CHAPTER VI—GETTING READY FOR THE GAME
The welcome extended the Comrades and Pod by Bert’s parents was cordial in every sense of the word. The big farm was placed at their disposal, and Mrs. Creighton exerted herself to the utmost to provide delicacies that would tempt them, and in this she succeeded beyond her fondest expectations.
It pleased her to see these healthy young fellows eat, and Fleet, especially, was an unending source of delight to her, for when he was not praising her cooking, he was smacking his lips in the keenest enjoyment. By that, it is not meant that Fleet’s table manners were bad; on the contrary, no boy ever paid more attention to the conventions of eating than he, except when camping in the woods, or on some other informal occasion, with only his chums to see him.
The boys slept soundly the first night and arose in the morning to plunge with Bert into the waters of Lake George. Then, after a rub-down that set the blood tingling all through their bodies, they sat down to wheat cakes, maple syrup and coffee, with generous dishes of strawberries and cream on the side.
“You fellows may as well limber up your arms,” said Bert when breakfast was over, and the boys had spent half an hour talking over old times.
“That’s so; Bert promised us a game of baseball,” said Chot. “How about it, Bert?”
“It’s all arranged. Cleverdale has a mighty good team for a country village, and they have agreed to come down to-morrow for a game in our big pasture.”
“Well, isn’t that clever of Cleverdale?” said Pod.
“Here! Don’t spring any more of those,” warned Bert. “I don’t believe I could stand the pressure.”
“Oh, Pod’s been misbehaving all the way up,” said Tom.
“Well, I had plenty of company,” responded the little fellow. “Fleet Kenby fairly disgraced us all, and I failed to observe where any of the other members of our party earned any special bouquets for deportment.”
“Listen at the language!” cried Fleet, as he put his hands on Pod’s head and began an examination, much after the fashion of a phrenologist. “Yes; here’s where it came from. This, gentlemen, is the bump of knowledge, considerably enlarged though colliding with its neighbor, the bump of conceit. The latter bump, which, you will observe, lies right above the ear, is bounded on the north by a wisp of hair, on the south by——”
But Pod had stood all he intended to stand, and diving suddenly between Fleet’s legs, he toppled the fleshy one over on the grass, he, himself, escaping a fall by an agile spring.
Fleet sat where he had fallen, grinning. He enjoyed his innocent battles with Pod and was not at all angry when, occasionally, his little chum got the better of him.
Bert brought forth a ball and bat, as well as several gloves and mitts.
“I have a collection,” said he, by way of explanation.
“We don’t need the gloves; we brought our own, and nothing feels so comfortable on your hand as your own glove,” said Chot. Then the boys proceeded to get their gloves out of the canoes. Fleet fished out his big first baseman’s mitt, and began to limber himself by striking with his bare fist in the hollow spot, which was deep from the constant pounding of the balls.
“But, I say, Bert,” Fleet asked, “you say we are to play Cleverdale to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“How? There are only five of us. Have they a full nine?”
“Yes, and we will have our full nine players also. There will be five young fellows here in the morning to stay all day with us—boys who live in the neighborhood of Kattskill Bay, and who are anxious to acquire Cleverdale’s scalp. You see, there’s not enough of us here to make a team, so we are availing ourselves of the opportunity to secure some real college talent, and expect to win from Cleverdale very handily.”
“Oh, you flatterer!” cried Pod. “Real college talent! Is that us?” he demanded turning on Fleet.
“Well, it’s me, anyway,” was Fleet’s reply. “You don’t think I play first base for Winton for nothing, do you, youngster? And don’t forget that you are Terrible Podsy, king of the shortstops.”
“And you are Flippant Fleetsy, the bum first baseman,” Pod replied, dodging behind Chot, as Fleet made a move toward him.
The boys went out into the big pasture where they found a fine diamond, with the grass close-cropped by the constant feeding of the cows, perfectly level and worn smooth on the base lines. The boys uttered exclamations of delight.
“There’s nothing like a good ground, free from rough spots,” said Tom. “But I had no idea we’d find a ground up here as smooth as this.”
“Well, I’m beginning to find lots of wonderful things around here,” said Fleet. “Take those pancakes Mrs. Creighton made this morning, for instance.”
The other boys laughed as Fleet smacked his lips.
“What I am figuring on now,” Fleet continued, “is how to get word to her to have another batch to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll tell her,” said Bert, amused at Fleet’s perpetual desire for food.
“Thought maybe you would if I mentioned it,” said Fleet.
The boys took turns batting flies and grounders, Chot taking most of the burden because he was to pitch, and needed very little practice on the diamond. So he batted to Pod and Bert, who threw the ball to Fleet at first. Fleet, in turn, threw to Tom who stood at the plate, his big catcher’s mitt on his hand. Tom caught the balls and tossed them to Chot, who would then bat them out again.
