A TUG OF WAR.
“You can’t do it!”
“We can!”
“I’ll bet you boys a new baseball outfit you can’t!”
“We’ll take you up, Captain Brown,” came from three boyish throats in
chorus.
“All right, lads, I’ll stick to my word. If you can pull Dan Risley,
Mike Farrell and Peter Gibson over the line in a tug of war you shall
have the best outfit to be bought in Greenpoint.”
There was a shout, and three boys crowded around the speaker.
“That outfit is as good as ours,” cried Sam Anderson, the leader of the
trio.
“Of course it is,” put in Joe, who was also present.
“We’ll pull ’em over at the first word,” added Charley Osborne.
Captain Brown of the Lockport hotel smiled. He thought that what the
boys proposed to do was impossible.
The fact of the matter was the captain and the three lads had been
sitting on the hotel porch watching the carpenters on the building
opposite trying to hoist up several heavy timbers. The timbers had
remained on the ground, awaiting a machine hoist, and the boys had
remarked that they could do better than the men.
One word had brought on another, until a tug of war was spoken of
between the three carpenters on one side and the three boys on the
other.
The boys had always wanted a new baseball outfit, and now they thought
they saw a chance of winning it.
When the carpenters came down from the building the contest was
mentioned to them, and they readily agreed to take part whenever the
boys were ready.
Sam sounded the others and decided to bring matters to a head on the
following Saturday afternoon at three o’clock.
The tug of war between the three boys on one side and the three men on
the other was to come off on the village green, and as it became noised
about the town great preparations were made for the event.
“We must win, that is all there is to it,” Joe declared over and over
again.
“It’s rather unequal, when you come to think of it,” remarked Charley.
“Men ought to be stronger than boys.”
“Not stronger than the members of the Lockport Baseball Club,” said our
hero.
From that time on until the memorable Saturday afternoon the boys did
nothing but practice for the coming contest.
They procured an old but stout rope, and going into the woods along the
river tied one end to a young tree and then tried for hours at a time
to drag the tree to the ground.
This developed their muscles wonderfully.
At last came the Saturday. The boys heard that the men were all ready
for them.
“They have been practicing too,” said Dick Burns, who was greatly
interested in the contest. “I just heard it from Jake Foley.”
“They won’t lose without a tough struggle, that’s certain,” returned
Joe. “But don’t be worried. We must have confidence or we won’t win.”
When the boys reached the village green half an hour before the contest
was to come off they found it crowded with men, women, and young folks.
“Here they come!” was the cry.
“And here come the men,” was added a moment later, as the three
carpenters hove in view.
Captain Brown had provided a brand new rope. The line, as it is called,
was marked off, and the boys took their position at one end and the men
at the other.
“Are you ready?” asked the captain.
There were several seconds of silence.
“Pull!” he yelled, and flung his hat on the ground to signal that the
battle royal was on.
What a straining and tugging there was! Both teams dropped into
position and the knot in the rope remained where it had been placed,
directly on the line.
“Pull ’em over!” yelled Dick.
“Don’t give ’em an inch!” added Carl Lathrop.
“The boys are plucky!”
“Yes, but the men are the stronger.”
So the cries ran on.
At the end of ten minutes--it seemed an age--it was noticed that the
men were gaining. The knot was over to their side all of two inches.
“What did I tell you?”
“The boys are plucky, but they haven’t the weight.”
Sam had his teeth shut hard. He heard the remarks, but paid no
attention to them.
Suddenly he uttered a slight hissing sound. It was the signal that one
of their opponents was off his guard.
Instantly the boys planted their feet back and gave a sudden and strong
pull.
Up came one carpenter after another, grunting as they did.
In vain they tried to fall back into their places.
It was too late, and in a second more the boys dragged them over the
line with a rush.
What a cheer went up!
Even the carpenters joined in.
“You did it, by the great horn spoon, you did it!” cried the captain.
“And the baseball outfit is yours!”
And it was.