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THE LUCKY SEVENTH
By Ralph Henry Barbour
The Brother of a Hero
Benton's Venture
Around the End
The Junior Trophy
Change Signals!
Finkler's Field
For Yardley
The New Boy at Hilltop
Winning His "Y"
Double Play
Forward Pass!
The Spirit of the School
Four Afloat
Weatherby's Inning
The Half-Back
On Your Mark
Four in Camp
Four Afoot
For the Honor of the School
Captain of the Crew
Behind the Line
The Arrival of Jimpson
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK
[Illustration: "There was a bump, a crash, the sound of splintering
wood, and----"]
THE LUCKY SEVENTH
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF "THE BROTHER OF A HERO,"
"BENTON'S VENTURE," ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY NORMAN P. ROCKWELL
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1915
Copyright, 1915, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Gordon Gets a Letter 1
II. Dick Consents 10
III. A Rich Man's Son 28
IV. The Team Elects Its Captain 43
V. Dick Visits the Point 57
VI. Clearfield Plays the Point 67
VII. The Blue Runabout 76
VIII. Across the Gully 87
IX. Mr. Merrick Breaks a Plate 95
X. Gordon Bears a Message 104
XI. Fudge Scents a Secret 115
XII. A Reversed Decision 126
XIII. Jack Is Suspended 141
XIV. A Visit To the Invalid 150
XV. On the Rocks 163
XVI. Dick Scores a Defeat 177
XVII. Harold Makes a Promise 193
XVIII. The Live Wires--and Mr. Potter 205
XIX. Mr. Potter Gets Busy 218
XX. Mr. Brent to the Rescue 233
XXI. Mr. Brent Telephones 246
XXII. Gordon Brings Good News 261
XXIII. Mr. Brent Throws a Ball 271
XXIV. Dick Smiles 284
XXV. "The Lucky Seventh" 302
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"There was a bump, a crash, the sound of splintering wood----"
_Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"'Good-night,' responded Gordon and Fudge" 54
"Dick took Louise to the game on Saturday" 224
"The Lucky Seventh had proved itself" 298
CHAPTER I
GORDON GETS A LETTER
When Gordon Merrick neared the corner of Troutman Street he slowed down
his bicycle and finally drew in at the curb, putting out a foot to hold
himself in the saddle while he deliberated. So deep in thought was he
that when the yellow watering cart trundled up, the driver half asleep
under the blue and white umbrella, he never knew of it until the
sprinkler had drenched him from foot to knee. The driver awoke at that
moment and, looking back, saw Gordon.
"Hi, there!" he shouted. "Look out!"
Gordon, aroused from his thoughts by the unexpected bath, smiled.
"Why?" he asked. "Are you coming back?"
The joke was lost on the driver of the watering cart, however. He only
scowled and settled back to slumber again. Gordon chuckled, and glanced
ruefully at his drenched trouser-leg. Except for the looks of that no
harm had been done, for it was a hot morning in early July and the
feeling of the cool water against his leg had been decidedly pleasant.
Evidently the incident had brought a decision in the weighty problem
which had confronted him, for with no more hesitation he turned his
wheel to the left and peddled on down E Street.
"I'll talk to Dick about it," he said to himself. "He always knows what
to do."
The Loverings lived in the third house from the corner, one of a
half-dozen modest abodes occupying that side of the block. All the
houses were painted white, although differing slightly in the simplicity
of their architecture, and all were more or less hidden from view by
hedges of lilac or arbor-vitæ. Old-fashioned white picket fences peeked
out between the leaves of the hedges. The street itself was
old-fashioned. Ten years before it had been in the desirable part of
Clearfield, but since then the residential center had worked westward
and the row of quiet, green-shuttered cottages was being closed in by
such unsavory neighbors as livery stables and dye works and tenements.
Dick Lovering hailed Gordon from the vine-screened porch as the latter
jumped from his bicycle and leaned it against the hitching-post in front
of the little gate. "Hello, Gordie! Come on up."
Dick was seated at the cool end of the porch, which stretched the width
of the house. There was a table beside him which held a few flowers in a
quaint old green vase and many books and magazines. Dick's crutches
stood against the wall within reach, for Dick, as he put it, was "very
fond of his crutches and never went anywhere without them." He was
seventeen, a tall, nice-looking boy with dark hair and eyes and just the
smallest suggestion of pallor on his lean cheeks. As Gordon came up the
steps Dick laid down the magazine he had been reading and smiled his
pleasant smile.
"Been in the pond?" he asked, viewing the other's wet trousers.
"Watering cart soused me at the corner. How are you, Dickums?"
"Fine. Swell weather, isn't it? You look warm, though."
"So would you if you'd been riding all over town. Say, I got a letter
from Bert Cable this morning and I want you to see what you think about
it. I've got it here somewhere."
"Where is Bert?" asked Dick as Gordon searched his pockets.
"Bridgeport, Connecticut. He's working for his uncle in some sort of a
factory over there. He told me he was going to get eight dollars a week.
Here it is. You'd better read it."
"You do it," smiled Dick. "I'm lazy to-day."
"Well, he says--Where is it?--Here we are. 'I'm sending a letter that
came the other day from Caspar Billings. He thinks we're still playing
ball and wants a game with us. I haven't answered it. What I was
thinking was why don't you and Lansing and Fudge Shaw and some of the
fellows get a team together and play the Point? You could have a lot of
fun. Those fellows at the Point aren't anything to be scared of. You
could get up a team that would wallop them easy. Tom Haley would pitch
for you and Lansing could catch and you could play first. Why don't you?
