CHAPTER XXV
"THE LUCKY SEVENTH"
On a crisp and sunny Saturday morning, a fortnight after the game, ablue runabout automobile came quietly and circumspectly along TroutmanStreet, under the yellowing maples, and, with two gruff toots of itshorn, slowed down and came to a stop in front of the Merricks' gate. Asthe driver of the car slid the gears into neutral and kicked off theswitch at the battery, a look of relief succeeded the somewhat strainedand anxious expression he had worn. I think he even sighed hissatisfaction as he relaxed his grasp of the steering wheel and lookedtoward the doorway. Along the running-board on the driver's side of thecar lay a pair of crutches, held in place by an ingenious contrivance ofheavy wire.
After that, there is no use trying to longer conceal the identity of theboy at the wheel. It was Dick. A week of instruction by Morris and asecond week spent in operating alone had made him a fairly competentdriver, but he had not yet passed the stage where a corner was somethingto be approached with vast anxiety and to be negotiated with care anddeliberation. Every inch of the blue varnished surface of the car shoneresplendently, and every particle of brass was polished until it waspainful to view.
Two more blasts of the grumpy horn at last produced results. The screendoor flew open, and Gordon, a piece of toast in one hand and a napkin inthe other, appeared.
"Say, what time do you think it is?" he demanded laughingly.
"It's time you were through breakfast, anyway," responded Dick. "Get ahustle on. _Eli_ hates to stand." (Dick had named the car _Eli Yale_because of its color, but generally referred to it as _Eli_.)
"I'll bring a lump of sugar for him," said Gordon. "Keep a tight rein onhim, Dick, and I'll be with you in five minutes. Maybe he will standlong enough for you to come in and have a cup of coffee."
"I wouldn't dare risk it," replied Dick gravely. "Besides, I never takecoffee in the middle of the forenoon."
"Middle of the forenoon!" grunted the other. "It isn't half-past eightyet! Since you got that car, you never go to bed at all, I guess!"
Gordon vanished with that, and Dick leaned comfortably back in therunabout to wait. But an instant later a speck of tarnish on the dashclock--a gift from Louise Brent--caught his eye, and he whisked a pieceof cheesecloth from a pocket on the inside of the door and attacked itindignantly. Before he had conquered it, returned the cloth and buttonedthe flap again, Gordon appeared once more, capped and ready for theride.
"All set?"
Dick looked carefully at levers and switch. "All set," he said.
Gordon turned the handle half over, and _Eli_ broke into a franticchugging that could be heard six blocks away. Dick pushed back thethrottle and pulled down the spark, however, and _Eli_ moderated histransports. Gordon, who had clapped his hands to his ears, grinned as heclimbed in beside Dick and slammed the door. "Gee," he said, "but he'ssome noisy!"
"Not at all," denied Dick indignantly. "He naturally chortles a littleat times."
"Oh, was he chortling? I thought he was champing his bit. Hello, seewho's here!" added Gordon, as the car swayed across B Street. A lustyshouting was heard, and Fudge came racing along the sidewalk. Dickstopped.
"W-w-where you going?" panted Fudge. "Take me, too, Dick. You haven'tgiven me a ride yet!"
"All right," laughed Dick. "Open the door and sit on the edge there,Fudge. But don't drag your big feet and stop the car."
"Go get your cap," advised Gordon.
"Don't need a cap. Where are you going?"
"Oh, just for a ride," replied Dick, throwing in his clutch again aftera calculating survey of the empty street.
"The Springdale road's pretty good," suggested Gordon, with a wink atFudge.
"I thought I'd run out toward the Point," said Dick carelessly. "Youdon't meet many teams that way."
"By the way," asked Gordon, "when do they move in?"
"Who?" Dick inquired.
"The Brents, of course." Fudge giggled.
Dick laughed. "Who said anything about the Brents, you idiot?"
"No one; only you spoke of going to the Point. You can drop Fudge and meat the hotel. We don't want to be in the way."
"Oh, you run along and play!" said Dick good-naturedly. "If you reallywant to know when they're coming back to town, I'll tell you. They'regoing to move in next Wednesday. Morris says it's too hard to get toschool on time. And since football practice has begun----" Dick brokeoff to negotiate a corner.
"Morris is crazy to think he can play this Fall," said Fudge. "He willbust his leg again. You'll see."
"He's going to try, anyway," said Gordon. "They're going to mark out thegridiron this morning, Dick."
"That so? Oh, by the way, I heard from Harold. I've got his letter heresomewhere. Steady the wheel a minute, Gordie, will you?" Dick drew forthan envelope from his pocket and handed it across. "Read it aloud."
"'Dear Dick,'" read Gordon, "'I passed all right. Only I have got to do some extra Math this term. I was sort of rotten on Math. Old Penny (he's the principal) says I did better than lots of fellows who come here. Loring said I was to thank you, and I do awfully, Dick. You were fine and dandy to me, and I am sorry I was such a rotter at first. And I am very sorry about the Math. It wasn't your fault, Dick. Please remember me to the fellows, and tell them I am coming back next year. I am going out for the junior baseball team next week and maybe next summer I can play for you, Dick, if you want me. Loring says remember him to you, and so no more at present from your firm friend, Harold.'"
