Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “It is a book of sermons that Doctor Huntley is preparing for a publisher. He is too busy to do it himself, so he gave me the job. I get ten cents a page, and I’ve copied nearly four hundred pages already.”

  “My!” cried Becky; “what a lot of money! Whatever will you do with it, dear?”

  Phœbe smiled a little sadly, but put her arm around her sister and kissed her, affectionately.

  “That’s a part of my secret, dear, and you mustn’t ask me. You’ll not mention the typewriter, Becky — nor anything I’ve told you? I don’t want Phil or the children to know.”

  “Trust me!” returned Becky, delighted to share so important a secret with her elder. Then, she remembered her sore hand and lay down upon the couch again, while Phœbe, having once more locked the door, resumed her work.

  It was dinner time when Don finished the chicken coop and helped Miss Halliday to move the hen and her newly hatched brood into it. There had been sundry quarrels between him and Sue, who accused him of “spilling Becky’s heart’s blood,” but now the girl was so fascinated by the fuzzy chicks that she was loth to leave them, when Auntie called her to the midday meal.

  Phil came in, flushed with his exertions on the ball field, but unusually glum and serious. He found no time for his proposed talk with Phœbe then, for as soon as dinner was over he was obliged to put on his baseball uniform and hurry to the ground, where the important match game with the Exeter nine was to take place.

  “Any of you coming to the game?” he inquired.

  “We’re all coming,” declared Becky, who now posed as a heroine because of her hurt. But, Phœbe shook her head and smiled.

  “I shall be too busy at home, Phil,” she said; “but the others may go.”

  He gave her a quick, curious look, but said nothing more.

  CHAPTER V

  A MATCH GAME

  For a long time there had been great rivalry between the ball teams of Riverdale and Exeter; the latter, a small town lying five miles inland, where there was a boys’ preparatory school. This year each had won five games out of a series of ten, and the extra game to be played today was to decide the championship. The Riverdale high school captain, Al Hayden, the druggist’s son, had picked his team with great care for this important occasion, and Phil had been chosen pitcher.

  The ball grounds were just outside of the village, and not only were the people of Riverdale there in large numbers, but the crowd was augmented by farmers from the surrounding country who had come in for their Saturday trading and took advantage of the opportunity to see a good ball game. Several wagon loads of “fans” from Exeter also rode over in the wake of the buss that carried their ball players, to participate in the fun and excitement.

  All classes of people occupied the “bleachers.”

  Merchants, lawyers and even two liberal minded ministers of the gospel were among them, while Judge Ferguson strolled over as the game commenced, accompanied by his pretty daughter, Janet, to see how Phil conducted himself. The Randolph children were plebeian enough to attend; the manager of the mill was there, and all the small Darings, except Phœbe, eagerly awaited the contest.

  There was a stand where red lemonade was sold, and boys carried around baskets of peanuts and popcorn to refresh the audience. Nearly every high school in town had thought it her duty to be present, and their bright ribbons and dresses added a picturesque element to the scene.

  Phil Daring appeared as composed as ever, when he entered the arena with his comrades; but, never for a moment, since his interview with Mr. Ferguson had his mind been free from grief, humiliation and bitter disappointment. He nodded and smiled as the throng greeted him with hearty cheers; yet all the time he was thinking to himself: “My days of fun and freedom are nearly over now. I must give up college, for good and all, and settle down somewhere to make a living and help support the children. I don’t know what I can do, I’m sure, that will earn the needed money. No one in Riverdale needs any help such as I can give, and I’m not experienced enough to be of much service in a big city. It will be a hard fight, with all the chances against me; but I’ve got to undertake it and make a go of it.”

  These and similar thoughts flooded his mind to the exclusion of all else. Mechanically, he tossed the ball in practice, and when time was called he took his position in the pitcher’s box with scarcely a realization of what he was doing.

