The Lucky Seventh

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER II

  DICK CONSENTS

  "The only th-thing is," said Fudge, "it's going to co-cost a heap, isn'tit?"

  Fudge, whose real name was William Shaw, was fifteen years of age, hadsandy-red hair and blue eyes and was short of stature and round of body.His habitual expression was one of pleased surprise, due probably to thefact that his blue eyes were very blue and very big. When Fudge was theleast bit excited he stammered, but the habit was too slight to be anaffliction, and his friends sometimes got Fudge upset in order to enjoyhis facial contortions when the word wouldn't come promptly. It wasLansing White who, several years before in grammar school, had dubbedhim Fudge. Lanny declared that "pshaw" and "fudge" meant the same thingand that "fudge" was more novel. At the present moment Fudge was seatedin the apple tree which grew by the fence where the Shaws' side-yard andthe Merricks' back-yard came together. It was a favorite retreat withFudge, and he had built a shelf handy to the comfortable crotch heaffected on which to place books and papers when, as was customary, hewas studying his lessons there. To-day, however, as school was over forthe summer, there were no books about and the shelf bore, instead, atennis racket which Fudge had been mending when Gordon found him.

  "I don't see why," replied Gordon, leaning his arms on the top of thefence. "We've all got our High School uniforms and we've all got batsand mitts and things. All we'd need to spend money on would be balls, Iguess. Of course, when we went away every fellow would have to pay histransportation."

  "M-meaning carfare?" queried Fudge. "Say, it's a peach of a scheme,Gordie! I wish I could bat better, though. Maybe I'll get on to it, eh?I guess what I need is practice." And Fudge, swinging an imaginary batat an invisible ball, almost fell off the branch. "Who's going to becaptain?" he asked when he had recovered his equilibrium.

  "We'll vote, I suppose," replied Gordon.

  Fudge grinned. "Then it'll be me. I'm awfully popular. Have you toldLanny yet?"

  "Yes, and he says if you play center there's got to be a rule that a hitto center field is good for only three bases."

  Fudge snorted indignantly. "If he ever hit a ball as far as the outfieldhe'd fall in a faint! When do we start?"

  "I've got to see the other fellows yet. Harry is working in his father'sstore and I don't know whether his dad will let him play."

  "That's so. We need him, too. He's a peach of a baseman. Who's going toplay short?"

  "I want Pete Robey to," replied Gordon doubtfully. "Think he'd do,Fudge?"

  "We-ell, Pete isn't so much of a muchness. Why don't you p-put him incenter and let me play short?"

  "Because a fellow has to have brains to play in the infield, Fudge,and----"

  Fudge tried to reach him with the racket, failed and, composing hisfeatures to an expression of grave interest, asked: "Won't it be awfullyhard to find anyone to play first?"

  Gordon smiled. "Never you mind about first. Get your wheel and let's goaround and see some of the fellows. We can catch Harry at the store ifwe hurry. I want to see Tom, too. If he won't go into it and pitch forus we might as well give it up."

  "Oh, Tom'll pitch all right," answered Fudge, dropping from the tree,racket in hand. "He'd rather pitch a baseball than eat. I'll meet youout front in two minutes."

  He wormed his way through the currant bushes to the garden path anddisappeared toward the house, while Gordon, dodging the clothes linesstrung near the rear fence, went along the brick walk and gained theside porch by the simple expedient of vaulting the railing. The Merrickhouse was new--most of the residences on that end of Troutman Streetwere--and was mildly pretentious. Mr. Merrick was a lawyer andcomfortably well-to-do. The family had lived in Clearfield for sixgenerations and had given its name to one of the principal streets inthe downtown business part of the city. I refer to Clearfield as a city,and it really was, but it was not a very large city. The latest censuscredited it with something over 17,000 inhabitants. Like many NewEngland cities of its kind, it owed its growth and prosperity tofactories of various sorts. Mill River, which entered the bay two milesdistant, flowed along the edge of the town and provided water-power fora number of large manufacturing plants, knitting mills, a sewing machinefactory, a silverware factory and several others.

