Barbour Ralph Henry
The Lucky Seventh

There was a big crowd of onlookers there that afternoon and the Clearfield Baseball Club performed to enthusiastic applause. Dick had sought to arrange a game for Wednesday afternoon but had found no team that could or would play them, which was a matter of regret since Clearfield needed harder practice than it could get without an opponent. Rutter’s Point, which had been playing two games a week steadily, was to meet Logan on Wednesday at the Point.

“I wish we had got them,” said Dick. “They’d give us just about the sort of a game we need.”

“Maybe,” suggested Jack Tappen, “they’d swap dates with us if we asked them. They won’t get any money at the Point, you know.”

“Yes, they will,” piped up Harold, who had come over to watch practice at Dick’s invitation. “They pass a hat around and sometimes get ten or twelve dollars.”

“Anyway, I don’t care to do a thing like that,” said Dick. “It wouldn’t be exactly square, I guess.”

“I’ll tell you what!” exclaimed Harold.

“Go ahead,” said Jack. “You’re full of information, kid.”

“Well,” said Harold, pausing long enough to regard Jack with a look of disdain, “why don’t you play them in the morning?”

“By jove!” said Lanny.

“‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings!’” murmured Jack. “Kid, you’re all right!”

“We might,” pondered Dick. “They’re coming over anyway, and I dare say they’d just as lief come in the morning as later. I’ll get hold of that captain of theirs this evening and see what he says.”

“Tell ’em we’ll pay their fares both ways,” suggested Will Scott.

“Sure thing; and buy them a lunch,” agreed Way.

“They’ll do it,” said Gordon. “Make the game at ten-thirty, Dick.”

“Better say eleven. They could hardly get over here before half-past ten. Well, I’ll get after them as soon as I get home. Harold, you are a youth of ideas!”

And Harold smiled proudly.

CHAPTER XXII
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?”

CHAPTER XXIII
MR. BRENT THROWS A BALL

If that Saturday had been manufactured to Mr. Potter’s order it couldn’t have been finer. There was a bright blue sky overhead and not a cloud bigger than a handkerchief to be seen. A westerly breeze, bearing the first hint of Autumn, cooled the ardor of the sun. Clearfield had a gala look as soon as the shades at the store windows were drawn in the morning. Touches of purple appeared everywhere. By ten o’clock the downtown streets began to show the incursion of visitors from the neighboring villages and even from the country and the stores reaped a small harvest. At noon Common Street in the vicinity of the field was well lined with sidewalk vendors of peanuts and popcorn, lemonade and soft drinks, while in a vacant lot near-by a hustling gentleman with a blue-black mustache and a yellow corduroy coat had set up a merry-go-round whose strident organ ground out a repertory of four tunes monotonously from forenoon to midnight. Small boys with purple pennants bearing white C’s importuned passers to show their patriotism at the expense of a quarter of a dollar and other small boys flaunted copies of the morning Reporter. “Line-up of to-day’s game! Here you are! Reporter! Only two cents!”

The reserved seat tickets on sale at Howland’s gave out at eleven o’clock, and at twelve, after a hasty conference over the telephone with Dick, Mr. Potter had a load of lumber and four carpenters at the field erecting sixty extra seats.

At one, even before the last nail had been driven, the drug store reported that they had again sold out. “Sell fifty more,” telephoned Mr. Potter, “and mark them ‘Bench!’” Then he hurried to Odd Fellows’ Hall with a moving-van and transferred ten settees from there to the ball grounds and placed them in a double row all along the third base line. After that he threw up his hands.

Shortly before noon a blue runabout, with its brass glistening radiantly and its newly varnished surface reflecting back the sunlight, stopped in front of the carriage gate at the field and honked its horn. After which Gordon, who rode beside the operator, jumped to the ground, climbed the fence and unbarred the gates from inside. Then Morris drove in, Gordon dropped the bar back in place and climbed into the car again and the blue runabout ambled across the white foul line and stopped a few feet from the home plate, with its glistening radiator pointed at the grandstand.

“That’s my last ride in her,” said Morris regretfully as he got out.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gordon. “He may give you a lift some time.”

Morris smiled. “I meant the last time I’d run her,” he amended. “Gee, but I kind of hate to give her up, Gordon.”

“She’s a nice little car,” replied the other, “even if she did try to break your neck for you. And she certainly looks dandy. And she runs as well as ever, doesn’t she?”

“Better, it seems to me. I suppose she’s getting the stiffness out of her. Well, we’d better hike along to dinner. You’re sure your mother won’t mind having me, Gordon?”

“She expects you. I telephoned I was bringing you. Come on.”

It was long before two o’clock when the crowd began moving toward the field. Stewart, the liveryman, ran carriages from the station to the entrance and did a good business. At a few minutes before two Gordon and Dick and Lanny arrived. Mr. Potter was already on hand, instructing the two boys who were acting as ushers and keeping an eye on the amateur ticket seller at the gate. Tim Turner stood inside and took the tickets, dropping them into a tin box and looking as professional as you please. Dick’s gaze found the automobile the instant he was inside and he stopped short and stared at it. And no wonder, for a blue runabout placed imposingly in the center of a baseball diamond is about as incongruous a sight as one often sees.

