, the automobile can’t stay on the road. I suppose, Louise, we oughtn’t to worry Morris with it just yet.”
“Goodness, no! What does it matter what happens to the horrid old thing, anyway, mama? Let someone bring it into town and keep it. I’m sure Morris will never want to see it again, even if papa is willing; and of course he won’t be.”
“Then if Gordon will see to it——”
“Yes’m, I will. I’ll get Stewart to go after it. I guess he can pull it if he puts a timber under the broken wheel. There wouldn’t be room in your stable for it, would there?”
“Yes, there would,” replied Louise. “There’s lots of room in the carriage-house. Tell Stewart to bring it here, Gordon.”
“All right. That would be the best thing, I guess. Stewart would probably charge storage for it if he kept it at his stable. I suppose he will want quite a little money to haul it in, too.”
“Tell him to charge it to papa, Gordon. Do you mind attending to it? It’s awfully nice of you to take so much trouble for us. You’ll begin to think we’re a pretty bothersome family, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind at all. I’m glad to, Louise. I wish you’d remember me to Morris, please. I—I’ll call and see him some time after he’s able to have visitors. Is there anything I can do for him, Mrs. Brent?”
“I think not, Gordon. You’ve done so much already——”
“I couldn’t have done any less,” murmured Gordon hurriedly, fearing that Mrs. Brent was about to express her gratitude again. “Folks—folks made more of it than it—really amounted to. I guess I’ll go and see Stewart. I hope Morris will get along finely and—and everything.”
“I suppose,” he said, after he had bade good-bye to Mrs. Brent, “you won’t get over to the Point for some time, Louise.”
“No, not for a month, probably. I don’t mind a great deal. The main thing is to get Morris well again. It’s going to be terribly dull and stupid for him, Gordon.”
“Fierce!” They had paused at the gate. “If there’s anything I can do, or anything any of us can do, Louise——”
“Not now, but you can do a lot later,” she replied smilingly. “You can come and see him and cheer him up in a day or two. Will you?”
“Of course! Glad to! And I’ll bring the other fellows, too.”
“I guess there aren’t very many others, are there?”
“Many others?” he asked.
“Many others who would care to come, I mean. Morris doesn’t seem to have very many boy friends, does he?”
“Why, I don’t know. I guess every fellow likes Morris——”
“Fibber! Never mind, though. You come when you can, Gordon. Good-bye. I’ll tell Ryan to get a place ready for the automobile.”
His way to Stewart’s stable led him past Lanny’s house and he slowed down as he reached the gate and whistled. Lanny appeared from around the house with a bicycle chain dangling in his hand.
“Come on over to Stewart’s stable with me,” commanded Gordon.
“Can’t.” Lanny exhibited the chain. “Chain’s busted. I’ve been trying to fix it, but I think I’ll have to take it to the shop.”
“Bring it along, then, and we’ll walk. I’ll stick my wheel back of the fence here. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
“All right. Wait till I get some of this dirt off my hands. It won’t take a minute.” As a matter of fact, it took five, and Gordon was established comfortably on the horse-block in front of the gate when Lanny returned. Together they went on along B Street and turned into River Street, talking very earnestly all the way and more than once pausing stock-still on the sidewalk. Whatever the subject of conversation was, it was easy to see that Lanny was both interested and enthusiastic, and at last, just before their halting progress landed them outside the livery stable, Lanny clapped a hand on Gordon’s shoulder.
“It’s a peach of a scheme!” he declared. “Does he know anything about it?”
Gordon shook his head. “I just thought of it awhile ago, after I’d seen him. I don’t think we’d better say anything to him about it, Lanny, because he’d probably refuse.”
“That’s so. The best way is to go ahead and do it—and tell him afterward.” Lanny chuckled. “The other fellows will have to know, though.”
“Yes, but we’ll make them promise not to talk. Gee, if I don’t hurry that automobile will stay out another night, I guess!”
