DODGE AND RIPLEY HEAR SOMETHING
Teall's grin, as he swung his stick and waited, was more impudent
than ever. He meant to show the bumptious Centrals a thing or
two.
Then in came Dick's wickedest drop ball, and it looked so good
that Captain Ted took a free chance.
"Strike one!" remarked Umpire Tozier.
Some of the grin vanished from Ted's face, but his eyes now flashed
the fire of resolve.
"Strike two!"
Teall began to feel little tremors running all up and down his
spine.
"Steady, you idiot!" he warned himself.
"Ball one!"
Captain Teall began to feel better. Perhaps Dick's arm was beginning
to grow stale.
"Strike three. Out!"
Ted started for the bench, hurling his bat before him. He was
full of self-disgust.
"A fellow never can guess when he has Dick thrashed," he said
to a South beside him.
"I didn't expect to see you play out before him in the ninth,
Ted," replied the classmate.
"Neither did I," muttered Teall gloomily.
"Strike three! Out!" sounded Umpire Tozier's droning voice.
Then Ted sat up straight, rubbing his eyes.
"Two out, and no one on bases!" groaned Ted. "Oh, fellows---those
of you who have a chance---do something. For goodness' sake,
do something to save South Grammar."
A few agonized moments passed while those at the batting benches
looked on at the fellow now performing by the plate.
"Strike three! Out!" remarked Ben Tozier decisively. Then the
game was given to the Central Grammar boys by a score of five
to four. The championship of the local Grammar League was also
awarded them.
Ted gulped down hard. Some of his fellows looked decidedly mad.
"It's a shame!" choked Wells.
"No; it isn't, either," Ted disputed. "Dick Prescott and his
fellows beat us fairly. Come on we'll congratulate 'em."
Good sportsman that he was, Ted almost limped across the field,
followed by some of his players, to where Dick and the other Central
Grammar players were surrounded by their friends.
"Prescott, you fellows are wonders!" broke forcefully from Captain
Ted.
"Nothing like it," Captain Dick laughed modestly. "Some one had
to win, you know, and the luck came to us."
"Luck!" exploded Ted unbelievingly. "Nothing like it, either.
No sheer luck could ever have broken down the cast-iron determination
that our fellows had to win. You Centrals are the real ball players
of the town---that's the only answer."
Whooping wildly in their glee, scores of Central Grammar boys
rushed at Dick Prescott, trying to get at his hand and wring it.
"Please don't fellows," begged Dick, going almost white under
the torment, after three or four boys had succeeded in pumping
that arm. "You've no idea how sore my arm is."
"It must be," shouted Greg. "Dick told me to kill his arm, if
I had to, but to signal for the balls that would strike out three
batsmen in lightning order."
"The left hand, then!" clamored more of Dick's admirers. Laughingly,
Prescott submitted to having his left hand "shaken" almost out
of joint.
"Don't make such a fuss about it, fellows," begged Dick at last.
"Remember that we have a permit for a bonfire on this lot to-night,
and that the stuff is piled up in the rear of the next yard.
You fellows who didn't have to go lame bestir yourselves now in
bringing on the old boxes and barrels."
"Whoops!" yelled a Central Grammar boy, starting off. "Bring
out the stuff and pile it high."
"Let the Souths help!" bawled Ted Teall at the top of his voice.
"No matter who won, we'll all celebrate."
"Ted, you won't play any funny tricks on that pile of wood?" questioned
Dick a bit uneasily, as he followed Captain Teall.
"What do you take me for?" demanded the South Grammar boy. "Do
you think that I'm not on the level?"
"I'm answered," was Dick Prescott's satisfied answer.
Ere long the material for a monster bonfire was piled. Word was
given out that it would be set going just a few minutes after
dark.
"We came up here to see what we could find to do, didn't we?"
whispered Bert Dodge, nudging Fred Ripley.
"Yes," nodded Fred uneasily; "and, so far, we haven't struck a
thing that would be safe to do."
"The dickens we haven't," chuckled Dodge.
