BASES FULL!
“First man!” shouted Hurry.
“First man!” echoed Van. “Let’s get him, gang!”
“No one reaches first!” proclaimed Pat Tyson. “Go after him, Jeff!”
So Jeff nodded, wound up and pitched, and the Wolcott left fielder
met the ball with his bat and sent it right back over Jeff’s head and
the trouble began. A reddish-haired lad named Quinn, who officiated
at third base for the visitors, conferred with the Wolcott coach and
advanced to the plate. He was evidently determined to make a sacrifice
bunt and so Cobham signaled for low ones. With a strike and a ball
scored, Quinn lifted one behind Van Dyke and just inside the foul line.
Before the excitement was over there was a runner on second and a
runner on first and no one was out!
Mr. Connover signaled along the bench and Erlingby and Frost pulled on
their gloves and, followed by Gus Risley, retired behind the stand. The
next man hit the ball across the diamond to Hurry, who, finding it too
late for a play at second, sped the sphere to Van Dyke for the first
out. A third hit followed, though, and the runners from third and
second scored the tying runs!
Ogden threw out the next batsman at first, passed the subsequent one
and then, while Wolcott still cheered and shouted and waved, made the
third man raise an easy fly to Hurry Leland, bringing to an end a
painful session!
Wyndham came in and went into conference about the coach. The score was
3 to 3. One run would settle the matter here and now, but whether that
one run could be produced, and how, was a subject for thought. Clif
was first up, and, after listening intently to words of wisdom from
Coach Connover, faced an extremely composed looking Osterman. Steve had
told Clif to wait for a pass and this he proceeded to do. But Osterman
wasn’t issuing passes yet, and after two strikes had been called
against him and only two balls had been wasted by the pitcher Clif knew
it was up to him to watch his step. The next delivery might have been
intended for a drop, but it held pretty level and Clif got it fairly.
The ball shot across the diamond a few feet to the left of the middle
bag, and Clif was safe on first.
Tom Kemble, due for a sacrifice, had been told to hit it out, and he
proceeded to do so. He let Osterman put the first delivery over for a
strike and the second for a ball. Then he selected the next and whanged
it down the third base line. There was a good deal of luck in that
hit, but it served its purpose, which was to put Clif on second and Tom
on first. In fact, Clif might have gone to third on it, and was well on
his way when the coacher turned him back.
Talbott tried hard to get his second hit of the day then, but, although
he fouled the ball all over the place, escaping being caught out by so
many miracles, his final effort was a bounder to third baseman, and
his heroic race to the bag failed of success. Van Dyke, who followed,
was wildly implored to hit a home-run――although a single would have
answered quite as well――and seemed willing to oblige. But Osterman for
once failed to find the plate. Perhaps it was time he let down a bit,
for he had pitched fine ball for eight innings. Two balls, a strike
and two more balls, pitched while the Wyndham stand yelled and jeered
in the universal manner of baseball crowds, sent Van to first and the
bases were full!
Bases full and only one away! A hit would win the game and the
championship! Coach Connover nodded to Sim Jackson and the umpire
announced the substitution impressively. Sim looked decidedly nervous
as he swung his bat and awaited the first offering, but determination
shone through the nervousness, and after Osterman had twice missed the
plate he took courage. Osterman worked a pretty drop over for a strike
and duplicated the proceeding a moment later. Evidently the booing and
shouting from the Wyndham stand were no more than music to his ears!
Then Sim hit. The ball rose in a weak infield fly that dropped fairly
into the third baseman’s glove, while all three runners hurried back
to their bases. Sim went back to the bench looking very woebegone. Two
away now!
“Risley batting for Ogden!” shouted the umpire.