But fortunately Mr. Stewart had a truck and horses that could be at once dispatched on the errand and the two boys waited while the expedition made ready. Mr. Stewart himself, a good-natured little red-faced Scotchman, proposed to accompany the truck and personally superintend the project. Afterward Gordon went with Lanny to the bicycle repair shop and waited while a new link was put in the broken chain. Later in the afternoon they mounted their wheels and, with Fudge, who had joined them meanwhile, rode over to the back entrance of Brentwood and awaited the arrival of the automobile. It came about half-past five and was rolled into a corner of the big carriage-house. Then Gordon and Lanny and Fudge took stock of injuries. One wheel was smashed and the front axle was bent. It didn’t require an expert to determine that much. For the rest, barring a broken lantern and bent fenders and a dent in the radiator, the car was as good as new so far as they could see.
“I wish I knew enough about cars to try it and see if the engine is all right,” said Gordon. “But I don’t see how anything can be wrong there, do you?”
“No, I guess the wheels will go around same as before,” said Lanny. “How much do you suppose it will cost to fix it up?”
Gordon shook his head. “Maybe thirty dollars,” he said finally. “What do you think?”
“Bet it will be nearer a hundred,” said Fudge. “Repairs on automobiles cost like anything.”
“Fudge knows,” remarked Lanny. “His repair bills are something frightful, aren’t they, Fudge? Why, he was saying just the other day, Gordie, that he had half a mind to sell two or three of his cars!”
“Th-that’s all right,” sputtered Fudge. “I’ve heard Mr. T-T-Turner say th-th-that——”
“Of course you have,” agreed Gordon soothingly. “By the way, Lanny, heard the latest? Fudge is going to get a job with Castle at the soda fountain.”
“That s-s-s-s-so?” laughed Lanny.
“Yes. Can’t you see Fudge, with a white apron on, leaning across the counter asking, ‘What kind of s-s-s-s-soda will you have, Miss?’”
“‘S-s-s-sarsparilla, please,’” responded Lanny.
“‘S-S-So s-s-s-sorry, but we’re all out of s-s-s-sarsparilla. We’ve got s-s-s-some nice ch-ch-ch-ch-chocolate, though.’”
“Oh, dry up,” said Fudge, with a grin. “If you fellows come around there I’ll p-p-poison you!”
“Well, come on, fellows, it’s supper time,” said Lanny. “Don’t you take that car out and go ‘joy riding,’ Mr. Ryan.”
“Huh!” growled the Brent coachman, who had viewed the proceedings with deep pessimism. “I wouldn’t touch the thing for a hundred dollars. How do I know it won’t be blowin’ me up some fine night?”
“It won’t if you treat it kindly,” Fudge assured him. “Give it plenty of oats and hay, Mr. Ryan, and a drink of gasoline now and then and it’ll be as quiet as a lamb.”
They left the coachman muttering over the harness he was cleaning and got on their wheels. “Who will you get to look at it?” asked Lanny as they rolled homeward.
“I don’t know. Not Stacey, anyway. Of course I’ll have to talk with Morris first, and Mr. Brent too, I guess. And maybe it won’t come to anything.”
“What won’t?” asked Fudge suspiciously.
“Never you mind, son. It’s something that doesn’t concern little boys.”
“Go on and tell me,” begged Fudge. “Is it a secret?”
“It wouldn’t be if you knew it,” answered Gordon unkindly.
“I’d like to know when I ever blabbed anything,” exclaimed Fudge indignantly. “Didn’t I know all about Charlie Matthews a whole week before anyone else did? And didn’t I——”
“Well, we may tell you some time,” teased Gordon. “What do you think, Lanny?”
“I guess so. It would cost money to advertise it in the paper, and so——”
“Oh, you make me tired,” growled Fudge. “I don’t want to know it anyway. ’Tain’t anything, I’ll bet!”
“Not a thing, Fudge,” agreed Lanny.
“Then what you so—so mysterious about?” Fudge demanded.
“To arouse your curiosity, Fudge. Good-night, Gordie. Maybe you’d better tell him before he busts up. Good-night, Fudge. Say, we play Lesterville Saturday, don’t we?”
“You bet! And don’t forget practice again to-morrow. We want to beat those fellows.”