“Wh-what the dickens!” gasped Dick.

“Oh, that?” said Gordon. “That’s the car that Morris just sold. Looks pretty well, doesn’t it? Come on in the dressing-room.”

“But what’s it doing there?” asked Dick. “Whose is it?”

“I suppose someone left it there. Gee, Dick, look at the crowd here already! We’ll have to have groundrules if they keep coming!”

“Yes, I guess so. But – that car! It can’t stand there, Gordie!”

“Of course not. It’ll be out of the way by the time we’re ready to practice, I dare say. There’s Tom. Come on. We’d better get changed. It must be almost two.”

Dick followed them into the dressing-room without further remarks, but it was plain to be seen that the incident of the misplaced automobile was occupying his thoughts. Most of the team had arrived and in another moment Dick found enough to attend to and talk about without further bothering his head with the blue runabout. The Point team came in a few minutes later and then there was a fine confusion and noise in there. Everyone was in the best of spirits and there was no sign of animosity between the opponents. One might have thought, were it not for the difference in costumes, that the two dozen or so fellows were team-mates rather than rivals. It was the first time that most of the Clearfield fellows had seen the Rutter’s Point players in their new togs, and they had to acknowledge that the white suits and blue-and-yellow-striped stockings were very attractive.

Of course Harold was there, score-book under arm, following Dick around closely. And Morris, too, in his capacity of honorary member of the visiting nine. Probably he would have been welcome in any case, for to-day was to witness the formal transfer of the field, in Morris’s name, from Mr. Brent to the High School. Mr. Grayson, who had arrived home the day before, was to attend and Morris was to deliver the deed to him, as a sort of added attraction. Morris, however, didn’t appear oppressed by his importance, a fact which his companions were quick to notice and approve.

At five minutes past the two teams went out to the diamond, and as they appeared, the band, massed fourteen strong in front of the grandstand, broke into the triumphal strains of “See the Conquering Hero Comes.” By that time the stand was filled to overflowing, the extra seats were well occupied and the settees sprinkled, while around the diamond what looked to the startled gaze of the players to be a vast assemblage sat or stood.

“Jumpin’ Jupiter!” muttered Fudge, his eyes very big and round. “S-s-s-say, Jack, I won’t b-b-b-be able to c-c-catch a thing!”

“I guess we’ll all have stage-fright,” replied Jack Tappen, with a rather nervous laugh. “Who would have thought all this crowd would have come? And look at the gate! They’re still coming, Fudge!”

“G-g-guess I’ll s-s-s-sneak home,” said Fudge.

Dick was frankly puzzled. Instead of trotting into the field to begin practice, his charges were lounging over toward the plate, and with them went the Point team. Then Dick’s eyes fell on that blue runabout again, and he frowned and followed the players, who by this time had gathered about it. Harold, who never allowed Dick to get more than six feet away from him, went, too.

“Someone will have to get that car out of here,” announced Dick impatiently. “Whose is it, anyway?”

As the band, which had been blaring forth a twostep, stopped suddenly at a signal from Gordon, just in the middle of Dick’s pronouncement, he finished it in a voice which, owing to the silence, was audible halfway to the outfield. A ripple of amusement came from the nearer seats. Dick, embarrassed by events and by an impending something that he sensed, looked blankly about the grinning faces.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” he faltered, appealing to Gordon.

Gordon cleared his throat and took a step forward. The rest of the players shuffled into the semblance of a half-circle behind him and about the blue car. The audience, none of them in the secret but all suspecting interesting developments, grew very still.

“Dick,” began Gordon, very red of countenance and nervous of manner, “we – that is – ”

“Go to it, Gordie,” murmured Lanny encouragingly. Gordon took a deep breath and another start:

“The Clearfield Baseball Club, in recognition of your services as manager and – and in token of its esteem and – ”

“Respect and esteem,” prompted Lanny, sotto voce.

– “Respect and esteem,” corrected Gordon, who had prepared his speech with much care and had now pretty well forgotten it, “desires to present to you this automobile, in the hope – er – in the hope – ”

“That it will provide – ”

“ – That it will provide both comfort and pleasure. It is with much – it is with much – ”

Gordon looked imploringly at Lanny, but Lanny’s gaze was fixed blankly on space. He, too, had forgotten the lines! Fudge gave way to his nervousness and giggled. Gordon waved his hand toward the car. “And we hope you’ll like it,” he ended breathlessly.

There was an instant’s silence, and then came a joyous screech from Harold. That was the signal for much hand-clapping and other evidences of applause from the spectators who, although Gordon’s speech had not been audible to them, had by this time gathered that someone was being presented with the natty blue automobile. Dick, rather white of face, smiled.

“I – I – ” he began. Then he faltered. When he went on his voice was husky. “Thank you, fellows,” he said. “I don’t see why you did it, but – but I appreciate it more than I can say. And – I can’t make a speech, so I’ll just say thank you and – you’ll have to understand that it means a lot more than I can put in words!”