Anyway, you answer the letter. I'm awfully busy here and don't have much
time for writing letters. This is a swell town, lots going on all the
time and plenty of baseball. Remember me to all the fellows and tell
Harry Bryan when you see him that he's got my glove and is to send it to
me because I may need it. We're getting up a team here at the factory.
We've got a dandy pitcher and I guess they'll put me at short. Don't
forget to write to Billings anyway. Yours truly, Bert.'"
Gordon looked inquiringly across at Dick. "What do you think?" he asked.
"Why, I dare say they will."
"Dare say who will? Will what?"
"Put Bert at short," chuckled Dick.
"Oh, you know what I mean! What do you think of the scheme?"
"Good, I'd say. I suppose," with a humorous glance at his crutches, "you
came around to see if I'd play third base for you."
"Wish you could, Dickums. Gee, I don't see how you can always be so
cheerful about--about it! I couldn't."
"Well, it isn't hard, Gordie, when you've had seventeen years' practice.
Of course, if I'd been able to get around like other fellows and
then--then had this happen I guess it would be different. Anyhow, a chap
might as well be cheerful as anything else. After all, I don't miss much
fun. I can't play games or run or skate or--or do a lot of things I'd
like to, but I can watch the rest of you and I can make believe that if
I _could_--well, play third base, say, I'd do it better than the next
chap. The beauty of it is that you can't prove I wouldn't!"
"I'll bet you would, Dickums! Why, you know more baseball and more
football than most of the fellows who play."
"Why not?" laughed Dick. "They don't have as much time to study it as I
do. They have to get out and play. I can watch and learn. But never mind
about me. What's this Billings chap say?"
"Oh!" Gordon pulled another sheet of paper from the envelope and read
its contents. "'Mr. Bert Cable, Captain Clearfield High School Baseball
Club, Dear Sir: A lot of us fellows at the Point are getting up a ball
team and we want games. Will you play us? We'll play on our own field or
on yours, just as you say. Any date after July 10th will suit us,
Wednesdays or Saturdays preferred. Our fellows will average about the
same as your team, I guess. Please let me hear from you, and if there
are any other teams around Clearfield we could play with I wish you'd
let me know and send managers' addresses. Very truly, Caspar Billings,
Captain, Rutter's Point Baseball Association.'"
"Caspar Billings," mused Dick. "Which one of the Silk Stocking Brigade
is he, Gordon?"
Gordon smiled. "I don't remember him particularly. He's a sort of chum
of Morris Brent, though."
"That all you can say for him?" asked Dick. "I suppose Morris will play
with the Pointers?"
"I guess so. He won't be much of a help, though. He plays ball
like--like a turtle!"
"Morris says," replied Dick with his slow smile, "that he can play a lot
better than most of you fellows and that if Bert and Tom Haley and some
of the others weren't down on him he'd have made the team last spring."
"Guff! He can't catch a ball. He's not a bad sort, Morris, if his dad
_does_ own the town, but he's no Ty Cobb! Well, what do you think about
getting up a team, Dickums?"
"Why not? You've got plenty of fellows. Most of the school team are
still around, aren't they?"
"All except Bert and Warner Jones and Joe Browne."
"Where's Warner?"
"I don't know. Gone away with his folks somewhere for the summer. Wish
my folks would do that."
"Well, get out your pencil, Gordie, and let's make up the team. Haley,
pitch, and Lanny, catcher----"
"I'll play first and Harry Bryan second----"
"How about Will Scott?"
"Third. Then for shortstop----"
"Jack Tappen?"
"N-no, he'd better play in the outfield. I'll put him down for right. I
guess Pete Robey's the chap for short. That leaves us Way for left field
and I guess Fudge will do for center. He can't hit much, but he can pull
down a fly."
"There you are, then. What will you call the nine? You can't be the High
School team, I suppose."
"N-no, we'll have to find a name. The Clearfield--what, Dickums?"
"Rovers?"
"Sounds like a troupe of trained dogs," laughed Gordon. "We might call
ourselves the Purple Sox, only it's sort of hard to say."
"Shorten it," suggested Dick. "Call yourselves the 'Purps.'"
"That's worse than the Rovers! Why not just the Clearfield Ball Club?"
"Why not? That's settled. Now you want a manager----"
"Got one."
"You have? Who?"
"You."
"Me!"
"Surest thing you know. That's partly why I came. To tell you. You see,
I thought you'd want to know it."
"Very thoughtful of you," Dick laughed. "But will you tell me how I can
manage a ball team, you idiot?"
"Why can't you? All you have to do is to arrange games for us and look
after the expenses and see that we behave ourselves. If they make me
captain----"
"Which they will, as it's your scheme!"
"It's really Bert's. But if they do I'm going to tell the other fellows
that they've got to do just as you say. You know more baseball than I do
and you're going to be the real thing."
"Nonsense!"
"No nonsense about it. That's settled, then."
"But, look here, I'd have to go to places with you and--and--well, you
know, Gordie, I can't afford to do that very often."
"It won't cost you anything. Your expenses will be paid by the club.
Besides, we'll only go over to the Point and places like that, I guess.
Now I'm going to see Lanny and talk it over with him."
"Well, all right. I'll be manager if you really want me to. I'd like it.
Only, if you change your mind, or the other fellows think----"
"You know very well the other fellows will be tickled to death," replied
Gordon severely. "And it will be a good thing for you, too. Take you off
this porch now and then. You don't get enough sunshine and fresh air."
"Considering that I'm outdoors all day and sleep with my head through
the window," laughed Dick, "that's a bit of a joke. But have your own
way, Gordie. You always were a masterful brute. Going?"
"Yep. I want to catch Lanny. I'll come over again after dinner. Rah for
the Clearfield Ball Club, Dickums! So long!"