“Well, we’ve got a perfect record so far,” laughed Lanny. “Our percentage is one thousand. Played one, won one, lost none. Are the Pointers going to play us again?”
“Sure! I told Dick to see Caspar Billings to-day if he had a chance and see if they’d come over here a week from Saturday.”
“That’s good. Bet you, though, they lick us next time. So long.”
Lanny sped homeward and Gordon and Fudge parted midway between their gates. “You come over after supper, Fudge, and I’ll tell you what that is we were talking about.”
“Thanks, but I guess I don’t care to know,” replied Fudge a trifle haughtily. Gordon laughed.
“Don’t be a chump. We were only fooling. All the fellows are going to know about it, but I’ll tell you first if you’ll come over.”
“You told Lanny first,” Fudge objected doubtfully. “But—I’ll come.”
Two days later the Clearfield Baseball Club met at the railroad station shortly after dinner time and boarded the train for Lesterville. Only Harry Bryan was missing. A press of business had developed at the grocery store and Mr. Bryan had, to Harry’s sorrow, set his foot down on a Saturday holiday. A small youth named Tim Turner, a youthful crony of Fudge’s, was drafted to play in right field and Jack Tappen was moved to second in Harry’s place.
None of the fellows was very hopeful of beating Lesterville, for the neighboring mill town had maintained for several years a nine which averaged fully two years older than Clearfield. But, as Dick pointed out, the game would be fine practice, even if they were beaten. “We really need,” said Dick, “to run up against a spanking good nine and see how the game is played.”
Some of the fellows hooted at that, but Dick only smiled. “That’s all right,” he replied. “I’ll wager that you’ll learn one or two tricks to-day worth knowing.”
“What’s their pitcher like?” inquired Fudge anxiously.
“They have two of them, Fudge, and they’re both pretty good.”
“They won’t be hard for Fudge,” said Pete Robey. “Fudge will eat ’em alive!”
“Bet you I make as many hits as you do,” responded Fudge eagerly. “Come on, now! Wh-wh-what do you say?”
But Pete only grinned and shook his head. You couldn’t start an argument with Pete.
On the way to Lesterville Dick exhibited a list of games which he had already arranged. Rutter’s Point was to play a return contest on the High School field a week from to-day, Logan was to visit Clearfield the following Wednesday and Corwin was to come a week later. “We have next Wednesday open,” explained Dick, “and a week from Saturday. I don’t believe we’ll be able to find a game for Wednesday, but I’ve written Shirley at Springdale to get up a team to play us that Saturday. I’ve told him we’d go over there.”
“Fine!” exclaimed Tom Haley. “I’d love to have another chance at those fellows!”
“Well, I suppose it won’t be quite the same team that we played last month,” said Dick. “I dare say some of their fellows have gone away for the summer. But that gives us three games anyhow, and perhaps four. And I heard of a team over at Locust Valley which may like to play us.”
“All those games are at home, too,” reflected Lanny. “How about trying that scheme to charge admission, Dick?”
“No harm in trying it,” returned the manager thoughtfully. “Whether it will go or not we’ll have to see. We could get a few notices printed and stick them around in the windows down town. And I guess the paper will announce the games if we ask.”
“A lot of folks will pay a quarter to see a good game,” said Jack Tappen.
“Would you?” challenged Gordon.
“Sure,” laughed Jack, “if I had the quarter!”
“Not if he could find a crack in the fence,” said Fudge.
“Look here,” announced Will Scott, “someone said they were surveying the athletic field, Dick. Suppose they start to work there in a day or two. We couldn’t play those games, could we?”
“In that case we’ll play the teams on their own grounds.”
“It makes it pretty expensive,” objected Way. “I’m nearly broke now. If I lose my return ticket someone will have to pay my fare back.”
“Oh, the walking’s good,” replied Tom carelessly.
“Another thing,” said Lanny. “If we play away from home we can’t make any money.”
At that most of the fellows observed each other with questioning and somewhat dismayed glances. Dick, studying his list, replied:
“That doesn’t make much difference, does it? None of those places are far away and it won’t break us to pay trolley fares. After all, we don’t need the money as far as I see.”