"What, then?" Fred inquired. Bert whispered in his ear, adding:
"It won't cost us more than a dollar apiece, Fred."
"It's great," declared Ripley enthusiastically. "But we've got
to move quickly, and at the right minute, or we'll be caught.
I wouldn't give much for our chances of comfort if we're caught
in this thing."
"We won't be, or we ought not to be," Dodge retorted. "But we'd
better get home and get our suppers on the jump."
"We can do better than that; we can get a quick meal at one of
the restaurants and then jump back on the job."
"Rip, you have a great head sometimes," admitted Bert Dodge.
At a time when every one else was at supper Fred Ripley and Bert
Dodge stole back to the scene of the bonfire. After glancing
cautiously about, they felt sure that no one was observing them.
Then they stole close to the pile of combustibles. For a few
moments they worked there, removing lids from tin cans and planting
them safely out of sight.
Human nature---of the American brand, at any rate---dearly loves
a bonfire. By dark that evening some two hundred grown-up and
several hundred Gridley boys had congregated on the late ball
field.
"Touch it off, some one. There's no use in waiting any longer,"
urged some of the bystanders. "It's almost dark."
"No, no! Wait!" urged Tom Reade. "The blaze will be all the
finer after dark."
"Where's Dick Prescott?" sounded a voice, this being followed
by a dinning clamor for the captain of the Centrals.
"Here!" called Dick, when he could make himself heard.
"Pouch it off, Dick! Let the fun start. You're the right one
to set the bonfire going."
"Not I," Prescott answered. "There is some one else here who
has been appointed to set the blaze going, and who has accepted
the job."
"Then trot him out and let him get busy!" came the urgent demand.
"Wait just a few minutes, fellows. We want it really dark," urged
Captain Prescott.
At last, when he judged it dark enough, Dick stepped forward,
Captain Ted Teall at his side.
"Friends," Dick explained, "Teall has been good enough to agree
to start the blaze tonight."
"South Grammar fellows this way, please!" called Teall. "Now,
friends, please don't any of you make any noise until we Souths
have a chance to say just a few words. All ready, South Grammars?
Then three cheers for the Central Grammar School, winners of
the school baseball league series. Let 'em rip out loudly!"
The cheers were given, followed by a tiger.
"Is Hi Martin, captain of the North Grammar nine, here?" called
Ted Teall.
But Hi wasn't, or else he kept his presence very quiet.
"Hi wouldn't he here," jeered some one. "He didn't win---couldn't
win---and he's sore."
Again Ted called for Hi Martin, though still without success.
"Then I'll have to light the fire alone," Ted declared. "I had
hoped that the captains of both of the walloped teams might share
the honor."
Tom Reade and Dave Darrin hastily emptied a five-gallon can of
oil on the old boxes and barrels and other pieces of wood.
"All clear?" called Ted.
"All clear," nodded Tom Reade.
"Then I'll light the blaze," shouted Ted. "This is a lot easier
than winning ball games," he added good-naturedly.
Three or four wind-proof matches Teall struck on a box and tossed
into the oil-soaked pile of combustibles. In a moment the increasing
heat of the blaze drove him back several yards.
Higher and higher mounted the red and yellow flames. Hundreds
stood about, their faces fully illumined by the big glow.
"It's going to be a great one," Ted called to Dick, as the latter
came toward him.
"Finest bonfire I've ever seen," Prescott answered.
"But---" began Teall, a puzzled look on his face. Then---sniff!
sniff! "Queer stuff, that! What a stuffing smoke it makes.
I wonder what it is that burns with such a sharp smell?"
"It must be pitch," replied Dick Prescott, also sniffing. "Whew!
How sharp it is!"
Ted began to sneeze. Dick followed suit. Presently all of the
boys who were standing at all near the blazing pile found themselves
sneezing, coughing or sputtering at a great rate. Some of the
men, further away, caught the acrid fumes.
"This is a mean trick some one has played on us," cried Dick,
falling back before the stifling odors.
"I hope you don't think I did a mean thing like that?" demanded
Teall anxiously.