  A sudden silence fell upon the throng as Phil pressed the new ball into his palm, drew back with his well-known easy swing and sent the sphere flying through the air. There followed a low murmur that sounded like a groan as the ball flew wide and smashed against the back-stop. Some of the Exeter people laughed. But Phil was unaware of either moans or laughter. He was thinking of something else more important. Getting the ball again, he made another toss and the batter caught it with a full blow and sent it flying into the field for a two-bagger. Al Hayden looked grave at this but said nothing. Phil was Riverdale’s crack pitcher, as a rule; but, perhaps he hadn’t his hand in yet.

  As the game progressed, however, it was evident to all that Phil Daring had “fallen down” and was pitching a miserable game. The Exeters had six runs to the best of it at the end of the sixth inning and the prospects for the Riverdale nine’s being able to even the score were decidedly gloomy. Phil had been equally unsuccessful at the bat, “fanning out” whenever his turn came.

  It was unwise to risk the winning of the game by allowing Daring to play any longer. Al Hayden hurriedly consulted with his mates and then called Phil aside.

  “I’m sorry, old man,” he said; “but, you don’t seem fit, to-day, and we’re bound to lose unless we make a desperate effort. Take the bench, and I’ll put Eric in to pitch — and Jed Hopkins in Eric’s place.”

  Phil gave a sudden start and drew his hand across his forehead, as the full import of the words was understood. Retired? Retired and discredited at this important juncture! Why, he never would be able to hold up his head in Riverdale again, and all the honors he had formerly won on the field would be wiped away by this disgrace.

  “What’s wrong with me, Al?” he asked, anxiously.

  “I don’t know, Phil; but something’s wrong. Look at that score — eight to two! — and only three more innings to play. You are usually our stand-by, old fellow; but, to-day you’ re the only one of the nine who hasn’t been up to scratch, and fighting to win. I’ve been watching you, and you seem dazed, somehow. Have the Exeter fellows scared you?”

  “No,” WAS THE reply. The score, now noticed for the first, time, positively startled him. Aroused from his dreams at last he begged Al to fry him for another inning.

  “Just one,” he pleaded. “Eric can’t pitch as well as I can, I’m sure, and if I don’t make good you can pull me out any time.”

  Al hesitated, sighed, and then consented. He really despaired now of winning the game and was so fond of Phil that he hated to humiliate him.

  But the conference had been noted by the discontented Riverdale audience and people began to shout: “Take him out!” “Put Daring on the shelf!”

  “Phil’s gone bad to-day!” and other similar remarks that made Phil straighten up and walk to his station with an air of resolve.

  Groans and hoots greeted him, but he never wavered. The first batter to face him, one of the crack Exeter players, struck out, and the crowd ceased their jibes. The next man made a “popup” which Phil cleverly caught, and a gentle murmur of applause, mostly from the women, rewarded him. The third man also struck out, and then the crowd forgot its grievance against the young pitcher and gave a hearty cheer.

  “Why didn’t he do that, before?” grumbled Judge Ferguson, who had been greatly annoyed at Phil’s poor showing.

  “He hasn’t seemed himself, to-day,” replied Janet, with friendly generosity. “It occurred to me that he had heard bad news, or perhaps is not well. Really, papa, I’m not sure that Phil knew he was playing ball, till just now.”

  The old lawyer nodded. He knew very we
ll, now that Janet shrewdly called his attention to it, what had doubtless depressed his young friend, and occupied his mind.

  “He seems all right now,” he remarked with a sympathetic sigh. “That last inning he played all by himself.”

  Indeed, Phil’s record of three “put-outs” unassisted, inspired his fellows with renewed confidence in him. Al Hayden went to bat and made a two-bagger. Toby Clark, Mr. Ferguson’s office clerk, got first base on balls. The next batter struck out, but the one following stepped up to the plate and pounded out a clean hit that filled the bases. It was Phil’s turn now, and he realized the full importance of the crisis. Usually a pitcher is not a very good batter; yet, until today Phil had been considered an exception to this rule. So far in the game, however, his hat had never once touched a ball.

  The spectators were thrilled by the excitement of the moment, but expected young Daring to strike out and let the next man, a reliable player, bring in some of the men on bases.