“Don’t we!” exploded Jack. “We need it like anything!”
Curtis Wayland kicked him on the ankle and Jack subsided.
“What for?” asked Dick, mildly surprised. “We’ve got four balls that haven’t been used and three that are still good. We’ve got bats and gloves and a mask and about everything else. I thought we were in this for the fun of it. What do we want to make money for?”
But Jack only mumbled, while the others regarded him with threatening looks. Will Scott changed the subject gracefully.
“You fellows don’t want to forget that there’s a meeting to-night about the new field. You’d better all show up. We want to get as many there as possible.”
“Thought it was just a meeting of the committee,” said Gordon.
“No, it’s public. We want to find out what the fellows think about it before we go ahead and do anything.”
“I don’t see that there’s more than one thing we can think about it,” observed Tom. “The old field’s going and we’ve got to have another. That’s dead simple.”
“Yes, but we may have to rent ground,” replied Way. “And we want to know how far out of town fellows are willing to go. And how much we ought to pay.”
“And whether to get a place on the town side or across the river. There’s a field over toward the Point, right near the car line, that might do.”
“That’s a long way from school, though,” objected Fudge.
“Any place we find is going to be a long way,” replied Will. “There isn’t any place in town big enough to play baseball on. As a matter of fact, the whole thing is a good deal of a puzzle. It’s going to cost us a lot of money, any way you look at it. We’ve got to have a new track and we’ve got to fence the field in and move the grandstand to it. It’s going to cost like sixty. I wish old man Brent had to make us a present of the old field or lose his money.”
“Stingy old codger,” muttered Fudge.
“There’s no sense in blaming Mr. Brent, Fudge,” said Dick. “We ought to be grateful to him for letting us have the field as long as he has. What we’ll have to do is get subscriptions from the graduates and anyone else we can. The next station is ours, fellows. Get your bags together.”
Lesterville was an unlovely town filled with smoking chimneys and the busy whirr of looms. A muddy canal intersected it and on either side immense brick mill buildings ran for the better part of a mile. But the boys didn’t tarry long in the town. A green trolley car bore them swiftly away from the belching chimneys and the hot, weary looking streets and out to the edge of the country. The ball ground was surrounded by a sagging fence and was ridiculously small. A long hit down the right or left foul line was certain to go over the fence, while even a good clout into center was likely to disappear through some hole in the rotting boards. A few unsheltered seats were clustered close to the first base line and these were already occupied when the Clearfield team arrived. The dressing-room was a ten-foot square space, unroofed, thrown together behind the stand. As the fellows changed into their togs the spectators on the top row of seats looked down upon them and offered sarcastic advice and rude comments. Fudge in particular aroused their humor and he was pestered so that he got his playing shirt on wrong side to.
The Lesterville nine was a pretty husky aggregation. Most of them were mill employees and their average age must have been fully eighteen. The audience was particularly partisan and offensive, and Dick, settling himself on the visitors’ bench in the broiling sun and opening his score-book, reflected that it was perhaps well that there was no likelihood of Clearfield going home with the ball. He fancied that the hundred or so local sympathizers would make it quite uncomfortable for the visiting team if it won!
There’s no necessity of following Clearfield’s fortunes that afternoon in detail. The contest was fairly featureless up to the eighth inning. The visitors could do nothing with Moriarity, the Lesterville pitcher, only three hits, one of them distinctly scratchy, accruing to their score and bringing in but one tally. On the other hand the home team showed itself very capable with the stick and Tom Haley’s best offerings were not puzzling after the second inning.
A slight attack of stage-fright in that round on the part of Clearfield aided the home players. Almost every member of the visitors’ infield managed to make an error, while Tom’s wild throw to first in the third allowed Lesterville to add two runs to her already swelling score. When the eighth inning began Lesterville had nine runs to Clearfield’s one, and there seemed no reason to suppose that the final tally would be any more complimentary to Clearfield.