  The knitting mills were largely owned by Mr. Brent, the HonorableJonathan Brent, as the Clearfield _Reporter_ usually referred to him,and while Gordon had spoken of Mr. Brent "owning the town," he had, ofcourse, exaggerated, but still had not been very far wide of the mark.Mr. Brent was Clearfield's richest and its leading citizen. Besides theknitting mills he controlled two banks and the street railway andlighting service and had a finger--usually two or three fingers--in manyother enterprises. The Brent residence, standing imposingly in a wholeblock of land, was visible, further along Troutman Street, from theMerricks' porch. In this, the more recently developed part of the town,the wide streets were lined with maples as yet too young to afford muchshade, but a giant elm tree, which had been old long before Clearfieldeven thought of growing away from the river, stood just inside theMerricks' front gate and effectively screened the house from the hotsunlight.

  Gordon contented himself with putting his head inside the screen doorand announcing in a loud voice: "Mother, I'm going downtown. Is thereanything you want?" Mrs. Merrick's voice floated down from upstairs inreply: "No, dear; but please try to be on time for dinner. You know yourfather dislikes----"

  But Gordon didn't hear the rest of it. He didn't need to. He knew whathis father disliked. His father disliked having him late for his meals,disliked his going out in the evenings, disliked--oh, so many things!Gordon sighed as he mounted his wheel. Life was really extremelydifficult at times!

  He was a well-built, athletic youth of fifteen years, with a pleasant,clean-cut face, dark brown eyes and hair and a well-tanned skin. Helooked very much alive and rather enthusiastic, just the sort of a boy,in short, to undertake and carry through successfully such an enterpriseas the formation of the Clearfield Baseball Club.

  Fudge was waiting for him around the corner, and they set off togetherin search of Tom Haley. Tom lived in what folks called the East End,which was that section of the town near the railroad largely inhabitedby workers in the mills and factories. Tom's father was a foreman in thesewing-machine works, and the family occupied a tiny story-and-a-halfcottage so close to the railroad tracks that it shook whenever thetrains passed. Fortunately they found Tom at home, very busily engagedrepairing the front steps, surrounded by carpenter's tools and threejunior members of the Haley family. He rescued the chisel from Tille,aged four, deprived the baby of a handful of nails, told George, agedsix, to stop sawing the chair leg, and greeted his visitors.

  Tom was sixteen, big, broad-shouldered and raw-boned, with an angularface and high cheek-bones liberally speckled with freckles. At presenthe was minus coat and vest and wore a pair of blue overalls. "You kidsget in the house now," he instructed the suddenly silent trio ofyoungsters, "and tell your mother to keep you in there, too. You'vebothered me enough. Shoo, the whole lot of you!"

  They went, with many backward glances, and Tom cleared a space on theedge of the unrailed porch for Gordon and Fudge. "Say, it's some warm,isn't it? What you fellows up to to-day? Going to the pond?"

  "No, we're calling on you," replied Fudge.

  "Much obliged. What's the game?"

  "Baseball," said Gordon. "We're getting up a team to play the Rutter'sPoint fellows and we want you to join, Tom."

  "I don't mind, if there isn't much practice. There's a lot to be donearound the house here this summer. We're going to shingle next week, andafter that we'll paint. Who's on the team?"

  Gordon explained all about it, read Bert Cable's letter and CasparBillings' and told Tom the line-up of the nine as he had planned it.

  "Sounds all right," said Tom. "When are you going to start?"

  "Right away. If you'll pitch for us we'll be all right. I'll answerBillings' letter and tell him we'll meet him a week from Wednesday.That'll give us a whole week fo
r practicing."

