MR. BRENT TO THE RESCUE
A big crowd turned out the following Saturday for the Lesterville game.
As a manufacturing town Lesterville was something of a rival to
Clearfield and baseball lovers of the latter place were eager to see the
Lesterville players humbled. By half-past two--the game was scheduled
for three o'clock--the stand was well filled. Dick's charges reached the
field soon after the half-hour and began practice. They had, however,
scarcely begun throwing the balls around when there was a commotion at
the gate and Tim Turner was seen excitedly gesticulating toward Dick,
who, near first base, was watching the team. Dick hurried across to the
gate and found Tim trying to exclude a short, red-faced man in blue
overalls.
"He says he wants to get in to open the big gate," explained Tim. "He
says they're going to begin work in here. They've got a cart down the
street there and a lot of men and----"
"Sure," said the man in overalls. "We're going to plow in here. Them's
the orders."
"But you can't do it now," exclaimed Dick. "We're going to play in half
an hour. Those folks on the stand have paid to see the game. Can't you
wait until Monday?"
"We cannot," replied the man emphatically. "Mr. Brent give me the
contract to build the street through here and me time's valuable. You'll
have to play your game somewhere else, I'm thinking."
"But we can't do that! There isn't any other place! Look here, Mr. Brent
gave us permission to use this field and I'm sure he wouldn't want you
to come and break up our game like this. The other fellows have come all
the way from Lesterville to play us."
"'Tis no affair of mine, young feller." The man tried to push by Dick
and Tim, but many of the audience, attracted by the argument, had
gathered around, and these, taking Dick's side, stood immovably in the
way. The contractor showed anger. "Now you fellers let me through here
till I open them gates down there," he blustered. "If you don't we'll
break 'em down."
"Try it!" said someone eagerly, and a laugh of approval went up.
"I'll get the cops here if you make trouble for me an' me men! An' if
it's trouble you're lookin' for----"
"Oh, run away till the game's over, can't you?" asked another of the
throng. "Be a sport! What's the good of busting up the fun?"
"An' me losin' money while you fellers play ball, eh? What for would I
be doin' that? You leave me get to the gates."
"Nothing doing, friend! Better back out!"
"Hold on a minute," said Dick quietly. "Will you wait fifteen minutes,
Mister--er----"
"Me name's Mullin," growled the contractor. "What'll I be waitin' fer?"
"To give us a chance to see Mr. Brent about it."
"I got me contract, an'----"
"I know," said Dick soothingly. "That's all right. You've got a perfect
right to come in here and do whatever you've got to do, but it's going
to put us in an awful mess. Give us time to find Mr. Brent and see what
he says about it, won't you?"
"How long will it take?"
"Not long. Say fifteen minutes. He's probably here in town. I'll ask his
son. He's over there in the stand." Dick wasn't at all certain that
Morris had arrived, but he risked it. The contractor hesitated and
finally nodded surlily.
"All right. I'll give you till three o'clock. Then I'm goin' in here,
an' if anyone tries to stop me----"
"I understand. Thank you. Tim, pass the gentleman inside until we settle
this."
"I'll wait here," said the contractor grimly.
Dick hurried across to the stand and searched for Morris. Presently he
found him, with Louise at his side, halfway up the slope.
"Is your father in town, Morris?" he asked anxiously after he had
greeted Louise.
"I don't know. What's wanted, Dick?"
Dick explained hurriedly and Morris whistled. "He may be at his office
or he may be on his way out to the Point. He doesn't usually stay in
town on Saturday afternoons in summer. I'll see if I can find him,
though. Only thing is, it'll take me a long time to hobble over to his
office."
"I can do it quicker, I guess. Or, hold on! I know! I'll get Gordon to
go. I'll be back presently."
Dick hurried down to the diamond and summoned Gordon from first base.
Practice was still going on, but in a desultory way, for most eyes had
been turned toward the gate. As quickly as he could Dick explained what
had happened. "He will do it for you if he will for anyone," ended Dick.
"See if he won't call off the workmen until after the game or until
Monday, Gordon. Morris says he may be at his office. If he isn't he's
gone home to the Point. Try the telephone in that case. And try to get
back here by three. That chap won't wait much longer."