Dick had predicted that his charges would learn some new tricks and his prediction was verified. Clearfield was the innocent victim of several plays quite outside her ken. Unfortunately, most of them were the sort she didn’t care to emulate. For instance, when Curtis Wayland tried to steal second on Jack Tappen’s lucky grounder into short right he failed for the simple reason that second baseman and shortstop occupied the base line and Way had to crawl around them to touch the bag. Unfortunately, by that time right fielder had sped the ball to shortstop, and the umpire, a young gentleman whose impartiality had all along been in grave doubt, ruled Way out. Of course Clearfield protested. Way lost his head and threatened bodily injury to the second baseman, who topped him by six inches, and some dozen or so Lesterville youths flocked to the scene. Gordon, however, lugged Way, protesting bitterly, from the field and then quietly asked the umpire to reverse his decision. But the umpire wouldn’t even listen and there was nothing for the visitors to do but swallow their indignation and accept the ruling. Again, earlier in the contest, the Lesterville pitcher objected to having a new ball thrown to him after Lanny had fouled a soiled one into the street, and turning, threw the new one far into center field. The center fielder refused to go after it and the umpire yielded, throwing out another old ball.
Still, Lesterville did show some playing that the visitors opened their eyes at. Such base-running Gordon’s team had never witnessed. One red-headed youth named Myers never failed to steal second yards ahead of the ball and on one occasion stole all the way around the bases, reaching home on Tom’s wind-up and subsequent hurried and wild pitch. The Lesterville fellows were born ball players and had graduated from the back lots outside the factories. They knew every trick of the game and used them all.
When Clearfield went to bat in the eighth it was Jack’s turn with the stick and Jack connected with a straight one and slammed it far out into left field, where it banged against the fence and rolled away from the fielder while Jack reached second with time to spare. Tim Turner fanned, Pete Robey worked a pass and Lanny hit into what should have been an easy double. But the Lesterville second baseman fumbled the ball and the bases were full. Unfortunately, with one out, it was Fudge’s turn at bat and Tom Haley followed Fudge. It looked to the visitors on the bench very much like another shut-out. But Fudge, perhaps still smarting under the gibes that had been thrown at him all the afternoon, surprised himself and everyone else by hitting cleanly between first and second. Two runs came in, Lanny reached third and Fudge stood panting on first. Tom Haley went out on strikes and Will Scott came to bat. Fudge stole without challenge. Will fouled off three and had two balls to his credit. Then something that looked good came his way and he swung at it mightily. The ball streaked far out into center field and the bases emptied. Will got to second safely, heard the frantic cries of the coachers and sprinted for third. Then in came the ball to shortstop, and that youth turned quickly and pegged to third. The sphere went fully four feet above third baseman’s head and Will legged it home while his team-mates on the bench shouted and cavorted and Dick, being unable to jump around, beat the ground with a crutch!
Nine to seven looked a heap better than nine to one, and there was still but one man out. Clearfield had ecstatic visions of a victory. But the Lesterville pitcher settled down and disposed of Gordon with five pitched balls and made Way pop up an easy fly to right fielder, and the eighth inning was over for the visitors.
Lesterville came back in her half with vigor and poor Tom was kept dodging liners that soon filled the bases. But the home team had a streak of bad luck in that inning. The runner from third was struck by a streaking liner that was meant for left field, and, fortunately for the opponents, the ball, after colliding sharply with the base-runner’s leg, rolled toward the pitcher’s box and Tom scooped it up and got it to first ahead of the batsman, who, counting on a two-base hit, had made a slow start. Lesterville resented her ill-fortune and, with two gone, the next batsman sent a long fly into left field that barely escaped going over the fence and had Way chasing around like a chicken with its head off while two tallies were added to Lesterville’s nine. A moment later Tom secured his fifth strike-out of the contest and the teams changed sides.
There was still a chance to win, declared Dick, and Jack was instructed to lay down a bunt along third base line. Jack followed instructions deftly and to the letter. The ball trickled a scant ten feet and, although third baseman came in for it and both catcher and pitcher did their best, Jack was easily safe. Young Turner, instructed to sacrifice Jack to second, did his best but struck out miserably for the fourth time. Pete got the signal for a hit-and-run play and swung at the third ball. He missed it, but the Lesterville catcher, who so far had been pegging the ball to second with deadly aim, threw low and before the shortstop had secured the ball Jack was sprawled in the dust with one foot on the bag.