  "All right, I'm with you, only don't expect me to practice much, Gordon.I'm pretty busy. I'll come out a couple of times, though; say--let mesee--say Friday and Monday. Going to use the school field?"

  "Yes. I don't suppose anyone will object?"

  "Don't see why they should. You'd better see Mr. Grayson, though."

  "I will. No, that will be up to Dick. He's going to be manager."

  "Dick Lovering?" asked Tom, in surprise. "Well, I don't see why not. Hecan get around all right. Have you asked him?"

  "Yes, and he said he would. The only thing is, Tom, we'll have to payhis expenses if we go away from home very far. I told him we would. Itwouldn't be much if we shared it. You see, Dick doesn't have much money.I guess they're pretty hard-up. His father only left them that housethey're in and a little insurance money, and of course Dick can't domuch to earn any."

  "He told me the other day," said Fudge, "that he was trying to get worktutoring this summer over at the Point. He could do that finely if hecould find anyone to toot. Hope he does. Dick's a peach."

  "Then we'll have first practice Wednesday, the rest of us, and we'lllook for you Friday, Tom. I've got to catch Harry before he goes home.Maybe his father won't let him off. If he won't we'll be in a bad wayfor a second baseman."

  "If you hold practice late--say, half-past four--I guess Harry could getthere," said Tom. "And we wouldn't play more than twice a week, Isuppose. Who else are you going after besides the Pointers?"

  "I don't know. Maybe Lesterville. They've got a pretty good club overthere. I guess we can find games enough, Tom."

  "I suppose the Springdale team has disbanded," said Tom. "I'd like toget another whack at those fellows!"

  "So would I," Gordon agreed. "We never should have lost that last game,Tom. We all played like idiots, though. Six errors is going some!"

  "It was an off-day with me, all right," grumbled Tom. "I couldn't put'em over the plate to save my life in the last four innings."

  "We'll lick them at football this fall," asserted Fudge.

  "Bound to," agreed Tom, with a sly wink at Gordon. "Fudge is going toplay, you know."

  "You bet I am!" exclaimed Fudge. "I'm going to p-p-play end. I'mg-g-going----"

  "So am I," laughed Gordon. "Right now. Come along, Fudge, and we'll huntup Harry. I'm glad you'll come in with us, Tom. By the way, I suppose weought to have a sort of meeting to organize pretty soon. How would it doif you all came to my house to-morrow evening? We'll have to choose acaptain and--and talk things over."

  "Oh, you'll be captain," said Tom. "It's your scheme. Besides, who elseis there?"

  "You, or Harry, or Will Scott, or----"

  "Shucks, they're not made for it. It'll be either you or Lansing, Iguess. Anyway, I'll be over to-morrow, if you say so, about eight. Solong. I've got to get these boards down before dinner."

  They found Harry Bryan in his father's grocery. He, too, was very busy,but he stopped putting up orders long enough to hear Gordon's tale, andwas instantly enthusiastic.

  "I'll have to ask my dad, though," he said doubtfully. "He's keeping mepretty close to business," he added importantly.

  "What do you do, Harry?" asked Fudge. "Put the sand in the sugar?"

  Harry treated the insult with silent contempt. "I'll ask him to-night,though," he continued, "and let you know."

  "Telephone me, will you? We'll have practice late in the afternoon,Harry. You wouldn't have to get away until after four."

  "I know. I guess he will let me. He ought to." Harry observed the yellowslips in his hand somberly. "I've been working pretty hard, I tell you."

  "I should think," suggested the irrepressible Fudge, "that if you workedlate to-night you could sand enough sugar to last the week out!"

  "Say, they're not going to let you play, are they, Fudge?"

  "How could they do without me?"

  "It'll be a peach of a nine!" jeered Harry. He was only a year olderthan Fudge, but pretended to regard that youth with amused toleration,and so caused Fudge deep annoyance at times.

  "Well, we've got eight good ones," responded Fudge sweetly. "If we couldonly find a fellow to play second base, we'd be all right."