Gordon nodded and sped toward the gate just as the Lesterville team came
onto the field. He was in his playing clothes, but there was no time to
change them and he didn't, as a matter of fact, give much thought to
them. It was five blocks to Mr. Brent's office in the bank building, and
two of the blocks were long ones. Gordon did the distance in five
minutes and leaped up the marble stairway to find a clerk just locking
the outer door of the office.
"Mr. Brent?" he gasped.
"Gone home," replied the clerk, looking curiously at Gordon's attire and
perspiring countenance. "He left about five minutes ago. You might catch
him before he gets the trolley."
Gordon raced off again and fortune was with him. Only a block down F
Street he descried Mr. Brent in front of him walking briskly toward the
car line and tapping the pavement with his cane. Gordon overtook him
just over the Main Street crossing. Morris' father turned at the boy's
breathless hail.
"Ah, that you, Merrick? How do you do! Want to see me?"
"Yes, sir, please!" gasped Gordon. "Mr. Brent, they're trying to get
into the field, sir, to start work on it this afternoon. And we're
playing Lesterville and there's a big crowd there, sir----"
"You mean that Mullin is starting work there? Well, that's all right, my
boy. I told him to."
"Yes, sir, of course, but--but couldn't he wait until Monday, sir? We
are going to play Lesterville, and they're here and there's a lot of
folks paid to see the game."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Why, I don't know, Merrick. What does Mullin say?
It's his affair now. He has the contract for the work, you see."
"He says he won't wait, Mr. Brent. But if you told him to----"
"But really, Merrick, I haven't any right to interfere!"
"It--it's your field, sir! And you said we could use it!"
Mr. Brent frowned. "I said you could use it until I was ready to put the
street through, Merrick. Wasn't that it?"
"Yes, sir, I suppose so," replied Gordon dejectedly. Mr. Brent drew his
big gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, snapped it open, frowned at it
and snapped it shut again.
"As a matter of fact, Merrick, if the city council hadn't held me up on
that business you'd have lost your field weeks ago. You ought to be
thankful for that. We're late on starting that work as it is and I
prefer not to have any more delay. I'm sorry, but you boys will have to
play your game somewhere else." He smiled, dropped his watch back to his
pocket and turned toward the car line.
"There isn't any other place, sir," said Gordon sadly.
"No other place? Why, there must be lots of places! I've seen boys
playing ball all sorts of places. There's a back-lot behind my offices,
now. I've seen them playing there day after day--and making a lot of
noise, too. Come now, Merrick, you're fibbing a little, aren't you?"
"No, sir, really," Gordon answered earnestly. "You can't play a real
game of baseball on a small lot, sir. I guess--I guess you've never seen
one, Mr. Brent."
"Seen a game of ball? N-no, I suppose not. I thought all you needed was
an empty lot or a back-yard, Merrick. You say there isn't any other
place?"
"No, sir. We're going to lease a piece of ground out toward the Point,
but we haven't got it yet, and, anyway, it isn't ready for playing on."
"Too bad," said Mr. Brent sympathetically. "But, really, Merrick, you
ought not to ask me to stop work in order that you can play baseball.
That--that's a little too much, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir," acknowledged Gordon dejectedly. "Only--we
thought--maybe a half a day wouldn't make much difference----"
"A half a day might make a lot of difference. Minutes count, my boy.
You'll learn that some day. No, no, I can't interfere with Mullin. It's
his job. If he wants to accommodate you, all right, but you mustn't
expect me to interfere in his affairs, Merrick. Sorry. I'd like to
oblige you."
Gordon stared at the pavement. Mr. Brent coughed, turned away and
hesitated. "Well, good-day, Merrick," he said finally.
"Mr. Brent!" Gordon raised his head, his cheeks rather red. "Mr. Brent,
you said once that--that if I ever wanted a favor--you----"
"Hm; yes, I know I did."
"Well, sir, I'd like awfully to have you do this for us."
"Think that will square accounts, Merrick?"
"Why--why, you don't owe me anything, sir," stammered Gordon, "but you
said----"
"Yes, and I'll keep my word." Mr. Brent sighed and looked regretfully
down the street. "All right. Come on, then. I'll walk over with you and
see what can be done."