Pete, with two strikes against him, was wary. Twice he spoiled good ones by fouling and then he was caught napping and retired to the bench with trailing bat. With two down the game looked to be over. But Lanny evidently thought otherwise, for he hit the first delivery squarely on the nose and Jack leaped away for third. The ball sped high toward center and although second baseman made a gallant attempt to get it, it went over his head. Jack turned third and streaked for the plate. The center fielder, however, had come in fast and now the ball was flying to the catcher. Lanny sped to second on the throw-in. Ten feet away from the home plate Jack hurled himself feet-foremost through a cloud of dust, rolled over the base and out of the way just as the ball settled into the catcher’s mitt. The umpire spread his hands wide to signify that the runner was safe, but the catcher turned fiercely on him.
“He never touched it!” he bawled. “Look at where he went!” He indicated a mark far back of the plate.
“Who didn’t touch it?” demanded Jack, scandalized and indignant. “I rolled over it!”
Players ran up excitedly. The umpire hesitated, glanced from the belligerent catcher to the astounded Jack, shook his head and said: “He’s out!”
“What!” shrieked Jack.
“Sure you’re out,” said the pitcher with a grin. “You didn’t go anywhere near the plate. Beat it, kid!”
Gordon grabbed Jack’s arm and hustled him toward the bench, pursued by the laughter of the Lesterville players and the gibes of the spectators, crowding off the stand. At second Lanny got to his feet and tramped morosely in to the bench.
“I was all over the plate!” Jack was declaring fiercely. “He’s a robber!”
“Of course you were,” agreed Gordon soothingly. “He knows it, but he’s scared of the bunch. Never mind, it’s all in the day’s work, Jack.”
“I tell you I was safe!” sputtered Jack. “What do you want to quit for? Why don’t you make them play it out?”
“No good, Jack. Shut up and change your things. We’ve got to hustle for the train.”
Just then the Lesterville captain walked up to Gordon. “Say,” he said, “we’ll play you fellows again some time if you like. You put up a good game, all right, Merrick.”
“Thanks, I dare say we can get together again,” replied Gordon not overly enthusiastic. “I’ll let you know.”
“Next time we’ll have a decent umpire,” cried Jack, pausing on his way to the dressing shed. “That man’s a thief!”
“Aw, don’t be a baby,” growled the opposing captain. “You were out all right enough. I saw the play, didn’t I?”
“I don’t care whether you did or not. I was perfectly safe. I crossed the plate before the ball ever got to him!”
“What if you did, kid? You didn’t touch it. That ump is all right. The trouble is you can’t take a beating. Chase yourself.”
Jack was fighting mad then and pushed his way back, but Gordon and some of the others seized him, while the stragglers from the audience clustered around, eager for trouble.
“Jack, you get out of here,” directed Dick sternly.
“Like fun I will! That big chump can’t tell me——”
“Just one more word and you’ll be suspended!” Dick spoke very quietly. Jack stared open-mouthed, his gaze traveling from the derisive face of the Lesterville captain to the stern countenance of the Clearfield manager. Gordon and Lanny still held him firmly. He swallowed hard, rewarded Dick with a baleful glare and said:
“Go ahead and suspend! You’re a peach of a manager, anyhow, to stand around and let those robbers swipe the game on us! You——”
But Gordon and Lanny hustled him promptly through the throng at that, the crowd dissolved and the field emptied. In spite of Jack’s protest the game was recorded: Lesterville, 11; Clearfield, 7.
They talked it over on the way back in the train and the consensus of Clearfield opinion was that, taking into consideration the indisputable fact that the umpire had been against them all through the game, the final score was nothing to be ashamed of. Only Jack failed to subscribe with any enthusiasm to that verdict. Jack frankly sulked.
