Chapter 17

HAROLD MAKES A PROMISE

The Clearfield Reporter was quite enthusiastic over the game in its Monday’s issue. There had been, it declared, for some time a demand for a baseball team to represent the city, a demand which had now been satisfied in the recent formation of the club which had given such a good account of itself on Saturday. It was to be hoped that the organization would prosper and receive the support of the many lovers of clean sport residing in the town. The Reporter gave the game almost play by play, indulging in a wealth of baseball slang and metaphor worthy of a metropolitan journal. It was quite evident that the writer had thoroughly enjoyed his task. He dealt out praise lavishly and was especially complimentary to the Rutter’s Point pitcher, who, it seemed, had struck out ten batsmen besides fielding his position perfectly. Incidentally the Reporter provided the information that the Clearfield players had failed to obtain.

“Melville Mason,” said the paper, “gives every promise of becoming a top-notch twirler, and there is no doubt a berth awaiting him in one of the big league teams if he wants it. He has been playing ball for six years, and last season was second-choice pitcher on the Erskine College team. He is nineteen years of age. The Rutter’s Point team is to be congratulated on securing the services of so accomplished a player. We are assured by Captain Billings that Mr. Mason receives no salary.” (“Bet you he’s having his expenses paid, though,” commented Gordon, when he and Dick read the Reporter that morning.) “We trust,” concluded the Reporter, “that a third and determining game will be arranged between Saturday’s adversaries and that it will be played on the local grounds, where, doubtless, a large audience will be on hand to enjoy it.”

“That isn’t a bad idea,” said Lanny. “We took in forty-three dollars Saturday. I dare say we could do even better the next time. And I don’t believe but what the Pointers would be willing to play here if they got their twenty-five per cent. again.”

“We might offer them a third of the receipts,” suggested Gordon.

Dick looked puzzled. “You fellows are frightfully keen on the financial end of it, seems to me,” he said. “What’s the idea, Lanny? What are we going to do with the money we get, anyway? We can’t buy balls with all of it.”

“Well, there’s no harm in having it,” replied Lanny evasively. “You never know when you’ll need money.”

“I know when I need it,” said Dick grimly. “That’s most of the time.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad scheme to sound Billings,” said Gordon. “You might tell him we’d like to play a deciding game, and that—er—that as Clearfield is interested in the series it would perhaps be best to play here. If Billings kicked, you could offer him a third. I dare say we’d get a couple of hundred people easily for the next game, and that would give the Point something like seventeen dollars.”

“I don’t believe they’re as much on the make as you Shylocks,” objected Dick. “Still, I’ll talk it over with him some day. Perhaps, though, it would be better to wait and see if they won’t propose the game themselves. Then we’d be in a better position to make conditions.”

“Isn’t he the nifty old diplomat?” asked Lanny admiringly.

“A regular fox,” agreed Gordon. “Work it your own way, Dick.”

“We can’t play them for about three weeks, anyway,” said Dick. “We’re filled up with games until the third of September. I got a letter from Tyson over in Springdale this morning. He says they’ll play us there a week from next Saturday if we’ll come over. What do you say?”

“I say yes, by all means,” replied Gordon, with enthusiasm. “And I guess we’re all eager to have another try at those chaps after what they did to us in June.”

“Well, it won’t be quite the same team, Tyson says, and they’re calling themselves the Independents.”

“We’ll call them down,” laughed Lanny. “We play Logan the day after to-morrow, don’t we?”

“Yes, and that reminds me that I must see to getting notices printed and sent around. I wish you’d do that, Gordon. I’ve got to go out to the Point in half an hour. I’ll write out the copy and all you’ll have to do is to take it down to the printers. They’ll strike them right off and distribute them for us this afternoon.”

“All right. I’ll go there first thing. I’m going to see Morris for a few minutes this morning. Any little message I can take from you, Dick?”

“Message? No, not that I know of. Tell him I hope he will hurry up and get well again.”

“Of course, but—ah!—is there any other member of the family---”

“Oh, you run away!” laughed Dick.

