THE 'HOPES' ARE BLASTED - The Rambler Club's ball nine - 53

THE "HOPES" ARE BLASTED

Several weeks later the baseball season was in full blast. The "Rambler Club's ball nine" didn't always win in the inter-scholastic series; but they had so many victories to their credit that further opposition to their representing the school was never heard.

"Well, fellows," remarked Bob Somers, one day, as they lounged about in the grateful shade of the big elm tree on the campus, "it certainly paid us to stand up for ourselves."

"Sure as doughnuts, those no-trespassing signs are going to come down," chirped Tom Clifton. "Yesterday, five to three, against the Hilltons! That's not so bad, is it?"

Dave Brandon, leaning comfortably against the trunk, and reading a book of Bryant's poems, smiled.

"How different the situation is from the time when Brown's friends were gently urging us to leave the ball field," he laughed. "Now everything is lovely."

"The Stars far outclass any of the school teams we've met," observed Charlie Blake. "So do the Goose Hill and Willingtons. The fight we had against those clubs must have done us an awful lot of good, eh, Bob?"

"You bet it did," responded the captain. "It made most of the other nines seem easy. Now that our batting average is getting higher and higher I guess it's about time to accept Brown's standing defi and play the 'Hopes' a series."

"So say we all," remarked Dick Travers.

"I certainly laughed when the 'Hopes' played the Stars and Tony Tippen pitched a no-hit game," said "Jack Frost." "It took that fire-eater, Owen Lawrence, down just a trifle, I can tell you. I just couldn't help rubbing it in a little bit."

"And I fairly hammered it in," gurgled Tom. "Lawrence will play against us as hard as he ever did in his life. Fired any more of Benny Wilkins' articles, Dave?"

"No! I can't understand why he didn't give me a couple this morning," answered the editor. "The thirty-seventh showed a lot of improvement. I suppose I'll have to accept something before long, because he's sold more papers than any other boy in school."

"That's a great picture he made of you and Tom," chuckled Sam Randall. "It cost Terry Guffin one ninety-eight to have it framed."

"Good for Terry," laughed Dave. "He has the only real art gallery in town."

One afternoon about a month later, as school let out, Benny Wilkins, with an enormous bundle of papers under his arm, began yelling:

"Get a copy of the high school 'Reflector'! Read B. Franklin Wilkins' great article on the baseball situation. A spicy, up-to-date account, with the opinions of the author added free of charge. Five cents—five cents the copy. Catch the definite article. Well worth a quarter. Who's the lucky buyer of the first copy? Everybody speak at once. Two cents down—the rest in instalments!"

Benny's appeal met with instant response. He was besieged, literally hurled off his feet by the onslaught.

Aleck Parks did the upsetting part.

"Excuse me, Benny," he said, helping the lad to arise; "excuse me. I've got only a cent, but I'll give you my note for the rest."

"All right," chuckled Benny. "I'll make a note of it. Say, Parksy, your manners certainly need a bit of floor polish."

Benny's stock of "Reflectors" dwindled at an astonishing rate.

Bob Somers and Dave Brandon lingered until the crowd had cleared away; then Dave, with a sigh of relief, ambled toward the big elm.

"That place seems to be just made for me," he said. "While I'm taking a well-earned rest, Bob, I'd advise you to glance over B. Franklin Wilkins' article."

"Just what I'm going to do," chuckled the captain, as he opened the paper.

Tom, laying aside his manners for the time being, looked eagerly over his shoulder to read:

"B. Franklin Wilkins on the baseball situation. With his observations on the past and predictions for the future.

"This has been a season of blasted 'Hopes.' They started out meaning well, and, 'for the good of the school,' withdrew. It is little things like this which break the monotony of student life, though for a time it looked as if something more valuable than monotony would be broken.

"As I have frequently said in my articles, none of which, however, have been printed—this is no reflection on the editor; lack of judgment is born in some people—the beginning of the season found a lot of wildcat hunters, would-be aeroplanists and house-boat racers trying to play ball.

"This is, as Shakespeare was too far behind the times to say, 'the limit.' It was up to the limit of what the school could stand. After hitting the top of the toboggan with a dull and deadly thug they started to slide down, the rasping sound which accompanied them being furnished gratis by nearly every boy in school.

"At the bottom of the chute they accepted an invitation from Daniel Brown and friends to take a well-earned rest—'for the good of the school.' My observation on monotony and breaking things applies mostly to this case. Wildcat fighters are often very tame at home, which is conceded to be a good thing.

"What would have happened if they had brought their 'forest' manners back to the school you can imagine by reading a serial now being published in the 'Reflector.'

"Just as they were about to get the final boost Mr. Rupert Barry appeared and handed something to Mr. Daniel Brown which sounded like a cannon cracker going off in an empty barrel.

"That's when the 'Hopes' got blasted.

"Since then the Rambler Club's ball nine—I've ordered the editor not to cut out the name—has been going from victory to victory in exactly the same manner they were boasting about before any playing was done.

"You can't blame a lot of fellows for making a great blow when they have the goods in the shop. They had just been mislaid, and not even the manager could find them.

"But the excitement during the search was something awful. The writer's efforts to be on both sides at the same time nearly ruined his nervous system. He found himself, at times, delivering punches impartially to either side.

"We will now speak of a little tussle between Bob Somers' Bear Cats and Dan Brown's 'Hopes.'

"It was certainly the greatest ball game ever played—in Kingswood. Thousands upon thousands of spectators were on the field—anyway, the figure runs up to a good many hundred—but that doesn't look well in print. For eleven innings they fought in a most desperate fashion, both sides winning by the score of three to three—because, if neither side actually won the game, each won a lot of praise for staving off defeat. Three more games have to be played, and a few mean people are pained to think that an admission fee can't be charged.

"The writer has said as many nice things about the team as he can, hoping to get on the good side of the editor. That scribe doesn't write so much better himself.

"Another thing I must mention: No team has been able to beat the Stars with Tony Tippen in the box. The 'Hopes' have tried it twice; and each time it was dangerous to speak to Owen Lawrence for at least two hours after a certain little row of ciphers had been chalked down in the run column. Tippen is a pippin.

"Coming back to the Kingswood High: The writer can almost picture in his mind a nice level field with a grand stand and crowds of spectators watching a game.

"May this be no trick of the imagination!"

"Whew; maybe that isn't a whopping long article!" cried Tom. "Not so bad, eh, Dave?"

"It's Benny Wilkins all over," chuckled the editor. "That chap has certainly boomed the circulation of the paper."

As a prophet Benny was in great favor. Now that his article had been accepted he became a most enthusiastic champion of the team, and his delight at each victory was only matched by his disappointment when defeat came to the earnestly-striving ball players.

"Never mind—they're going to get there just the same," he always asserted.

The games between the "Rambler Club's ball nine" and the "Hopes" attracted even more attention than those in the inter-scholastic series. Each was bitterly fought, the Somersites winning two and the "Hopes" one, with the fourth a tie.

Neither "Crackers" Brown nor Owen Lawrence would ever concede the superiority of the others, while big Earl Roycroft expressed the opinion that they were about as evenly matched as teams could be.

It was certainly a great year for baseball at the Kingswood High. With the school now solidly back of them, the nine continued to improve, and at the end of the season Mr. Rupert Barry was the first to shake Coach Steele and Bob Somers by the hand.

"Let me congratulate you," he said, heartily. "You have won not only the ball park and grand stand, but my highest esteem, as well."