DICK VISITS THE POINT
On Wednesday the Clearfield Baseball Club reported for practice. There
was a full attendance, with the exception of Tom Haley. Gordon confined
the hour's work to fielding, however, and Tom's absence was not felt.
Fudge had purchased a brand-new High School uniform and Pete Robey had
been lucky enough to borrow one from a boy who had played on the team
several years before. As the shirts and caps held only the letter "C,"
there was nothing misrepresentative about the gray uniforms. Of course,
the fact that the C was purple and that the stockings were of the same
royal hue might lead one to mistake the team for the High School nine;
but Gordon had consulted the principal, Mr. Grayson, in the matter, and
Mr. Grayson had given it as his opinion that, so long as they did not
pretend to be the High School team, there could be no harm in wearing
their school uniforms.
Most of the fellows had not played since the final game with Springdale,
nearly a month before, and were consequently rather out of practice.
Muscles were stiff, and that first day's work only produced soreness.
But by Saturday the fellows were pegging the ball around with their
old-time ginger and running and sliding with their accustomed agility.
Tom pitched to the batters on Friday, and the result proved that batting
practice was far from being a waste of time. Even Gordon, who had headed
the batting list that Spring, found that his eye was bad and that he
could connect with Tom's easy offerings scarcely better than the
tail-enders.
Fudge plunged into the business with heart and soul, determined to make
himself not only a useful member of the outfield but a regular Ty Cobb
or Home-Run Baker at the bat. I regret to have to state that for some
time Fudge's fielding was not at all spectacular and that he never--or
at least never that summer--threatened to dispute Mr. Cobb's supremacy
with the stick. But they didn't expect great things from Fudge; and as
time went on he developed a very clever judgment in the matter of fly
balls and even became able to throw with some accuracy to the infield.
Meanwhile, Dick had entered into correspondence with some half dozen
baseball teams in not too distant towns, and already a game had been
scheduled with Lesterville, who, to Dick's surprise and satisfaction,
offered to pay Clearfield's expenses if it would visit Lesterville.
Manager Lovering promptly agreed and the date of the contest was fixed
for the second Saturday following the Rutter's Point game. On Friday
morning Dick and Caspar Billings again met and completed arrangements.
Caspar, a boy of Dick's own age, took a great liking to the Clearfield
manager, and insisted on his staying to luncheon with him on that
occasion, and it was on the Billings' veranda, within a stone's throw of
the waves, that the two talked it all over.
Caspar was a fine-looking youth, rather large but well conditioned, with
dark hair and eyes, a ready smile, and a jovial laugh. He lived in New
York, but had been spending his summers at the Point for several years.
Dick met Caspar's mother and two older sisters at luncheon, but Mr.
Billings was not present, and Dick gathered that he remained in New York
save for an occasional week-end. When Caspar explained that Dick was
tutoring Harold Townsend, Mrs. Billings shook her head pessimistically.
"I'm afraid," she said, "you'll find him rather difficult. He isn't
exactly what I'd call a nice-dispositioned boy."
"Come, mother, don't discourage Lovering at the start," laughed Caspar.
"We all know that the kid's horribly spoiled, but then Lovering isn't
going to be a governess to him!"
"I don't want to discourage him, dear, but I thought it only right he
should know that--well, if he isn't very successful, it won't be
altogether his fault. Mrs. Townsend is a dear woman, but I can't admire
the way she has brought up that boy."
"His brother has already warned me," replied Dick, with a smile. "I'm
prepared for the worst. So far, Harold has behaved very well. He doesn't
like to study much, but he hasn't--well, lain down in the shafts yet."
"He will, though," laughed Caspar. "And if you don't keep a tight rein
he will bust the shafts! That brother of his is a nice chap, though. By
the way, he's going to play first base for us, Lovering."
"Who is your pitcher?" asked Dick.
"I--we aren't quite sure. We expect it will be Mason, but he hasn't come
yet. If he doesn't show up we'll have to find some one else. You know
Morris Brent, don't you? He's on the team, too. Then there's Pink
Northrop and Jim House and Gilbert Chase and Charlie Leary and--let's
see; oh, yes, Billy Houghton. And Mason, if he gets here in time. How
many's that? Never mind. I dare say I've forgotten one or two. I guess
we'll average a year or so older than you chaps, but you have been
playing together, and I guess that will equalize things. That field over
behind the hotel isn't the best in the world, but it's not bad in the
infield."
"What position do you play?" asked Dick, when they were back on the
veranda.
"Third usually. I'm not particular. I'm not much of a player, but I get
a lot of fun out of it. I've tried two years running for the team at
school and haven't made it yet."
"What school do you go to?"
"St. George's. We turn out some pretty fair ball teams there. I'm going
to try again next Spring. It's my last year, and if I don't make it then
I'm a goner."
"I suppose you're going to college, though?"
"No; my father doesn't want me to. Says he needs me with him in the
office. I don't mind--very much. Of course, I'd like to go; 'most every
fellow I know at school is going. Maybe father will change his mind
before Spring. What about you, Lovering?"
"College?" Dick shook his head. "I'd like it mighty well, too, but it
costs too much. Funny how fellows who can go don't care about it.
There's Morris Brent. His father's crazy to have him go to college. He
tells Morris he can have his pick of them all. Morris doesn't want to go
a bit; and he won't, I guess, if he doesn't brace up."