Gus could hit, and the Wyndham supporters took hope once more. But Gus
could not, it appeared, hit to-day. Osterman fooled him badly on an
out-curve, offered him a palpable ball that Gus almost went after in
his anxiety and then scored again with a drop. As Gus recovered his
balance after whirling around on one foot, Captain Leland, coaching at
third, stooped and patted both palms against the sod. Clif took a deep
breath, edged another foot from the bag, another――
Osterman was smiling a bit disdainfully as he took a short wind-up for
the fourth delivery, but the smile faded abruptly. Along the path from
third base a blue-stockinged form was speeding as though shot from
a cannon. Cries of shrill warning sounded above the unceasing noise
from the stands. Osterman stepped forward and shot the ball toward the
plate, every ounce of strength behind it. Bedlam broke loose as runner
and ball raced for victory. Bailey dropped despairingly, but the ball
hit the dust in front of the rubber, struck his mitt and caromed off it
just as Clif hurtled to the plate in a “fallaway” slide, an eager foot
reaching for its goal!
The umpire, a squat figure in a cloud of yellow dust, held his hands
down just as Bailey found that he was sitting on the ball. Clif
struggled to his feet to discover himself in a mob of maniacal youths
seemingly bent on his destruction. But they only shoved and tugged and
boosted at him until he was swaying dizzily, and certainly insecurely,
above the rabble. There was a fearsome din and lots of dust, and his
captors, red-faced youths with wide-open mouths, seemed content to just
mill around in the center of that increasing mob. But Clif was not the
only one who was viewing the scene from above, for there was Captain
Leland and Van Dyke and Tom, and every moment some other hero was
lifted in air. Clif tried to wriggle loose, but his bearers only held
him the tighter. Cheering began. Clif relaxed and grinned. It came to
him that all this was eminently proper after all. They had won a mighty
victory.
* * * * *
Tom had received a letter from his guardian that forenoon, but as it
had reached him almost simultaneously with his restoration to the
baseball squad he had not even opened it. Now, in Loring’s room after
supper, the talk finally veered from the afternoon’s victory and Loring
asked: “Your father isn’t coming for you, is he, Clif?”
“No,” was the answer. “He’s in Chicago and doesn’t get back until
to-morrow evening. He’s sending the car by a man from the garage. I’m
going to drive it back, though!”
“Trust you!” said Tom. “What time do we start along, Loring?”
“Father said they’d get up here by eleven. That’s about as early as
they can make it. We’ll stop for lunch somewhere, I suppose.”
“Sure I won’t be in the way?”
“Of course you won’t. The car seats seven, and Wattles will sit in
front. There’ll be just the four of us behind. How about your trunk?
Want Wattles to look after that in the morning? We’re sending our stuff
by express.”
“Suits me. It’s mighty nice of you to take me along, and the best of it
is that I’ll be ahead the price of the railway fare, and when you don’t
get much coin, anyway――” Tom stopped abruptly and slapped his pockets.
“Heck, I almost forgot the old coot’s letter! Came this morning and
I stuffed it away―― Here it is. Mind if I see how much he’s made the
check for?”
“Go ahead,” said Loring. “Hope he’s been generous.”
“If he has,” murmured Tom, “it’s the first time――” He relapsed
into silence, a slip of buff paper dangling from one hand and the
accompanying letter in the other. Loring and Clif resumed conversation
quietly. Suddenly there was an exclamation of dismay from Tom. “Well,
what do you know?” he gasped. “The blamed old fish says I can’t come
back!”
“Come back?” echoed Clif. “Do you mean _here_?”
Tom crumpled the letter savagely. “Yes! He’s had my report, and he
says―― Oh, what’s it matter what he says? The main thing is I’m
through!”
“But――but that’s crazy!” Loring protested. “You passed! He’s just
trying to throw a scare into you, I guess. He’s bound to come around
before fall, Tom.”