Then they cheered quite madly, being heartily glad to be over with the embarrassment, and flocked around him and shook hands just as though they hadn’t seen him for months!

“‘It is with much pride that we offer this small token,’” said Lanny explosively in Gordon’s ear. Gordon laughed derisively.

“What’s the good now?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you say that two minutes ago? You’re a fine one to help a fellow!”

“Why didn’t you remember it yourself?” asked Lanny, in an injured voice. “Gee! You wrote it, didn’t you?”

Morris jumped into the driver’s seat of the car and Dick, impelled by friendly hands, climbed in beside him. Will Scott spun the crank, the engine purred, and, to the cheers and laughter of the fellows and the enthusiastic applause of the spectators, the blue runabout chugged around the field and back into an angle of the grandstand, while the band played loudly.

“I’ll show you how to run it in two days, Dick,” Morris said, as they circled the diamond. “You’ll find it’s as easy as anything you ever did.”

“Did you know about it?” asked Dick curiously.

“Sure. It was Gordon’s scheme; but he told me what he wanted to do and dad and I were strong for it.”

“But – but where’d they get the money?” asked Dick.

“They haven’t got it yet,” chuckled Morris. “You have it!”

“I have – Oh, the baseball money!”

“Surest think you know, Dick!”

“Oh!” Dick gave a sigh of relief. “I was afraid they’d paid for it out of their pockets or – or somehow. I – I knew for two or three weeks that they were up to something, but I never suspected this. Say, doesn’t it just get there!”

“She’s a fine little car,” agreed Morris proudly, as he brought it to a stop behind the extra seats. “And I’ll just bet you’ll be crazy about her, Dick, in a week!”

“I guess I’m sort of crazy about her now,” murmured Dick.

There was still another ceremony to be gone through with; in fact, two. The first was performed a minute later when Morris, taking a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, walked across to the front of the grandstand, accompanied by the players, and with a neat but brief speech formally presented the deed of the athletic field to Mr. Grayson. The principal, however, wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to indulge in eloquence, and his speech of thanks went on for quite five minutes. It was a very good speech, too, but few heard it, for the spectators out of ear-shot were clamoring for the game to begin. When he had finished and bowed and taken his seat again, there was more applause, and the bass drum boomed ecstatically and Gordon led three cheers for Mr. Brent, and at last the home team trotted on to the diamond and the visitors began passing and warming up at one side.

By that time it was nearly the hour set for the game to begin, and almost every available spot on the field was occupied by spectators. Four of Clearfield’s modest police force were on duty in the outfield, patrolling back and forth, restraining the advance of the crowds which stretched along the continuations of the foul lines.

On the “press stand,” a kitchen table and two straight-backed chairs at the end of the home team’s bench, stood the silver trophy on its ebony stand. Around the base was twined the purple silk pennant with the white “C.” At the “press stand” sat Mr. Potter, his straw hat tilted back on his head, a pile of yellow copy paper in front of him and a big cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. Mr. Potter, looking proudly about the crowded field, was happy. Apparently all the pennants had been purchased, for they waved on all sides, and flashes of purple glowed everywhere in the sunlight; everywhere, that is to say, except in one small section of the main stand, where the Rutter’s Point contingent, some fifty strong, waved blue-and-yellow flags and cheered for their heroes.

Dick, leaning on his crutches near first base, allowed his gaze to wander a minute from the work of his charges toward the crowded seats. There were his mother and Grace up there, and, farther along, Mr. and Mrs. Brent and Louise – and Morris just returning to his place beside them. Strangely enough, Louise happened to be looking just as Dick glanced her way, and nodded and waved. Dick took off his hat in answer. A second later he was bowing again, for Mrs. Townsend was waving her blue-and-yellow banner toward him.

Then, presently, the home team yielded the diamond to the visitors, and Dick went back to the bench with them. Harold was sharpening his pencils as Dick took his place beside him.

“Dick,” he said, in a low voice, “I hope you win.”

“Thanks, Harold! That’s treachery, isn’t it, though?”

Harold frowned and shook his head. “Can’t help it,” he muttered. “I do, anyway.”

The umpires were Mr. Cochran, of the Y.M.C.A., chosen by Clearfield, and Mr. Vokes, who had officiated at the first game between the two teams, the Point’s selection. The latter gentleman was on bases and Mr. Cochran umpired at the plate. At twenty minutes to three Clearfield trotted into the field to the cheers of the audience, and Gordon, taking a nice new ball from Mr. Cochran, ascended the stand to where Mr. Brent sat.

“Mr. Brent,” said Gordon, “we’d like very much to have you throw out the ball to us, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“Throw out the ball!” exclaimed Mr. Brent. “How – how do I do it?”

“Just stand up, sir, and toss it to Tom Haley, down there.”

Mr. Brent looked doubtful, but Morris and Louise urged him on, and finally he got to his feet, measured the distance anxiously, clutched the ball with a death-like grip, and hurled it toward Tom. It went a yard over his head, and was fielded by Harry Bryan near second! But that didn’t matter! Everyone cheered just as hard!