  "It's a wonder they don't put you there."

  "Oh, I was offered the position, bu-but I didn't want it. I prefer theoutfield. There's more re-re-responsibility there."

  "You're a wonder!" said Harry. "What would you do if a ball came yourway? Hold your mouth open and try to swallow it?"

  "You wa-wait and see! If I co-co-couldn't catch a b-b-ball betterth-th-than you----"

  "Calm yourself, Fudge! You're off your trolley again! I'll be aroundto-morrow night, Gordon. Now I'll have to get busy. Watch Fudge as hegoes out, will you? Last time he was in he got away with three or fourpounds of prunes."

  "I took three of the old th-th-th-things," said Fudge bitterly, "andthey n-n-nearly killed me!"

  They left Harry surrounded by baskets, frowning over the order slips inhis hand, and made their way back to the sidewalk and their wheels. Asit was almost noon, Gordon decided not to risk his father's displeasureby seeing any more of the fellows before dinner, and he and Fudgepedaled home, Fudge still sputtering about those prunes.

  At a little after four that afternoon Gordon was back at Dick's toreport success. All the members of the Clearfield Ball Club had agreedto play and to attend the organization meeting the next evening--all,that is, save Harry Bryan, who was to telephone later.

  "Now, Dickums, if you'll write to Billings and tell him----"

  "If _I'll_ write!"

  Gordon laughed. "Of course; you're the manager, aren't you?"

  "Humph! So I have to attend to the correspondence too, do I? It seems tome that you ought to write that letter. Bert sent it to you, and you'recaptain, and----"

  "Well, that's what I thought," responded Gordon cheerfully, "until I gotto thinking it over. Then I remembered that you were manager, and, ofcourse, managers always attend to arranging contests; and there you are.Just tell him we'll play his team on Wednesday the sixteenth, Dickums,at the Point."

  "All right. I might call on him and tell him about it, though, for I'mgoing over to the Point in the morning."

  "You are? What for?"

  "To get a job, I hope. You know I got them to put up a notice in thehotel over there for me: 'tutoring in French, Mathematics, and English;references; terms on request.' This afternoon a Mrs. Townsend called meup by telephone, and she wants me to come over in the morning and seeabout coaching her son. He's going to Rifle Point School in the Fall andis weak on English and Math. He's thirteen, she says. She seemed tothink the price was all right, but she wants me to have a look at theyoungster first. Sounded as though she was afraid I wouldn't like him.I'd coach a Bengal tiger if I got paid for it. I need the money,Gordie."

  "That's fine! Then why not see Billings instead of writing to him? Youcould arrange the whole thing in five minutes. Do you know where helives?"

  "No, but they can tell me at the hotel, I guess. By the way, why do youwant to play over there? Why not have them come over here?"

  "Because I saw Mr. Grayson awhile ago and asked him if it would be allright if we used the school field, and he said it would as far as he wasconcerned, but that he'd just got notice from Mr. Brent that they aregoing to cut the field up pretty soon for building lots. I suppose wecould use it until they begin to build on it, but I haven't seen Mr.Brent yet, and I thought it would be safer to say we'd play them at thePoint. They'll probably want another game, and then, if it's all rightabout the field, we could play them here."

  "But that will leave us without an athletic field!" exclaimed Dick, indismay. "I thought we had a lease or something on it."

  "Mr. Grayson says not. Says Mr. Brent just agreed to let us use it aslong as it wasn't needed for anything else. Now he wants it put in themarket for house lots. Rather tough, isn't it? I guess we can findanother field somewhere, though."

  "Not in town," said Dick. "We'll probably have
to go across the riversomewhere. There are plenty of fields over there, but they're as roughas the dickens. What did Mr. Grayson say about that?"

  "Nothing much. He seemed to think it was up to the Athletic Committee."

  "Perhaps it is, but he's principal, and----"

  "Shucks, he wouldn't care a lot if we didn't have a field, I guess!"

