Chapter 22

GORDON BRINGS GOOD NEWS

That was just about the busiest week for Dick that he ever remembered spending. In the mornings there was usually Mr. Potter to be seen and Mr. Potter’s newest schemes to be considered. And, after that, for nearly three hours, he and Harold shut themselves up in the latter’s room at the hotel and worked like a couple of galley slaves. All the hard work wasn’t the younger boy’s, either, for Dick had to do a lot of studying in order to maintain with dignity his rôle of teacher. It would never have done to have allowed Harold to catch him napping! The younger boy’s capacity for study was a revelation to Dick, and his progress a source of great satisfaction. By the end of that busy week Dick could, and did, assure himself that the battle was won! That unless Harold had an almost total lapse of memory when he was put through examinations he could not fail to enter Rifle Point. Of course cramming is not the best means of learning, and much of what Harold learned that summer he was bound to forget later, but Dick hoped that the forgetting would not come until he had passed examinations. Mrs. Townsend almost wept with joy and relief when Dick told her that he firmly believed they had succeeded in what had seemed not many weeks ago an impossible task, and her gratitude, or the expression of it, embarrassed Dick horribly.

After he returned from the Point each day just in time for dinner at one o’clock Dick had two hours to himself. Or he had unless the indefatigable Mr. Potter broke in upon him to breathlessly announce progress or to present a problem to be solved. At four there was practice at the field. In the evenings Dick very often had to go over the next day’s lessons, a task more often than not interrupted by the visit of Gordon or Lanny or Fudge or, possibly, all three. Tuesday evening not only that trio but Morris Brent as well descended upon him. Morris had at last discarded his crutches and walked with an almost imperceptible limp. The doctor assured him that the limp would leave him in a week or so, and Morris, an ardent football enthusiast, was already talking punts and drop-kicks.

Since Logan had readily consented to play a game with Clearfield at eleven o’clock the next morning, and since Dick’s services would be needed at the field, the usual morning lesson at the Point had been postponed until Wednesday evening. Dick hadn’t the heart to ask Harold to give up seeing Logan and Rutter’s Point play in the afternoon. And so when the visitors announced their presence that evening by a series of loud whistles from the gate Dick closed his books regretfully, knowing that he would have to sit up very late after his callers had gone.

They sat out on the porch and talked of many things while the crickets and katydids chirped and fiddled in the darkness. It had been decided that Tom was to pitch only three innings of the morning’s game and that Way was to finish out. This was in order to keep Tom fresh for the big game on Saturday. To equalize matters, Logan was to pitch her third baseman against Clearfield so that she might save her regular box artist for the afternoon contest. They discussed this and other features of the morrow’s battle, and then, as they always did sooner or later, reverted to the Saturday’s event. Fudge was filled with excitement these days and stuttered like an empty soda fountain whenever the subject was broached.

“Jordan and Fillmore’s window is f-f-f-full of flags and p-p-pennants,” announced Fudge. “It looks s-s-s-swell!”

“It’s sort of one-sided, though,” said Lanny. “They ought to put up some Point flags too.”

“I don’t suppose there are any,” answered Gordon. “They haven’t any regular color over there, have they?”

“Sure; blue and yellow. It’s a funny combination, but some of the girls out at the Point have made some flags and they say they look mighty well.”

“Mr. Potter told me to-day,” remarked Dick, “that he’s hired four kids to sell flags at the field. He got Jordan and Fillmore to make up two hundred of them for him. He can certainly think of more things to do!”

“Those are probably the flags they have in their window,” suggested Lanny. “What are they like, Fudge?”

“J-J-Just like the High School flags, only they have just a C instead of C. H. S. on them. They’re s-s-swell!”

“You told us that before,” said Gordon. “I guess Potter will be stuck with about a hundred and fifty of his two hundred.”

“I don’t believe he will. Say, why didn’t we think of doing that, fellows? We might have made a lot of money.” And Lanny looked almost accusingly at Dick.

“I don’t see that we need any more money,” replied the manager. “We’ll have so much as it is that we’ll have to open a bank account. I’m scared to death to have it in the house.”

“How much have we got now?” asked Lanny.

“Over a hundred, and all bills paid. Did Gordie tell you my scheme for using it, Lanny?”

“Yes,” was the unenthusiastic reply. “But I don’t believe---”

“It’s a dandy scheme,” interrupted Gordon quickly. “We—we’ll talk it over some day, after this game’s over with. No use trying to think of anything else right now. I say, Dick, have you studied that automobile book any?”

“No, I haven’t had a minute’s time. No hurry, is there? I’ve about decided to wait another month or so and get one of the next year’s models. I’ve already got almost two dollars laid by toward it.”

“Well, don’t buy a cheap car,” laughed Lanny. “Get—get one like Morris’s.”