  But Phil’s face was set and determined. He had not yet redeemed himself. Having well-nigh lost the game for his team by his poor showing, it now behooved him to save the day if he could. No thought now engaged his mind, but this; he was living in the present — not in the future. With watchful eye he followed the approaching ball on its course, and at the proper time struck shrewdly with might and main.

  High in the air rose the sphere, describing a perfect arch. With one accord the spectators rose in their seats to watch the ball as it sailed over the back fence, giving the batter a home run and bringing in the three other men.

  When the mighty cheer that rent the air had subsided the score was six to eight, instead of eight to two.

  In the eighth and ninth innings Phil pitched so well that no runs were added by the Exeter team, while the Riverdales made one tally in each inning and tied the score.

  The excitement was now intense. Each team formerly had five games to its credit, and in the present decisive game each side had scored eight runs. An extra inning must be played to determine the championship.

  The boys on both sides settled down to do their level best. Phil was perfectly calm and confident. He struck out two and Al caught a long, high fly that retired Exeter with a “goose-egg.” Then the Riverdale team came to bat and the first two — poor Al one of them — went out in short order. But when Phil again came to bat the opposing pitcher lost his nerve, remembering that famous home run. The result was a long drive that landed Daring on third, and the next batter, Jed Hopkins, brought him home, winning the game and the series.

  The Riverdale crowd was in an ecstasy of delight and cheered until it was hoarse. Phil’s wonderful playing during the final three innings had fully redeemed him in the eyes of his friends and a dozen young fellows leaped into the arena and hoisted him upon their shoulders, carrying him from the field in triumph. Even the defeated Exeters good-naturedly joined in the applause, while Becky and Sue sobbed with joy at the honors being showered upon their big brother.

  “Wasn’t Phil splendid?” exclaimed Janet, as she followed her father from the grand stand.

  The old lawyer nodded thoughtfully.

  “Yes,” said he, “the lad has a wonderful amount of reserve force, which makes him a good uphill fighter. He reminded me of his father, during that last rally. If Phil Daring has only half the pluck and backbone that Wallace Daring possessed, I predict he’ll some day make his mark in the world.”

  “Yet Mr. Daring died poor,” suggested Janet.

  “True, my dear; and that was because he died. Had he lived, it would have been a different story.”

  CHAPTER VI

  HUNTING A JOB

  When Phil managed to shake off his enthusiastic friends and return to his home, he found that Phoebe had gone out. Entering the kitchen to ask Aunt Hyacinth where his sister was, he found the black mammy preparing the supper.

  “Don’ know whar she am, Marse Phil, I’se shuah,” she said. “But Miss Phoebe’s sartin to be back ‘fo’ long.”

  Phil turned to go; then he paused, and after a moment’s thought inquired:

  “Auntie, who pays our grocery bills?”

  “I do, chile,” she answered, giving him an odd look.

  “And where do you get the money?” he continued.

  Auntie was beating eggs for a custard. She pretended not to hear him. Phil repeated the question.

  “Marse Ferg’son done gi’ me a lot,” said she, in a matter of course way.

  “Forty dollars, I believe,” the boy rejoined, rather bitterly.

  “Mo”n dat, honey; lots mo’.”

  “When?”

  “‘Fore we shifted oveh to dis yeah house. Den he done guv me fohty dollehs mo’, an’ said dat were all dere was left. But I guess it’ll do, all right.”

  “Auntie,” said Phil, taking both her hands and looking her squarely in the eyes, “tell me truly; is any of that last forty dollars left?”

  A look of genuine distress crossed her honest face.

  “No, honey,” she admitted, in a low voice.

  “Then, where does the money come from that we’re living on now?”

  “II — m. Miss Phœbe done guv it to me.”

  “Phœbe!”

  “Miss Phœbe; shuah.”

  “Where could Phœbe get any money?” he inquired, wonderingly.

  “Yo’ haf to ask heh, I guess, Marse Phil.”

  He reflected a moment.