  "I don't think that, Gordie. Grayson's not very keen about ourathletics, I know, but he's been pretty decent, just the same. We'llhave to get busy right away and find a new place. The football fellowswill want to start practice in something like two months. Does Way knowabout it?"

  "I don't know. I saw Grayson after I left Way. I don't believe he does,for he didn't say anything. He will have to get the committee togetherand have a meeting, I guess. Who's on it now?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "No, not this year. There's Way, and Harry, and Bert----"

  "Well, Bert can't come. I think Will Scott is on it, isn't he?"

  "Maybe; he probably is if Way belongs. Well, it's up to Way. I thoughtI'd ask Mr. Brent if we could keep on using the field for a while; orhave Morris ask him. I dare say he'd be more likely to say yes if Morrisasks him. Come to think of it, Dickums, as you're manager----"

  "No, you don't! I wouldn't beard old man Brent in his den for a hundreddollars! If I've got to do that, I'll resign!"

  "All right, then, I'll do it!" laughed Gordon. "Or I'll see Morris aboutit. I don't see why he needs to cut up that field, though. Seems to methere are enough houses in this town already."

  "Wants the money, probably. Bet you Jonathan Brent would cut up theGarden of Eden for house lots if he had it!"

  "You don't seem to care a whole lot for Mr. Brent, Dickums."

  "I don't," responded Dick emphatically. "We wouldn't be like we arenow--as poor as church mice--if father hadn't got mixed up with Mr.Brent in one of his real-estate schemes. I'm not saying that Mr. Brentwas dishonest, Gordie, but he was too sharp for dad, and dad got let infor a pile of money."

  "I didn't know that," said Gordon. "You never told me, did you?"

  "No. It was a long time ago, when I was just a kid. Dad moved here fromNorwalk when I was three years old. He had quite a littlemoney--thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars it was--and Mr. Brent gothim to invest it in that South-west Division, as they called it. Theygot hold of a pile of land down the river toward the Point. You know;where the picnic grove is. They were going to sell it for factory sitesand there was a railway coming through to connect with the Shore Line,and everything was fine--on paper. But the bottom fell out of thescheme; the factories didn't come, and the railroad decided not tobuild; and the mortgages were foreclosed; and after it was all over Mr.Brent had the whole thing and dad had nothing! And it was all legal andabove-board, too! And that's why I've never had much use for JonathanBrent; nor Morris, either, although Morris has never done anything tome."

  "You and he seem to be pretty good friends," said Gordon.

  "I know. He---- Well, he seems to like me pretty well, and you can't beanything but decent to a fellow in that case, can you? I suppose ifJonathan Brent wasn't his father I'd like him well enough. Well, I'llstop in and see this Billings chap to-morrow. It's less trouble thanwriting a letter, I guess. Wednesday the sixteenth, on their owngrounds, at--what time?"

  "Three o'clock, I suppose," answered Gordon. "That will give us plentyof time to get over on the two-o'clock car and warm up a bit before thegame. You might tell him about our field, and say that if they want areturn game we'll play it over here if we can get the use of the field.By the way, that grandstand at the field belongs to the school. We'llhave to move that if we get out. I wish Mr. Brent would be satisfiedwith all the money he's got and not go and take our field away from us."

  "So do I. What we want to do, though, is to watch out and be sure hedoesn't swipe the grandstand too!"

  "Well, you _are_ rabid!" laughed Gordon. "Still, I don't know that Iblame you. I never knew that about your father, Dickums."

  "Well, don't repeat it, please. It's all done with now, and there's nouse talking about it. I don't--very often. Only sometimes---- Well, Iget sort of hot under the collar when I think of all the money JonathanBrent has and how awfully hard we have to scrabble to get along.Good-bye, Mr. Captain."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Manager. I'm not captain, though."

  "You will be," laughed Dick. "You always are, you know!"