“Is he?” growled Tom. “You don’t know him! It’s the money he’s thinking
of, the――the blamed old miser! Says it would be wasting money for me to
return, that I’m getting no results for what it’s costing. And it’s my
money, too! All right, all _right_! But he needn’t think I’m going to
clerk in a store, or something like that, by heck! I’m――I’ll run away
first! I don’t care what――”
Tom’s angry voice was stilled by a gentle tap on the door. The breeze
had died away and the door had been left well ajar for the admittance
of any stray breath of air stirring in the corridor. Before Loring
could answer, the tip of a cane came into view, the door opened wider
and Mr. Cooper entered. He was in dress clothes, and Clif’s first
thought was one of envy. Clif had viewed his own evening regalia in
the mirror half an hour since and had been rather well pleased with
what he had seen, but now he realized that dress clothes alone were not
enough; it was the manner of wearing them that counted most! Even Tom
forgot his wrath for a moment in approving appraisal of the newcomer,
and Loring spoke his mind frankly.
“Gee, Mr. Cooper, you’re some sheik!” he exclaimed.
Mr. Cooper smiled as he laid hat and stick on the foot of Loring’s bed.
“Thanks,” he answered. “Fact is, fellows, I haven’t had these togs
on for so long that they feel deuced strange. You chaps look rather
sheikish yourselves, it seems to me!” He took his accustomed chair
and viewed Tom’s lowering countenance inquiringly. “What’s this about
running away, old chap?” he asked.
“I forgot the door was open,” muttered Tom. “It’s Mr. Winslow, sir. He
doesn’t like the marks I got and says I can’t come back in the fall.”
Mr. Cooper’s brows raised. “Really! Why, that _is_ bad news, isn’t it?”
“Rotten!” declared Clif. “We had it all fixed to room together, sir.”
“Tom says it’s the expense that’s worrying the guardian,” said Loring.
“And it’s Tom’s money, too.”
“And so you’re going to run away,” mused Mr. Cooper.
“I’m going in the Navy,” declared Tom defiantly.
“Well, now look here, Tom. Just put the matter out of your mind.
Perhaps I don’t rate very high with you chaps as a prophet, but I’m
really quite a remarkable one, and I prophesy, Tom, that you’ll be back
here in September. And the September after that again.”
Tom stared doubtfully. Then he grinned. “I’d like to know where you get
your dope,” he muttered.
Mr. Cooper waved a thin brown hand. “We prophets don’t give ourselves
away, old chap. But――” and he spoke so gravely that even Tom was
impressed――“I give you my word that I know what I’m talking about and
that it’ll be just as I say. How about it?”
Tom laughed doubtfully. “I don’t see how―― But, heck, sir, you make it
sound real!”
“It is real. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Mr. Winslow is――er――Mr.
Winslow is mistaken.”
“I hope he finds it out!” said Tom.
“I’m quite certain he will. You may count on――”
“I beg pardon!” The interruption came from the doorway where a tall,
heavily-built gentleman stood half revealed. “I see that I’m wrong.
But you will kindly tell me where I can find Mr. Clendennin? I was
directed, I thought, to this room, but――” The intruder’s gaze traveled
from one to the other of the four occupants and came to rest on Mr.
Cooper. It was then that his apologetic explanation ceased abruptly
and a look of great surprise came into his face. He pushed the door
wider and took a step into the room. “By the Great Horn Spoon!” he
shouted. “Jack Kemble!”
Mr. Cooper arose and stepped forward with outstretched hand. “Hello,
Dick,” he replied quietly but with evident pleasure. “No idea you were
about.” Very gently he urged the other back to the threshold.
“But what the dickens,” went on the visitor, still pumping the hand
he held, “are you doing here? I say, Ellen, you’ve heard me speak of
Captain Kemble a hundred times. Jack, shake hands with my wife.” To the
bewildered trio in the room a momentary vision of a blue-gowned figure
showed behind the men. “The last I heard of you――”
The door swung slowly shut and only a murmur of voices came from the
corridor. The three boys stared at each other in puzzlement. Then
Clif sank back into his chair, and Tom followed suit more slowly. The
silence lasted a full minute. Then Loring said: “What did he call him,
Clif? I thought he said――”
“He did!” burst out Tom. “‘Jack Kemble’! What’s it mean? Did he get our
names mixed, do you suppose? But I never saw him before!”
