“Gee!” exclaimed an enthusiast near third base. “I hope he’ll stay here.”
On coming to bat, Clarence sent a liner over second, and reaching first, kept right on while the center fielder was throwing the ball in. When, a moment later, Clarence stole third and came in on an out at first, the storm of applause broke out again.
“Take off your hat,” said Rieler to the run-getter.
“Shucks!” said Clarence. “Say, here comes Will Benton, and he looks excited.”
“Hey, Clarence,” shouted Benton as soon as he was within hailing distance, “Father Rector wants you at once. It’s important and he says you’re to bring John Rieler along, too.”
For the first and only time in his life, Master Clarence surrendered his place in a ball contest willingly. Even Rieler, who next to swimming loved the national game, called with alacrity for a substitute.
“Hang baseball,” he said recklessly, as accompanied by Clarence and Will, he hastened toward the Rector’s room. “We can play that any fine day. But it’s nice to be with you, Clarence Esmond. I’ve a feeling that when I’m with you there’s something going to happen.”
“You may be only half in earnest, Rieler,” said Will Benton; “but the fact is I’ve got the same feeling myself. My firm belief is that Master Clarence’s bright-eyed goddess of adventure hasn’t lost her grip on her young victim yet. She’s got him hoodooed.”
“See here, you fellows,” remonstrated Clarence, “talk about something pleasant. What I want is a quiet life.”
“You’ll get a quiet life—somewhere, some day,” said Benton, “but I’ve a feeling in my bones that you’re not out of the woods yet.”