"I'm sure you didn't," Prescott answered. "You're full of tricks,
Ted Teall, but you're a real sportsman after you've been beaten."
"Say, can this possibly be any of Hi Martin's work?" demanded
Tom Reade, as the boys fell back steadily from the bonfire.
"Only one objection to suspecting Hi," retorted Teall.
"What's that?" asked Greg. "Too proud?"
"No," snapped Teall. "Hi hasn't brains enough to think up anything."
"This is just like boys. It's really what one gets for turning
out to a boys' bonfire!" growled one man between fits of coughing,
as he rapidly got away from the fire. It's an abominably mean
trick!"
"Who did it?" asked another man.
"Oh, you can't find that out now," replied still another. "You
all know the way that boys hang together in mischief. No one
would tell you, or dare to tell you, if he knew."
"I'd like to know the boy, for about one minute!" snapped one
stout, red-faced man, down whose cheeks the tears were trickling.
"It's that loutish trick of putting red pepper on a fire. No
one but a feeble-minded boy would think of playing an old, moth-eaten
trick like that!"
"It would pay us to get out of here quickly, if any one suspected
us," whispered Fred Ripley to his friend.
"Sh! Shut up!" returned Dodge in a hoarse whisper. "It isn't
best for us to be seen whispering. Look innocent."
From behind a heavy hand descended abruptly on either coat collar,
taking firm hold.
"Here are the young apes who played the trick!" roared an angry
voice. "I just heard them whispering about it, and when I was
finishing supper I remember that I looked out of the window and
saw these boys fooling about the pile."
"What did you put on the fire?" demanded a man, stepping in front
of the now frightened youths, who were hemmed in so that they
could not escape.
"Red pepper," returned Ripley sullenly. He spoke before he thought,
thus admitting his guilt and Dodge's.
"You idiot!" hissed Bert.
"You're both of you idiots," retorted the captor, who had now
released both young men. "Besides being a mean, detestable trick,
it's as old as the world. That red-pepper trick was invented
by some stupid lout who lived thousands of years before the Flood."
"What shall we do with these imps?" demanded a voice.
"There must be some High School boys here," said the man who had
first seized the humiliated pair by their collars. "Let the High
School boys decide what is to be done with them."
"We don't care what's done with a pair of simpletons like them,"
spoke up Ben Tozier. "Let the crowd go as far as it likes with
such a pair."
"Don't you dare do anything to us" screamed Ripley, now beside
himself with rage. "It will go hard with any one who interferes
with us.
"Ha! ha! Ho! ho!" roared some of the crowd. "Listen to the
half-witted pair!"
While another man spoke up jovially:
"I'll tell you what to do with them. They came here to spoil
the fun of the Grammar School boys. Let the Grammar School boys
dispose of these stupid fellows as they choose."
"I tell you," raged Ripley, "that it will go hard with any one
who interferes with our comfort. There are laws in this land."
"Look at what doesn't want its comfort interfered with!" jeered
another voice. "This comes from a lout who interfered with our
comfort by putting several cans of red pepper on the bonfire.
Turn 'em over to the Grammar School boys. Boys, what do you
want to do with this pair?"
"We'll make 'em run the gauntlet," spoke up Spoff Henderson eagerly.
In a twinkling, so it seemed, a long double row of Grammar School
boys was formed down the street. Some of these boys had light
twigs or sticks; others stood ready to use their hands.
"Start 'em!" yelled Spoff. Some one did start the pair. Bert
and Fred sullenly refused to run, but quickly changed their minds.
Down the street they raced, Ripley in advance, between two parallel
lines of Grammar School boys. Sticks were laid over them, or
hands reached out and administered cuffings. It was a grotesque
sight. Long before they reached the end of the double line Bert
and Fred yelled for mercy, but got none. With final blows they
were turned loose and vanished into the night. Within a few minutes
the pepper in the bonfire had burned out. Then the revelers drew
nearer, piling on other combustible stuff.
Thus was fittingly observed the victory of Dick Prescott's nine
in winning the local Grammar School championship.