"Exams, you mean?"
Dick nodded. "Morris is always in trouble with his studies."
"His father's a bit of a Tartar, isn't he?" asked Caspar. "I've only met
him once or twice, but he seemed sort of cross-grained."
"I don't know. I know he and Morris are always at outs about one thing
or another. Just now, I hear, it's an automobile. Morris wants one, and
his father says he can't have it. Do you know him very well?"
"Not very. We've seen each other quite a little for several summers, but
we aren't awfully chummy. I don't quite----" Caspar paused, with a
puzzled frown. "If he'd forget that his father has a lot of money, he'd
get on better with fellows here. I like his sister, though. She's an
awfully nice, jolly kid. And his mother's mighty nice, too."
"Yes, so I've heard. I don't know them. Well, I must get along. We will
be over here in time to begin the game at three on Saturday, Billings.
I'll talk to Gordon about the umpire, but I'm pretty sure the chap you
speak of will be satisfactory to us. Thanks for being so kind. Will you
say good-bye to your mother and sisters, please?"
"That's all right," replied Caspar warmly. "Hope you'll come around
often, Lovering. See you Wednesday, anyway." He watched Dick's deft
manipulation of his crutches anxiously. Finally: "I say, it's a long
walk to the trolley. Let me take you over, won't you? We have a sort of
a horse and cart here, and it won't take a minute to hitch up."
"No, thanks; I like to walk," replied Dick, with a smile. "Maybe you
wouldn't call it walking, though; perhaps I ought to say that I like to
'crutch.'"
"Call it what you like," responded Caspar heartily, "you certainly do it
mighty well, Lovering!"
Dick reached the trolley station in ample time for the two-forty-five
car back to Clearfield, and on the way his thoughts dwelt largely on
Master Harold Townsend. Master Harold was a good deal of a problem. So
far, as Dick had told Mrs. Billings, the boy had behaved very decently,
but Dick knew quite well that it was principally because he was still in
some awe of his tutor. That awe would soon wear off, for there wasn't
enough difference in the ages of the two to allow Dick to keep the upper
hand very long. Then, as Dick realized, there'd be trouble.
Unfortunately, he could not, he felt, count on the boy's mother to back
him up, for that lady was lamentably weak where her youngest son was
concerned. Of course, Dick might keep on drawing his wages all summer
and nothing would be said, but he didn't intend to do that unless he was
earning them. And it wasn't going to be an easy matter to earn them as
soon as Harold got over his present diffidence and the slight enthusiasm
with which Dick had managed to imbue him. The money meant a good deal to
Dick, and he hated to think of losing it, but one thing was certain: As
soon as he failed to make progress with Harold he would quit. Perhaps he
would find another pupil, he reflected more hopefully, although so far
only Mrs. Townsend had replied to his application.
Just then, his gaze wandering along the flying landscape, he caught
sight of a small blue runabout automobile trying desperately to keep
pace with the trolley car. The road was a good three hundred yards away,
and it was not possible to make out with any certainty the identity of
the lone figure in the blue car, but Dick was pretty sure that the
daring driver was Morris Brent. If so, he had, then, overruled his
father in the matter, thought Dick. It wasn't like Mr. Brent to change
his mind, either. In any case, and whoever was driving the runabout,
that light vehicle was plunging along the none too smooth road at a pace
that brought Dick's heart into his mouth more than once and attracted
the concerned attention of all the occupants of the trolley car. Several
times, as it seemed, the runabout narrowly avoided collision with the
white fence which ran beside the dirt road, and Dick was heartily
relieved when, presently, a team approached from the direction of
Clearfield, and the driver of the automobile, recognizing the futility
of trying to pass at his present reckless speed, slowed down and was
lost to sight from the car.
Dick mentioned the incident to Gordon at practice that afternoon, but
Gordon was unable to say whether Morris had bought the automobile he had
spoken of. "He said he was going to, though, whether his father wanted
him to or not. Said he had some money of his own and that Stacey, the
agent on Oak Street, would wait for the rest. If his father finds it
out, he will be hopping mad, I'll bet."
"It won't take him long to find it out," replied Dick dryly. "At least
two dozen persons saw him to-day. Someone's pretty sure to speak of it.
The idiot was driving as though he wanted to break his silly neck!"
"That's the way Morris would drive," said Gordon. "By the way, there's a
meeting of the Athletic Committee called for next Saturday night in
Assembly Hall to consider a new field. Will was telling me. He says he
doesn't see how we're going to get a field without paying for it, and we
haven't any money to do that."
"It's tough luck," replied Dick. "Have they any field in sight?"
"I don't think so. Will said something about a piece of land on the way
to the Point, near the picnic ground. Do you know what he means?"
"No; but I guess there's plenty of land there. I don't believe it's very
level. I suppose beggars mustn't be choosers, however."
"I think it's mighty mean of Mr. Brent to take that field away from us!"
said Gordon scowlingly.
"Did you tell him so the other day?" Dick asked innocently.
Gordon laughed. "No, I forgot to! Come on and let's get these fellows
started. Tom, will you pitch at the net for a while?"
"Shall I tell Billings it's all right about the umpire, Gordie?"
"Yes; we don't care who umps as long as he knows how. If they play us
again, we'll have the choice then. Now then, fellows, get your batting
eyes! Don't be too easy with us, Tom. Speed 'em over, old scout!"