"'Firm friend' is pretty good," commented Gordon, as he folded theletter up and returned it to its envelope. "But I'm glad the kid passed,if only on your account, Dick."
"Yes; if he had failed, I'd have felt sort of mean about taking themoney. Speaking of money, fellows," he continued, as the runabout slidacross the trolley tracks and headed toward Rutter's Point, "Mr. Pottersent me the statement this morning. I didn't bring it, though."
"How did we come out?" asked Gordon. "About the way we figured?"
"Nearly forty dollars better. There were six hundred and thirty-threepaid admissions to the game, amounting to four hundred and threedollars. The total expenses were, I think, sixty-one dollars; or maybethey were sixty-three. Anyway, the net profits amount to three hundredand forty-two dollars. That includes four dollars and something made onthe pennants sold."
"Peanuts?" exclaimed Fudge. "I didn't know we----"
"Pennants, stupid!" corrected Gordon. "Well, that's doing pretty well,Dick. Then, after paying for the car, we have money left?"
"Over fifty dollars," was the reply. "What shall we do with it?"
"G-g-give it to me," suggested Fudge.
"I think you ought to have it for gasoline and tires," laughed Gordon."This thing will keep you poor, I'm afraid, Dick."
"No, sir," replied the owner of the car seriously. "I'm studying up onautos, and I'm going to make my own repairs. And I've sent for avulcanizing outfit that only costs three dollars and a half. When I getthat I can fix my own tires. As for gasoline, why, _Eli_ only drinks agallon every twenty miles! And I don't run that far in three days! Ithink it would be a good plan to hand over what we have left to theAthletic Committee, Gordie. They'll need a lot of money now that we ownthe field. We'll have to pay the taxes and for water and other things."
"That's right. As far as I'm concerned----"
"Remember this place?" interrupted Dick.
Gordon nodded. "Yes; that's where Morris steered the car into the fenceand me into the bushes."
"It's where you became a blooming hero," said Fudge.
"Hero, nothing! What I did didn't amount to a row of pins!"
"Well, it amounted to the gift of an athletic field to the school," saidDick, with a smile. "That's something, you know!"
"And it amounted to something else, t-t-too," added Fudge. "It madeMorris a respectable member of s-s-s-society!"
"What beautiful expressions you do use, Fudge!" laughed
Gordon.
"Fudge is right, though," agreed Dick, when he had carefully steered thecar around a wagon. "Morris is a heap more--more likable than he waslast year. Whether it was the accident----"
"It jarred some of the nonsense out of him, perhaps," said Gordon."Although, for that matter, Dick, maybe you like him better for otherreasons."
"Humph!" said Dick, with a suspicious sidelong glance. Fudge chuckled.
"Even you and Morris' father seem to be getting quite chummy," pursuedGordon, "while as for Mrs. Brent, why, she's absolutely spoony aboutyou!"
"Go ahead and enjoy yourself," said Dick. "I don't mind your ravings.Looks as though they were getting ready to close the hotel, doesn't it?"he added, as they took the corner cautiously and turned into the shoreroad.
"I should think they would. About everyone has gone. Did I tell you whatCaspar Billings said at the station the other day?"
"I don't think so. What was it?"
"He said he was going to send circulars of the hotel to all the prepschools next Spring, so he could get up a nine that would beat us nextsummer and get that pennant back!"
"L-l-let him!" sputtered Fudge. "We'll be ready for them!"
"Yes, indeed, for we'll have Mr. Harold Townsend playing for us," saidGordon. "By the way, Dick, we'd better put him in center field, don'tyou think?"
"Certainly."
"That's all r-r-right!" exploded Fudge. "P-p-put him there! I'm going top-p-p-play in the infield next s-s-s-summer! I'm g-g-going----"
But Fudge's remarks were drowned by the sudden croaking of the horn asthe blue runabout approached the Brents' cottage.
"There's Morris on the porch," said Dick, adding another dismal warning.
"Yes, and--am I mistaken, or is that---- My sight isn't what it used tobe, Fudge. Look and tell me if that is Louise on the steps."
"Dry up!" muttered Dick, turning the car toward the curb and throwingout the clutch.
Morris and Louise came down the walk. "Some driving, that, Dick," Morrisapplauded.
"Oh, I told him what to do!" said Gordon modestly.
"Good morning, Mister Manager," greeted Louise. "Good morning, MisterCaptain. Good morning, Mister----" She paused, at a loss.
"Mister Historian," supplied Gordon. "Fudge is writing a beautiful storyabout the game, aren't you, Fudge? He's going to call it----"
"C-c-cut it out!" growled Fudge.
"Please tell me, Fudge," begged Louise. "What _are_ you going to callit?"
Fudge scowled, grinned, and relented.
"I'm g-g-going to c-c-c-call it," he said, "'The Lucky Seventh.'"
THE END
The Lucky Seventh Page 25