If Dick expected to find a chastened and much reformed pupil at the Point that Monday morning, he was doomed to disappointment. He gathered from a remark that the boy let fall that Mrs. Townsend had kept her promise to speak to him, but Dick doubted if she had accomplished much. And yet there was improvement visible. Harold had actually mastered two of the four lessons and Dick gathered some encouragement.

“I guess we won’t go on with this,” he said toward the end of the period. “You haven’t studied it, Harold. We’ll take it over to-morrow. How did you like the game Saturday?”

“Oh, pretty well! You fellows going to play us again?”

“Maybe, some day. We play Logan Wednesday. Do you care to come over and see it? We might have another lesson in scoring.”

“I guess so. We’re going to play a team from Bay Harbor on Saturday. Say, Loring says if I’ll learn to score, I can be official scorer for the team. I guess I’ll do it.”

“Fine! Then you come over Wednesday, and we’ll try it again. You did very well the other day.”

“Did I really? Gee, but there’s a lot to put down, isn’t there? Caspar’s got six games arranged for the team. Loring says if I’m scorer they’ll take me with them when they go away to play.”

That was really no news to Dick, since it was at his suggestion that Loring had made the offer. But he pretended to be surprised and interested, and said all he could to encourage Harold to learn to score. And Harold became so enthusiastic that he walked over to the trolley car with Dick, talking volubly all the way.

“I wish you’d make a real try at those lessons to-day, Harold,” Dick said, at parting. “Won’t you?”

Harold grinned noncommittingly.

But the next morning he went through with flying colors, and when Dick complimented him he laughed. “Gee, I can get that stuff all right if I want to,” he said carelessly. “It’s easy.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

“Aw, what’s the use? I’d rather play around, anyway.”

“Don’t you want to go to Rifle Point, Harold?”

“I guess so. I don’t care much. If I do, Loring will be always bossing me about. I’d rather go somewhere else, I guess.”

“Loring’s being there will make things easier for you,” said Dick. “I fancy he’s pretty well liked and the fellows will be nice to you on his account. But I’ll tell you one thing plainly, Harold: You won’t get to Rifle Point this Fall.”

Harold opened his eyes widely. “I won’t?” he exclaimed.

“Certainly not. And you won’t get there next Fall unless you buckle down and learn something.”

“Loring said I could!”

“Loring probably thought you were more advanced than you are, then,” replied Dick. “I’m sorry, Harold; but facts are facts.”

“Then what’ll I do this Winter?” asked the boy lugubriously.

“How about another year where you were?”

“I won’t! I hate that place! I won’t go back there, no matter what anyone says!”

“Then you might have a tutor.”

That suggestion didn’t seem to make much of a hit. Harold scowled for a minute in silence. Then: “Don’t you think I could get in this Fall, Lovering, if—if I studied hard?”

Dick hesitated.

“I’m entered, you know,” pleaded Harold. “I should think I might, Lovering.”

“Yes, you might,” returned Dick grimly, “but it would mean studying a good deal differently than the way you’ve been studying, Harold. It would mean getting your nose right down into the books, putting your whole soul into it, and giving up a lot of playtime. Think you could do that?”

It was Harold’s turn to hesitate. Finally, though, he nodded.

“Well, do you think you would do it?” asked Dick.

“Sure, if—if you’ll help me!”

“I’ll help you, all right, Harold. But there must be no changing your mind about it later. If we start this thing, we’re going to keep it up. If you’ll work honestly and do the very best you know how, I’ll get you so you can pass the exams this Fall. What do you say? Is it a bargain?”

“You bet!” said Harold.

“All right. Hand me those books, please.” Dick turned the pages and made new marks on the margins of them. “There; we’ll start off with eight pages instead of four, Harold. We’ve got to pretty nearly break all existing records, I guess.”

Harold whistled softly. “Gee!” he murmured. “Eight pages of that stuff!” Dick looked across inquiringly. Harold squared his shoulders with the suggestion of a swagger. “Oh, I’ll do it, all right!” he said. “You just watch me!”