“I have,” said Clif. “I saw him this morning. His name’s Murdock. He’s
got a boy in the Junior School, a sort of fat kid――”
“But he called Mr. Cooper ‘Jack Kemble’!” persisted Tom. “I――I don’t
like it! It’s spooky! That was my――my――”
The door opened again and Mr. Cooper reëntered. He was smiling faintly,
but the smile was different, and he avoided Tom’s troubled eyes as he
went back to his chair. “Dick Murdock,” he explained apologetically.
“We were together for a time during the War. I hadn’t seen him for a
number of years. Hope we didn’t――er――startle you.”
“No, sir, not a bit,” murmured Loring.
“What did he call you?” demanded Tom a trifle shrilly.
“Oh, that!” Mr. Cooper laughed lightly. “That _was_ startling, wasn’t
it? Murdock was always a perfect ass when it came to remembering names.
By the way, just what did he call me?”
“Kemble, sir,” answered Clif.
“I thought it sounded like that, too. Odd, eh? I mean, a bit of a
coincidence, wasn’t it?”
Tom was leaning forward in his chair, staring frowningly. “I don’t
believe that!” he broke forth harshly. “What _is_ your name? You’ve got
to tell us!”
The half smile left the man’s face. For a long moment he stared at the
floor. Then he lifted his gaze to Tom’s, met it squarely and answered.
“John Middenwill Cooper-Kemble,” he said.
There was another moment of silence in the room, broken at last by
Tom’s voice, low and trembling.
“What――what are you to――me?” he faltered.
The half smile returned to the man’s face, but it held no suggestion of
amusement. It seemed, rather, the smile of one ruefully contemplating
his own perplexities. But his eyes never left Tom’s as he replied.
“I regret that this has had to happen just now,” he said quietly. “I
hadn’t meant it to. But you’ve a right to know.” His voice fell to a
gentler tone and he added deprecatingly, “I am your father.”
* * * * *
“Of course,” said Loring a few minutes later, when he and Clif were
alone, “we ought to have guessed it long ago. After all, they’re
ridiculously alike, Clif.”
“Alike? Gosh, I can’t see that! And I don’t see how any one could have
guessed――”
“I don’t mean in looks, but in――in ways. Think, Clif. Forget their
looks. Shucks, put another twenty years on Tom, and give him four
of them in the War, and he’d be Mr. Cooper――I mean Mr. Kemble――Mr.
Cooper-Kemble――all over again.”
“Do you think so?” asked Clif thoughtfully. “Yes, they are alike some
ways. But I’d never have guessed they were father and son. And Tom
told me about his dad, too, months ago. Gosh, I wonder――” Clif looked
slightly alarmed.
“What?”
“He said he was going to tell his father what he thought about him if
he ever found him, Loring! Do you suppose he will?”
Loring laughed. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Tom’s crazy
about him, Clif. Has been for a month!”
Wattles entered, bearing a huge kit-bag from the storeroom.
“Look here,” announced Loring, fearsomely, “you’re not going to do any
more packing to-night, Wattles. You’re going over to the gym and see
the show and have a good time. By the way, what time is it? We’ve got
to be―― Oh, I say, Wattles, here’s a stunner! Who do you suppose Mr.
Cooper is?”
“Mr. Cooper, sir?” Wattles set the bag down, dusted his hands carefully
and allowed himself something that was almost a smile. “Mr. Cooper is
Mr. Tom’s father, Mr. Loring.”
“_Wha-at!_ How the dickens did _you_ ever hear it?”
“I didn’t exactly hear it, sir. I――er――I came to the conclusion by
observation. Perhaps, sir, you’ll recall Mr. Cooper leaving a leather
cigar case behind him one afternoon.”
