CHAPTER III--A LOST BALL
Ralph Fairbanks had "woke up," had seen a great light, had formed amighty resolution all in a minute, and was off like a flash.
As he bolted through the doorway it seemed as if wings impelled him.
He realized what a good mother he had, and how much she had done forhim.
Following that was one overwhelming conclusion: to prove how heappreciated the fact.
"Yes," he said, as he hurried along, "I'd be a sneak to let my motherslave while I went sliding easy through life. If I've done it so far,it was because I never guessed there wasn't something left from father'sestate to support us, and never stopped to think that there mightn't be.She's hidden everything from me, in her kind, good way. Well, I'll payher back. I see the nail I'm to hit on the head, and I'll drive it homebefore I'm twenty-four hours older!"
Gasper Farrington had opened a gate on the highway of Ralph Fairbanks'tranquil existence, and, though he never meant it, had aroused the boy'ssoul to a sudden conception of duty. And Ralph had seen the pathbeyond, clear and distinct.
It seemed to him as if with one wave of his hand he had swept aside allthe fervid dreams of boyhood, formed a resolution, set his mark, and wasstarted in that very minute on a brand-new life.
Ralph did not slacken his gait until he reached a square easilyidentified as a much used ball grounds.
Over in one corner was a flat, rambling structure. It had once beensomebody's home, had fallen into decay and vacancy. The club had rentedit for a nominal sum, fixed it up a bit, and this was headquarters.
Over the door hung the purple pennant of the club, bearing in its centera broad, large "C." In the doorway sat Ned Talcott, an ambitiousback-stop, who spent most of his time about the place, never tired ofthe baseball atmosphere.
He looked curiously at Ralph's flustered appearance, but the latternodded silently, passed inside, and then called out:
"Come in here, Ned--I want to see you."
Ned was by his side in a jiffy. An enthusiast, he fairly worshiped hisexpert whole-souled captain, and counted it an honor to do anything forhim.
"None of the crowd here, I see," remarked Ralph. "Got your uniform yet,Ned?"
"Why, no," answered Ned. "I've got the cloth picked out, and it's allright. Father's away, though, and as we won't need the suits for showtill the new series begin next week, I didn't hurry."
"We're about of a size," went on Ralph, looking his companion over.
"And resemblance stops right there, eh?" chuckled Ned.
"I was thinking," pursued Ralph with business-like terseness, as heunfastened the door of his locker. "Maybe we could strike a trade? Iwant to sell."
He drew out his baseball uniform, tastily reposing in a big pasteboardbox just as he had brought it from the tailor that morning.
"I've been thinking maybe I could strike a deal with some one to takethis off my hands," he added.
"Eh!" ejaculated Ned, in a bewildered way.
"Yes, you see it's brand-new, whole outfit complete, haven't even put iton yet."
"You'll look nobby in it when you do have it on!"
Ralph said nothing on this score, compressing his lips a trifle.
"It cost me eight dollars," he continued, after a moment's silence.
"Yes, I know that's the regular price."
"It fits you, or, with very slight alteration, can be made to. I wishyou'd try it on, Ned, and give me five dollars for it."
"Why, I don't understand, Ralph?" faltered Ned, completely puzzled.
Ralph winced. He realized that there would be a general commotion whenhe told the rest of the club what he was now vaguely intimating to NedTalcott.
Ralph did not flatter himself a particle when he comprehended that everymember of the nine was his friend, champion and admirer, and that ageneral protest would go up from the ranks when he announced hisintentions.
"Is it a bargain?" he asked, smiling quizzically at Ned's puzzled face."See here, I'd better out with it. I shan't need the uniform, Ned,because I've got to resign from the club."
"Oh, never!" vociferated Ned, starting back in dismay. "Say, now----"
"Yes, say that again, Ralph Fairbanks!" broke in a challenging voice.
Ralph was shaken a trifle by the unexpected interruption. His lips seteven a little firmer, however, as he turned and faced his trusty firstbaseman, Will Cheever, and in his train four other members of the club.
"It's true," said Ralph seriously, "just as it is sudden and sure. I'vegot to drop athletics as a sport, fellows--for a time, anyhow--and I'vegot to do it right away."
"You're dreaming!" scoffed Cheever, bustling up in his inimitable,push-ahead way, and pulling Ralph playfully about. "Resign? Huh! Onthe last test game--with the pennant almost ours? Gag him!"
"Why," drawled a tone of pathetic alarm, "it would be rank treachery,you know!"