Wednesday’s game with Logan attracted a smaller audience to the athletic field than had the Saturday contest but Tim Turner emptied his pockets of twenty-two dollars and fifty cents afterward, and as Logan received only her expenses there was nearly twenty dollars left. The game was one-sided, Clearfield winning by a score of 17 to 4. The Logan pitchers—she used two of them—were easy for the home-team batsmen, while Tom Haley was hit safely but thrice. Two of Logan’s runs resulted from errors, Jack Tappen, who had been reinstated, being one offender, and Gordon the other. Jack dropped an easy fly, and Gordon made an atrocious throw to second.

On Thursday Gordon was called to the telephone after breakfast. It was Louise Brent at the other end of the line, and Louise informed him that Morris wanted Gordon to come over there if he could. “It’s something about the automobile,” explained Louise. “There’s a man here to look at it, Gordon.”

Gordon promised to go right over, and did so. What passed in the sick chamber is not to be set down here, but later Gordon went out to the stable and stood around while a man with grimy hands and a smudge on the end of his nose inspected the blue runabout pessimistically and grunted at intervals. Finally:

“About fifty dollars will do it,” he said, in a sad tone of voice. “There’ll have to be new spokes set in that wheel, and them fenders’ll have to be straightened out again, and it’ll need a new lamp and the radiator’s sprung and likely leaks and---”

“Fifty dollars will fix it as good as new?” asked Gordon.

“I don’t know how good it was when it was new,” responded the man dolefully. “But fifty dollars’ll fix it up in good shape, likely.”

“All right. I’ll tell him, and he will let you know. Could you start on it right away?”

“Likely I could. I’d have to haul it down to my place, though.”

“How long would it take?”

“Two or three weeks, likely.”

“All right. Much obliged. We’ll let you know for certain to-morrow. Fifty dollars is the cheapest you could do it for?”

“Well”—the man scratched his head reflectively—“maybe I could do it for forty-five, if I didn’t find anything else the matter with it. Likely there ain’t.”

They called him “Mr. Likely” during the following three weeks, for which period of time the runabout was in his care. Mr. Likely was a born pessimist, and about every two days he called up the Brents’ house to inform whoever answered the telephone that “that wheel’s a lot worse’n I thought it was, and’ll likely have to have a new rim,” or “I got to send out West for a new lamp, and it’ll likely take two weeks or more.” But, to anticipate, Mr. Likely made a good job of it, and in the course of time the blue runabout was returned to the Brents’ stable, shining and polished like a brand-new car. By that time the family had moved out to the cottage at the Point, and it was Gordon who saw the automobile run into the carriage-room under its own power and who locked the door afterward and pocketed the key.

Morris’ leg had knitted so well by the time Clearfield played Springdale that he was allowed to make the trip to the neighboring town in a carriage and witnessed the contest from a position far more comfortable than the sun-smitten boards of the grandstand. That was a pretty good game to watch, too. There was plenty of hitting on both sides, enough errors to add interest, and several rattling good plays. The game was in doubt until the last inning, when Clearfield, with a one-run margin, trotted into the field to do her best to hold the home team scoreless. Tom Haley had been touched up for eight or nine hits—Dick and Harold made it eight, but the Springdale scorer insisted on nine—and, as luck would have it, the head of the local batting list was up when the last of the ninth began. But Tom and Lanny worked together finely, and, although one runner got as far as second, the game ended with a spectacular catch by Fudge in deep center, and Clearfield went home with the ball. The final score was 7 to 6, and Clearfield derived a lot of satisfaction from that victory.

The Saturday before she had played Locust Valley, and had been pretty badly defeated, and the following Wednesday she had barely pulled out of the game against Corwin with a victory. Corwin had journeyed to Clearfield for the contest and the club treasury had had another twenty-odd dollars added to it. What puzzled Manager Dick Lovering those days was the interest displayed by the whole team in the condition of the exchequer. It seemed to Dick that every fellow was showing a strangely commercial spirit.