“No, I don’t, but what about it?”
“I took the liberty, sir, of examining it. Not from any desire
to――er――pry into the gentleman’s affairs, sir, but merely because I
have a――a weakness, as you might say, for leather articles――”
“That’s all right! Get on, Wattles, for Pete’s sake!”
“Yes, sir. Well, Mr. Loring, there was a name printed under the flap;
in gold letters, sir: ‘J. M. Cooper-Kemble’ it was.”
“For the love of lemons!” sighed Loring. “How long ago was this,
Wattles?”
“Perhaps a fortnight, sir.”
“And you never said a word!”
Wattles drew himself up slightly. “I am not the sort, Mr. Loring, to
violate a gentleman’s confidence,” he replied with dignity.
Loring threw up his hands. “You’ll do, Wattles! Here, get me over to
the gym. It’s eight o’clock already!”
* * * * *
It was nearly three hours later when Clif found Tom again. He might
not have found him then if he had not withdrawn from the gymnasium for
a breath of air. Tom was sitting alone on a step at the bottom of the
flight. Clif called to him and he turned and answered dreamily: “Oh,
that you, Clif? Great night, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Clif went down and seated himself at Tom’s side. After a moment,
during which Tom seemed to have forgotten his chum’s presence in silent
contemplation of a shining half moon Clif asked diffidently: “Is
everything all right, Tom?”
“Eh? What did you―― Oh, you bet! Listen, I’m to come back next fall,
Clif, and right along until I’m finished, no matter if it takes ten
years! He said so. And I’m to go to college, too! And next summer――
Say, it wasn’t bunk at all, about us getting together in Switzerland!
It’s real! We’re going to do it, Clif! I’m going abroad with him;
for all summer; France, Germany, Switzerland――hundreds of places!
Gosh, isn’t that wonderful? Why, this morning I never expected to see
anything all my life but just New Jersey!”
“Gee, that’s simply corking!” cried Clif, thrilled. “And, I say, Tom,
you didn’t――didn’t talk to him like you said you were going to, did
you?”
Tom shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I don’t know just how it was
when I was a kid and he went away, but he told me a little. You see,
his father died――I forgot to tell you we’re pretty well off, he and
I, Clif!――and he had to go across; back to England; and mother――well,
she didn’t want to go; anyway, she wouldn’t. And father sent for her
and――and she still wouldn’t go to him――I suppose folks don’t all get
along very well together, even if they are married, Clif. Anyway,
father didn’t see her again. He meant to. He meant to come back, but
he went to Africa, and then the War broke out. Oh, I guess he was to
blame, all right, but――well, a fellow doesn’t want to say anything
against his mother, especially when she’s dead, Clif. And she was a
mighty fine mother to me; and he says she was fine, too. Only――well,
they didn’t seem to get along. He didn’t know she had died until a
whole year after. And when he tried to find me he couldn’t for a long
time. He wasn’t going to tell me about being my father yet, he says.
He wanted to――to make sure that――that I wanted him, you see. He said
to-night that it needn’t make any difference. That if I wasn’t ready to
have him for a father he’d leave me alone until I was.”
Tom paused and the music from the dance floor came out in a sudden
flood of melody. The white moon, momentarily hidden by a fleecy purple
cloud, sailed forth again.
“What did you tell him, Tom?” asked Clif anxiously.
Tom, staring up at the moon, grinned almost embarrassedly.
“I told him,” he answered, “that he’d better stick around!”
THE END
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
_North Bank Series_
Three Base Benson
How an ungainly youth outlived the jeering of his school mates and won
their respect with his presence of mind, and how he made the nine and
gained a nickname by his prowess at bat.
Kick Formation
Jerry Benson, after establishing himself as a baseball player, turns
to football. Once more he uses his head, and it is his resourcefulness
more than any other quality which makes him a hero.
