“No, she won’t,” replied Louise. “Mama’s gone to Mrs. Grey’s this afternoon. Do stay and see just two more innings, papa.”
“Yes, don’t leave us now, dad,” said Morris. “You never can tell what’s going to happen in a ball game!”
Mr. Brent frowned, fidgeted and finally leaned back again. “Well,” he said, “I’ll see one more turn for each of ’em.”
But at the end of the seventh when, after Lesterville had gone ahead in the fifth, Clearfield came back with two doubles and a base on balls and evened up the score, Mr. Brent was still there and showed no signs of leaving. In fact, although we have only Morris’ word for it—Louise remaining smilingly reticent on the point—when, in the eighth, with three Lesterville players on bases and only one out, Harry Bryan and Pete Robey executed a lightning double-play that retired the side without a tally, Mr. Brent’s voice was to be heard with the others that went up in a shout of delight! And even Louise affirmed that, in the tenth inning, when Gordon rapped out the single that sent Harry Bryan across with the winning run Mr. Brent pounded approvingly with his cane and declared that “that Merrick boy was a smart one!”
Ten to nine was the final tally and Dick and Harold Townsend, who had sat beside the manager during the entire game and kept a perfectly correct score—barring a mistake or two quickly set right by a surreptitious glance at Dick’s columns—closed their score-books with delighted slams. Revenge is sweet, and this had been fairly won.
Later on Louise, Morris, Dick, Gordon and the unescapable Harold journeyed together by trolley car to the Point and talked the game over with a wealth of detail and enthusiasm. There was a very merry party at the Brents’ cottage that evening. Mr. Brent pretended to have found the game very tiresome and declared that he didn’t see any sense in grown-up boys wasting their time on such nonsense, and the young folks, and Mrs. Brent, too, she having heard of her husband’s doings, pretended that they believed him. After dinner Gordon, who had failed to get his swim in the ocean before, borrowed Morris’ suit and went in by moonlight. The cottage almost overhung the waves and the others, on the veranda, watched him glide in and out of the moon’s path and supplied him with a lot of doubtless excellent advice on the subject of swimming. Still later, with Gordon once more among them, Louise brought out her mandolin and they sang songs. Attracted by the music, Loring Townsend and Caspar Billings joined the company and added their voices to the chorus. Then they talked some more; of the day’s game, of the next Saturday’s important contest—and the Reporter’s latest efforts—of school and a dozen other things.
Dick and Gordon got the last car back to Clearfield, both comfortably tired and sleepy, and Gordon walked home with Dick. It was just before they reached the Levering gate that Dick sprung a surprise on his friend.
“I’ve been thinking,” announced Dick, “that there’s one mighty good use we can put our money to, Gordie.”
“What money?” asked Gordon, with a yawn.
“Why, the money we’ve made on the games. You see, if we have the crowd next week that Potter thinks we’ll have we ought to be about two hundred and fifty dollars in pocket.”