Dick called Gordon over to his seat after the discussion had waned and the fellows had quieted down. “Who,” he asked, moving his crutches to make room for Gordon, “can we get to take Jack’s place?”
“To take Jack’s place?” exclaimed Gordon. “Why, what’s the matter with Jack?”
“I thought you understood that he was suspended,” replied Dick calmly. “I certainly gave him a fair warning.”
“But—but—” blurted Gordon in bewilderment, “you can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Gordon stared. Finally, “Are you in earnest?” he asked.
“Of course. I’m manager of this team. And while I’m manager the fellows have got to behave. Jack was all wrong. He had no business talking like that. In the first place, it wasn’t up to him to protest the decision. In the next place he might have got us into a nasty row with those toughs over there. They were dying for a scrap all along. If they had started anything we’d have got pretty well mussed up, Gordie.”
Gordon nodded. “I know,” he said gloomily, “but—Jack was excited, Dick. And itwasa robbery. You can’t blame him for getting a bit hot about it.”
“I don’t. I blame him for showing it, or, at least, proclaiming it. If I’m manager, I’m going to manage. If I can’t manage, I’m not manager. Which is it?”
“Why, you’re manager, of course, Dick. But—Jack won’t like being suspended. In fact, he will probably get mad and quit altogether.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Dick. “But that’s his look-out. He’s suspended for a week—if I’m manager.”
“All right,” muttered Gordon. “Of course, you realize that leaves us in a hole next Saturday, Dick. Jack’s one of our best players, and I don’t know where we’ll find anyone to take his place.”
“Neither do I yet. But we’ve got a whole week to find someone. He’d be suspended, though, if he was the last player on the team.”
“Are you going to tell him?” asked Gordon uneasily. Dick smiled.
“Evidently you don’t care to?”
“I surely don’t.”
“Yes, I’ll tell him. He ought to know it, though, because I usually mean what I say. You needn’t mention it to anyone to-day. I’ll have a talk with him to-morrow, maybe.”
“He’ll quit flat-footed,” mourned Gordon. Dick smiled again.
“I don’t believe so. I think I know Jack a little better than you do, Gordie.”
The next afternoon, an hour or so after dinner, Dick called Gordon on the telephone. “Can you come around here for a few minutes?” he asked.
“Yes, I was just starting, Dick. Anything up?”
“Not much. I wanted to talk to you about a chap for Jack’s place.”
“Oh! You—you haven’t changed your mind about that, then?”
“No.” Dick’s voice sounded amused.
“Well——” Gordon frowned at the telephone instrument. “I’ll be over right away, Dick.”
Dick was on the porch, in spite of the fact that it was raining briskly, and his sister, Grace, was with him. Grace was thirteen and a very pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes. She was enveloped in a long apron and had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and explained to Gordon that she was in the middle of washing up the dinner dishes.
“Dick called me out to read me a perfectly ridiculous story in the paper,” she laughed. “Read to Gordon, Dick, and see if he thinks it funny.”
Dick laughed. “Grace was born without a sense of humor, Gordie, and I find I can’t educate her.”
“Sense of humor!” scoffed Grace. “That story isn’t the least bit funny. I’ll leave it to Gordon.” She jumped up. “I must finish those dishes.”
“What’s the story?” asked Gordon, seating himself well away from the dripping vines.
“The story? Oh, never mind that! Jack’s just been here.”
“He has? Well—what—how did he take it?” asked Gordon anxiously.
Dick gravely regarded the point of one shoe. “Well, I’ll tell you the last thing he said as he went off, Gordie. He said: ‘Tell Gordon I know a fellow named Shores who works in the plating factory. He’s a pretty good ball player. If you like, I’ll talk to him and see if he will play for us Saturday.’”
Gordon viewed his friend with admiration, and shook his head helplessly. “I don’t see how you manage folks the way you do, Dick,” he said.
“That comes of being manager,” laughed Dick.