Coxswain of the Eight
The trials of a young fellow who is too small for the athletic teams,
but who longs to put his school spirit in action. He finds his
opportunity in trying out for coxswain.
_Some Books Not in Series_
For the Good of the Team
A prep school football story, telling of a brilliant player who proved
a failure as captain, but who finally pocketed his pride and worked
heartily for the good of the team.
The Fighting Scrub
Gives proper credit, at last, to the hard-used scrubs. Describes a
season in which the fighting spirit of the scrub team and the part
played by a crippled onlooker were the features.
Follow the Ball
Describes a boy’s full year, telling of athletics and other activities
and of the events of the vacation season as well.
_Each $1.75_
_The Grafton Series_
_These are stories of life at Grafton School. They are full
of sport and games, and will interest any boy who likes the
rivalry of contests._
Rivals for the Team
Hugh Ordway comes to America from England. His room-mate, star
half-back of the team, gets him started in football, and on the eve of
the great contest they find themselves rivals for the same position.
Winning His Game
The day of the game between Grafton and Mount Morris arrives and Bud
Baker and Jimmy Logan, two important players, are missing. A search
reveals that they have missed the train. And then――well, read the story.
Hitting the Line
Monty Grail comes East from Wyoming to enter Mount Morris School. At
the Grand Central Terminal he meets two prominent students of Grafton
who induce him to enter their school instead. In the end he is not
sorry he changed his mind.
_The Purple Pennant Series_
_In these books Mr. Barbour tells of life in the overage high
school. Each book is a thriller._
The Lucky Seventh
Gordon Merrick, with Dick Lovering, forms a ball team of the remnants
of the High School nine and challenges the boys of the summer colony.
The Secret Play
Clearfield High School loses her football coach, and against much
criticism, Dick Lovering, a cripple, coaches the team. When the day of
the big match comes, some unexpected things happen.
The Purple Pennant
An athletic meet in which the boys have running races, hurdling,
pole-vaulting and hammer throwing, is the climax of this story. The
book tells the story of the purple pennant and how it came into being.
_Hilton Series_
The Half Back
The young hero of this story is carried through preparatory school and
the freshman year at Harvard. The story closes with an account of a
Yale-Harvard game.
For the Honor of the School
The excitement of a cross country run, training for track athletics,
with a glimpse of football are all to be found in this school story.
The hero is both an athlete and a scholar.
Captain of the Crew
“Captain of the Crew” follows “For the Honor of the School” but is in
every sense a complete story. The author is concerned both with school
athletics and with the influences that build character.
_Erskine Series_
Behind the Line
A story of life at a preparatory school with the chief interest
centering around football. The author gives an intimate view of the
preparation and training necessary for a big game.
Weatherby’s Inning
A story of a young man’s struggle against untoward circumstances in
a small New England college. Baseball furnishes the chief athletic
interest.
On Your Mark
Track work furnishes the athletic interest in this story of school life.
_Yardley Hall Series_
Forward Pass
The boy who likes football will find a good technical description of
the game in this book as well as a fine story showing how the newest
tactics work out in practice.
Double Play
A story to follow “Forward Pass,” relating new adventures in the life
of the hero. Baseball has a large place in the story, but other school
events are entertainingly described.
Winning His “Y”
“Money-bags” and “Miss Nancy” are two nicknames given Gerald Pennimore
when he arrives at Yardley, due to his father’s millions. How he lives
them both down and wins his “Y” make an exciting story.
For Yardley
Another Yardley story with Gerald Pennimore well to the fore among
the characters. Why Gerald was put on probation and how he bore his
punishment are the chief matters of interest.
Change Signals
Kendall Burtis comes from the country and this is the story of how he
develops into a star kicker and the hero of the big game of the season.
Around the End
Kendall Burtis has developed into a star player, when suddenly it is
discovered that someone has turned traitor and sold the team’s signals
to Broadwood. Kendall is accused, and the outcome is a surprise to
everyone.
These Are Appleton Books
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.