"Hello, are you awake?" jeered Will, turning on the last speaker.
Ralph looked at him too, and through some wayward perversity of hisnature his face grew more determined than ever. His eyes flashedquickly, and he regarded the speaker with disfavor, but he kept silence.
"You won't do it, you know!" blundered the newcomer, making his wayforward. "It would queer the whole kit. What have we been working for?To get the bulge, and run the circuit. Why, I've just counted on it!"
Grif Farrington, for that was the speaker's name, expressed theintensest sense of personal injury as he spoke.
He was the nephew of Gasper Farrington, although he did not resemble hisuncle in any striking particular as to form or feature. Both were ofthe same genus, however, for the crabbed capitalist was universallydesignated "a shark" by his neighbors.
Grif was a fat, overgrown fellow, with big saucer eyes and flabby cheeksand chin. "Bullhead" some of the boys had dubbed him. But they oftenfound that what they mistook for stupidity was in reality indolence, andthat in any deal where his own selfish concern was involved Grif managedto come out the winner.
As Ralph did not speak, Grif grew even more voluble.
"I say, it would be rank treachery!" he declared. "And a shame to treata club so. If we lose this game we're ditched for only scrub homegames. Win it, and we are the champion visiting club all over thecounty. That's what we have been working for. Are you going to spoilit? Haven't I put up like a man when the club was behind. See here,Ralph Fairbanks, I'll give you--I'll make it five dollars if you'll keepin for just this afternoon's game."
"Shut up, you chump!" warned Will Cheever, slipping between the boor andRalph, whose color was rising dangerously fast.
Will pushed aside Grif's pocketbook, linked an arm in that of Ralph, andled him from the building, winking encouragingly to his mates.
He came back to the group in about a quarter of an hour, but alone.
"Fixed it?" inquired half a dozen eager voices.
"Yes, I've fixed it," said Cheever, though none too cordially. "He'sgoing to leave us, fellows, and it's too bad! He'll play the game thisafternoon, but that's the last."
"What's up?" put in Grif Farrington, in his usual coarsely inquisitiveway.
"You was nearly up--or down!" snapped Cheever tartly. "You nearlyspoiled things for us. Money isn't everything, if you have got lots ofit, and haven't the sense to know that it's an insult to offer to buywhat Ralph Fairbanks would give to his friends for nothing, or not atall!"
When the game was called at two o'clock, Ralph was on hand.
He was the object of more than ordinary interest to his own and theopposition club that afternoon. The word had gone the rounds that hehad practically resigned from service, and the fact caused greatspeculation. His nearest friends detected a certain serious change inhim that puzzled them. They knew him well enough to discern thatsomething of unusual weight lay upon his mind.
According to enthusiastic little Tom Travers, Ralph Fairbanks was "justsplendid!" that afternoon. Whatever Ralph had on his mind, he did notallow it to interfe
re with the work on hand.
Ralph was the heaviest batter of the club, and on this particularoccasion he conducted himself brilliantly, and the pennant was theproperty of the Criterions long before the fifth inning was completed.The club was in ecstasies, and Grif Farrington, who had money and timefor spending it, wore a grin of placid self-satisfaction on his flat,fat face.
"Whoop!" yelled Will Cheever, as the ninth inning went out in a blaze ofbaseball glory.
Will posed to give Ralph, bat in hand, a royal "last one." It wasRalph's farewell to the beloved diamond field. He poised the bat andcaught the ball with a masterly stroke that had something cannon-like inits execution.
Crack! he sent it flying obliquely, and felt as if with that finalstroke he had driven baseball with all its lovely attributes dear out ofhis life.
Smash! the ball grazed the high brick wall around the old unused factoryto the left, struck an upper window, shattered a pane to atoms, anddisappeared.
"Lost ball!" jeered little Tom Travers.
No one went after it. The fence surrounding the factory bore two signsthat deterred--one was "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted," and the otherannounced that it was "For Rent, by the owner, Gasper Farrington."
Ralph made a grimace, and a mental note of later mending the breakagefor which he was responsible.
Will Cheever caught him up as he was heading for home.
"See here, Ralph," he remarked, "if you wasn't so abominablyclose-mouthed----"
"About what?" challenged Ralph, pleasantly serious. "Why, there's nomystery about my resigning. I had to do it."
"Why?"
"I've got to go to work. My mother needs the money, and I'm oldenough."
"What you going to work at?" inquired Will, with real interest.
"Railroading,--if I can get it to do."
Ralph of the Roundhouse; Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man Page 3