The succeeding silence was broken hurriedly by Morris. “Yes, but don’t break a leg with it,” he exclaimed. Lanny and Gordon and Fudge laughed loudly and Dick stared at them through the half-darkness of the porch with a puzzled look on his face. He had seen Gordon reach out and aim a kick at Lanny’s shin and, judging from Lanny’s pained contortions immediately afterward, Dick fancied that Gordon’s aim had been true. For over a week now Dick had been aware that some project was under way by the others that he was purposely excluded from. What it was he couldn’t imagine, but that it had to do with automobiles seemed certain. More than once he had seen warning glances sent from one fellow to another and quite often a remark had been cut short at his approach. That the mystery concerned him particularly Dick did not suspect, however. And just now he had too many things on his mind to allow of much consideration of it.

“You really ought to read that book, though,” said Gordon. “Oughtn’t he, Morris?”

Morris agreed emphatically, and Fudge said, “You really ought, Dick!” and Lanny murmured something about it being well to know such things.

“Look here,” exclaimed Dick, half laughing, half in earnest, “if you fellows don’t quit nagging me to read that book I’ll—I’ll pitch it out the window! What the dickens do I want to learn about running an automobile for? Are you fellows dippy?”

There was complete silence until Lanny said: “You never can tell, Dick, when you might be called on to—to profit by the—er---”

“Oh, certainly,” responded Dick with sarcasm. “Most any old day I might get the offer of a chauffeur’s job! Or maybe you fellows are going to save up for Christmas and buy me a taxicab!”

“Ha, ha!” said Lanny weakly. Fudge giggled. Gordon had a fit of coughing. Morris became intensely interested in the stars seen through the vines.

“You’d make a peach of a chauffeur, Dick,” laughed Gordon finally.

“Why?”

“Why—er—just because,” replied Gordon flatly. “Say, I’ve got to be going home, fellows. You coming my way?”

The others displayed a most uncomplimentary enthusiasm for departure, and after they had clicked the little gate behind them Dick could hear them talking in low and excited tones as they passed up the street. He shook his head as he moved his crutches toward the doorway.

“Either they’re all crazy,” he murmured, “or they’re trying to work some sort of a game on me. I wonder what it is.”

But he didn’t wonder long, for the morrow’s lessons awaited him upstairs and when he had finished with them he was too tired and sleepy to wonder about anything.

Clearfield and Logan played only six innings the next forenoon. The visitors arrived nearly twenty minutes late and the game dragged. There was a lot of hitting and each team seemed determined to make more errors than its opponent. Curtis Wayland and the rival pitcher were pretty evenly matched and it was only because Clearfield, in spite of her endeavors, failed to tally as many errors as Logan that the home team stood three runs ahead when the contest was called to allow the visitors to snatch some dinner before going over to the Point. Dick couldn’t derive much satisfaction from that game, and was inclined to be downcast until, just before supper time, Harold telephoned over to him that the Point team had won by only two runs. After that Dick cheered up and saw things more brightly. And then, scarcely two minutes later, came Gordon with his news.

“We’ve got the field, Dick!” he cried from the sidewalk even before he reached the gate. “Mr. Brent is going to give it to the school! It isn’t going to be cut up!”

“Give it to the school!” echoed Dick amazedly.

“Yes! Isn’t that fine and dandy?” Gordon sprawled into a chair on the porch and fanned himself vigorously with his straw hat. “He’s having a deed made out and just as soon as Mr. Grayson comes back it will be ours. Morris is giving it.”

“Morris! How can he give it?”

“Well, I mean Mr. Brent is giving it in Morris’s name. It’s to be called Brent Field. And he almost as much as promised to build us a big new grandstand some day! Isn’t he—isn’t he a corker?”

“But—but what—how---”

Gordon laughed excitedly. “I guess it was seeing us play the other day that did it. He said he guessed as we got so much enjoyment out of the field we ought to have it. He didn’t get home until nearly half-past four and I called at the office three times before I found him. I thought the first time that I’d sneak off and not come back. But I’m glad I did, though. I was scared to death when I went in. But he was as nice as pie. He asked a lot of questions about baseball and football and the Athletic Committee and the field we talked of getting, and then—then—well, then he asked me if I thought the fellows would like to keep the field. And I said of course they would. And then he said he had decided to make the school a present of it if—if I wanted him to.”

“If you wanted him to!” exclaimed his hearer.

Gordon nodded. “You know he told me the time I—the time I was with Morris when he got hurt that if I wanted anything I was to ask him for it. So the other day when Mullin was going to plow up the field I—I sort of reminded him of what he had said and told him I’d like him to let us use the field that day. I didn’t tell you, but that was how we got it. Well, to-day he said I hadn’t made the most of my opportunity, or something like that. He said I should have asked for the field outright if I wanted it. ‘Why didn’t you?’ he asked. Gee, I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked silly, I guess, and grinned. Then he said how grateful he and Mrs. Brent were for what I did for Morris that day and that if I’d asked him then for the field he’d have given it to me; I mean to the school. So I said, ‘Yes, sir, if you please,’ and he laughed and said: ‘All right, Merrick. I’ll have the deed made out to-morrow. But I want you to understand that it is Morris who is giving the field and not me. He’s one of you and the gift will come better from him.’ And then he shook hands with me and walked ’way out to the stairs with me! And—and say, Dick, isn’t it great?”