  “Auntie, you’re keeping something from me; something I ought to know; and it isn’t right to treat me so,” he declared.

  She made no reply to this.

  “Phœbe hasn’t any money; or, if she’s been trying to earn some, it must be mighty little. See here: I’ll finish school next week, and then I’m going to take care of the family myself, and look after things. Don’t you know I’m the head of the Darings, Auntie, and entitled to know all about our affairs? So tell me, where does all the money come from to pay the grocer, and the butcher, and all the rest?”

  “Miss Phoebe done guv me some,” she persisted, half frightened at his earnestness.

  “And the rest, Auntie?”

  She twisted her apron in her hands and cast an appealing glance into his stern face.

  “Tell me, Auntie!”

  “Well, yo’ see, Marse Phil,” she began, slowly, “I’ve got a little money what useter b’long to yo’ dead papa.”

  “My father!”

  “Dat’s a fac’, honey. Ol’ Marse alius done pay me mo’ wages ‘n I could earn, nohow. I kep’ sayin’ I did n’ want no money; but he insis’, chile; dat ol’ Marse Wallace insis’ I take all he guv me. Law sakes, I don’ neveh need no money, Marse Phil. What ‘n a world I need money fo’ — now yo ‘tell me, ef yo’ can! But I gotter take it, or make Marse Wallace mad. So, I put it in de bank fo’ safe keepin’, an’ jus’ bided mah time to git even. ‘Twan’t mine, honey, shuah ‘nuff; but I jes’ let it stay in de bank fo”mehgencies.”

  Phil’s face was a study. It grew red and white, stern and dismayed by turns. It was not that he resented accepting assistance from Aunt Hy; she seemed one of the family; but that the Darings should be so miserably poor as to be dependent upon the services of their black mammy for support was so shameful that he could scarcely bear the thought.

  “I’m an able-bodied young man,” said he to Phœbe a little later, when the girl had returned from her errand, “and, instead of wasting my muscles and energies on athletic games, all these months, I should have been at work for the family.”

  “You didn’t know, dear.”

  “I ought to have known, Phoebe. That’s no excuse.”

  “I’msure that everything has happened for the best, Phil,” she replied, tenderly. “We’ve gone along, somehow, and I was anxious that we should both be able to complete our high school course. It’s so near the end, now, that we ‘d better stick it out.”

  “Do you know that Auntie has been spending her savings to buy food for us?”

  “Yes; but she doesn�
��t need the money just now, and we will pay her back some time.”

  “She says that you have given her money, too.”

  “Just a trifle, Phil,” she replied, after a brief hesitation.

  “Where did it come from, Phoebe?”

  “I — I earned it.”

  “How?”

  She unclasped her hand and showed him a bright five-dollar gold piece.

  “That’s my last week’s wage — as an amateur typist. I’ve been copying manuscript for Reverend Doctor Huntley.”

  Phil couldn’t help it; he gathered his twin into his arms and cried like a baby, while Phoebe sobbed on his shoulder and was glad the secret was out at last. There were not many secrets between these two.

  Finally, when they had quieted down and could smile into each other’s eyes again, the girl explained how she had found the work and how the kindly clergyman had secured a typewriter for her and been very patient with her mistakes until she had thoroughly mastered it.

  “He said, to-day, that it was the neatest and most correct copying he had ever seen,” she added, proudly.

  The discovery that Phoebe had been working while he played added fuel to Phil’s remorse. He wanted to quit school at once and seek work, but Phoebe argued long and patiently and at last prevailed upon him to complete his course. It would only require a couple of weeks more to do this, and meantime he could be inquiring for work in the village.

  “I’ll not be likely to find it, though,” he predicted. “Riverdale is a dull place, and I’m afraid I’ll have to go to the city.”

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, for the twins had never been parted in their lives, and she could not endure the thought. “I’m sure that some position may be found here, and although the pay will not be as liberal as in the city, your expenses will be much less. And, above all, we can then remain together.”

  “I’ll see what can be done,” he promised, kissing her affectionately; and then the younger ones came trooping in to end their conversation.