Every now and then Pod would dash swiftly to second, when Fleet was throwing the ball home, and Tom would seize it and shoot it down to the second cushion with all his old-time speed. Pod would then seize the sphere and put it on an imaginary runner, and throw to Fleet again to catch an imaginary runner at that bag.
“This seems like old times,” said Fleet. “There are many outdoor games, but after all there is only one.”
“There are many, and yet there’s only one. There’s a riddle for you—figure it out!” cried Pod.
After a while, breathing heavily from their exertions, for the morning was warm, Pod, Bert and Fleet decided to stop. Then Chot took the ball and threw for fifteen minutes to Tom, speeding them in as his arm grew more limber, until the ball became but a mere flash in the atmosphere as it passed from one chum to the other.
Then, practice over, the boys stretched themselves out in the shade of a big oak tree for an hour of solid comfort.
“If Dan, Randy and Wilkes were here, I’d be perfectly happy,” said Bert. “But I suppose it’s impossible for all of us to be together the whole year round.”
“And I wouldn’t mind in the least if Truem Wright were here,” said Chot, which remark occasioned some surprise among his comrades.
“Well, I’ve forgotten the mean things he did,” said Tom. “But I haven’t taken him to my heart sufficiently to wish he was here at this moment.”
“I look at it this way,” said Chot. “Truem was a cad of the first water, as many boys are who have well-to-do parents, and have wanted for nothing during the time they are growing up to go to college. Unless such a boy has a strong grip on himself he’ll grow supercilious, and may be led into doing spiteful things just as Truem was. We gave Truem what he deserved when we were in Bayville on our vacation that summer, and he took a strong dislike to us from that moment. But after he came to Winton his eyes gradually opened, and he saw that we were trying to act squarely with everyone. Then a longing for real companionship came into his heart, as it will sooner or later come to every boy who goes to the bad, and he finally mustered up the courage to tell us that he wanted us to be his friends. And I tell you, fellows, it takes a lot of courage to ask a thing like that of the boys who have been always on the other side, and whom you have been fighting for months. But Truem did it, and now, I say we should have enough interest in his future welfare to lead him along the right path, take him into our set, if need be, and show him that we are glad from the bottom of our hearts to help him. Those are my sentiments.”
There had been not the slightest interruption while Chot was speaking. Each listener had a serious look on his face, for he saw that Chot was in deadly earnest, and when he had finished, each boy felt that their chum was right. Truem had earned the right to their friendship and they should see that he never regretted it.
Bert was the first to speak.
“You are right, Chot, and Truem will have no warmer friend than I next term,” he said.
The others hastened to assure Chot that they felt the same way, and the matter was dropped.
“By the way, Chot,” said Bert, suddenly, winking at the other boys, “what ever became of Lucy Pendleton?”
“Why do you ask me?” queried Chot.
“Well—er—because I thought you were somewhat interested in her.”
“Oh, no,” drawled Fleet. “He isn’t interested. I’ll never forget the time, just the same, that he let Tom and I do all the work on our telephone line so that he could talk to her.”
“Correct,” said Tom, “but Chot would never admit it.”
“But all joking aside,” said Bert, “where is Lucy to spend the summer?”
“After a short visit at Mortonville, she will stay with her aunt, Mrs. Dashworth, at Stockdale,” said Chot.
“I thought she had a father somewhere,” said Pod.
The Comrades exchanged glances. Lucy did have a father, but he was not all a man should be, as the Comrades had every reason to know. During the winter he had come to Mrs. Dashworth’s and sent for Chot to ask him to raise enough money to do the preliminary work on a Colorado mining claim which he had staked out. This Chot had done for Lucy’s sake, forcing Pendleton to give Lucy a fifth interest, and a fifth interest each to Tom and himself. Pendleton was now in the west, trying to interest capital in the venture. Chot and Tom had little faith in the claim’s panning out well, but for Lucy’s sake they had given Luther Pendleton a chance.
Chot had been more inclined to do this than Tom, who had taken an instinctive dislike to Pendleton when Pendleton had been bookkeeper at the brass works in Mortonville, and had, upon the death of Tom’s father, exacted the sum of one thousand dollars from Tom and his mother, alleging that Mr. Pratt had made away with that much of the company’s funds. Tom knew positively that his father had been innocent of the charge, for by accident a phonograph had recorded part of a conversation between Mr. Pratt and someone connected with the brass works, in Tom’s attic room, but Mr. Pratt had been taken suddenly ill and was unable to reveal the name of the man who was trying to do him injury.
These things now recurred to the Comrades, and especially to Tom, who sat for an instant gazing gloomily out over the lake.
“Someone wronged my father—someone wronged him, and I’m going to find him yet, if only to let my mother know that not the slightest stain rested on my father’s character. I must—I will find this man!” and Tom gritted his teeth, as he silently made this resolve.
His reverie was broken by the sound of the horn calling them to dinner, and springing up they all raced for the house, Fleet leading the entire distance, as a vision of fried eggs, new potatoes and apple pie appeared before his eyes.