“If I’d told Jack he was suspended for a week he’d have sassed me and gone off in a huff and never played again!”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t! Jack’s a good, sensible chap. He’s a little bit stuck on himself, but that doesn’t matter, and he will get over it some time. I just told him that he was wrong, and made him see it. And I convinced him without much trouble that it was for the good of the team that he should sit on the bench for a week. Of course, he was a bit huffed at first, but he got over that. In fact, Gordie, I think he’s rather proud of being suspended. It sounds sort of professional and big-leaguish!”
“You could convince a fellow it was a real pleasure to have his head cut off!” said Gordon. “I wish I had your—your diplomacy.”
“That’s a big word for it, Gordie. Last night’s meeting was rather a fizzle, wasn’t it?”
Gordon nodded gloomily. “I don’t see how we’re going to get a field in time for football practice if we don’t do more than we did last night.”
“Too much talk,” agreed Dick. “Somebody ought to just go ahead and find a field and then make a report on it. As for paying a hundred and twenty-five dollars a year rent for one, why, that’s poppycock. We couldn’t afford it, especially as we’ll have to build a running track before next Spring.”
“Way suggested that we could transfer next Spring’s meet to Springdale. That would give us nearly two years to fix up a track.”
“Not a bad idea. Most of the fellows seemed to fancy that place across the river beyond the carpet mills. It would be fairly near home, but it’s a mean part of town.”
“Punk! If we have to find a new place—and I suppose we must—I’m for going out toward the Point. Fellows seem to think it’s too far out there, but you can jump on the trolley and get there in no time. They’d put a stop opposite the field for us if we asked.”
“Yes, I should think Mr. Brent would do that much for us since he’s taking our field away,” agreed Dick. “By the way, seen Morris yet?”
“No; I thought I’d go over this afternoon and see how he is. Maybe he’s receiving callers by this time. Dick, do you know anything about running an automobile?”
Dick stared. Then he laughed. “Well, hardly, Gordie! How should I?”
“Well, of course you’ve never run one, but you know such a raft of stuff fellows usually don’t know that——”
“You thought I’d made a study of autos? No, I’m afraid I can’t advise you much, Gordie. Thinking of buying one?”
“N-no, not exactly.”
“Going to rent it, then?”
“No, you idiot. I—I only wondered. I dare say you could drive an automobile finely, though. Your arms are all right and you told me once that you thought of getting one of those velocipede chairs that you work with your feet.”
“I see what you’re driving at. Old Man Brent has commissioned you to sell that car of Morris’. Is that it?”
Gordon looked startled, but shook his head. “No, he hasn’t. I dare say, though, anyone could buy it pretty cheap,” he remarked carelessly.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t afford it, Gordie,” Dick laughed. “You’ll have to find another buyer.”
“I know. I was just wondering if youcouldrun an auto if you had one.”
“Why, I suppose so. I’ve got plenty of strength in my legs when I’m sitting down, you know, and so far my arms are still working. But I don’t believe I’ll ever have a chance to try, Gordie. At least, not unless you get an auto and let me run it for you. How would I do as a chauffeur?”
“I’ll bet you could run an auto to the King’s taste, Dick! You do most everything better than the rest of us.”
“You mean I think I could! Well, I’m not stuck-up about my automobile driving, Gordie. That’s one thing I’m not conceited about. Going now?”
“Yes, I guess I’d better run over to Morris’. I told his sister I’d look in pretty soon. When he can see folks, Dick, will you go over with me some time?”
“Of course. Glad to. Let me know when you want to go.”
“Really?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I thought—you seemed sort of down on Mr. Brent and maybe you wouldn’t want to go to his house.”
“Oh, I’m not as down on him as all that,” laughed Dick. “And, anyhow, his house never did anything to me.” He paused and added soberly: “For that matter, Gordie, I don’t want you to think that I am really sore against Mr. Brent. Sometimes I get sort of peeved about that affair of dad’s, but maybe, after all, it was more his fault than Mr. Brent’s. Anyway, I’ve never accused Jonathan Brent of being dishonest. I don’t think he is. Give my regards to Morris if you see him, and tell him I’ll come over and call some day if he doesn’t mind. See you to-morrow afternoon, Gordie. We’ve got to practice hard this week. And I’ll tell Jack to look up his friend in the plating works.”