"Thank you," Gordon murmured as he fell into step beside the man.
"It--it's awfully good of you, sir."
"H'm," replied Mr. Brent dryly. "You evidently don't value your service
to me very highly, Merrick. It doesn't occur to you, apparently, that
you might ask a good deal more than this in return for what you did for
Morris."
"I--I never meant to ask for anything," murmured Gordon.
"Hm. More fool you, then!"
There was no more conversation. Mr. Brent walked briskly and it was but
a minute or two after three when they reached the field. It was evident
that they had got there none too soon, for the big gates halfway along
the board fence were open and a wagon with a plow in it was drawn partly
through it. That it was not all the way through was due to the fact that
the audience, or a good part of it, had gathered at the point of attack
and was doing its best to repel the contractor's men. Shouts and jeers
and laughter came from the scene. At the ticket gate young Tim Turner,
afraid to leave his post of duty, was peering longingly toward the
turmoil. Mr. Brent strode more quickly.
"Hm," he said, "I don't see that I was needed much, Merrick."
Mullin, the contractor, very red of face and angry of eye, was berating
the jeering crowd with the rough side of his tongue. Five laborers, two
of them clutching the bridles of the horses, looked ready and eager for
a fight. At sight of Mr. Brent a cheer went up from the crowd inside the
gates, and Dick, anxious-eyed, fell back from where he had been vainly
trying to avert trouble. Mr. Brent walked up to the contractor.
"Get out, Mullin," he said. "Leave it until Monday."
Mullin scowled hard. "An' who'll pay me for the time I'll be losin', Mr.
Brent?" he demanded angrily.
"I will," was the reply. "You ought to have seen, anyway, that the field
was being used. Get your team out now. I'll settle for your loss."
"That's all right, then," replied the contractor. "All I wants is me
rights. Back 'em out, Jerry." And amidst the jeers of the spectators
Mullin and his men retired, the gates were closed again and barred and,
laughing and jostling, the defenders hurried back to secure their seats
before others appropriated them, leaving Dick and the ball players and a
few still curious ones at the gate. Among the latter was Morris, and it
was Morris who, grinning broadly, came forward on his crutches.
"Good stuff, dad," he said approvingly.
Mr. Brent viewed him without enthusiasm. "You here?" he asked. "Where is
your sister?"
"In the stand, sir. I----"
"You'd better go back and look after her, it seems to me," said Mr.
Brent grimly. Morris's grin faded and, with a wink at Gordon, he hobbled
back toward the seats.
"We're awfully much obliged, sir," said Dick. "If it hadn't been for all
these people, who had paid to see the game----"
"Of course. I understand. You needn't thank me. Thank Merrick."
The players went back to their places, Lesterville to the diamond to
finish her warming up, and Clearfield to the bench. Gordon was left
practically alone with Mr. Brent, even Dick deserting him. From beyond
the fence came the angry bellow of the contractor's orders. "Leave the
team here, Jerry," he was saying. "We'll be back Monday, an' I'd like to
see the man that'll be stoppin' me then!"
"Wouldn't you like to see the game, Mr. Brent, now that you're here?"
asked Gordon at last. He ought to be with his team-mates, but he didn't
want to walk away and leave Mr. Brent standing alone there by the gate.
The latter, who had been looking curiously at the renewed activity of
the Lesterville players, now glanced at his watch, grunted and nodded.
"I might as well stay awhile," he replied. "Where do you pay?"
"You needn't pay, sir. We're glad to have you see the game."
"I prefer to pay," was the reply as Mr. Brent followed Gordon toward the
stand. "Here, son!" He had caught sight of Tim Turner at the ticket gate
and walked across to him. "What's the price?"
"T-Twenty-five cents, sir," stammered Tim.
Mr. Brent found two dimes and a nickel among his change, handed them to
the awed Tim and went on. "Where's Morris?" he asked. "I'll sit with him
a few minutes."
Gordon didn't know where Morris was, but he called to Dick and Dick
pointed him out. Then Gordon piloted Mr. Brent up the stand and by dint
of much moving and shoving a place was made for him and Gordon,
muttering his thanks again and getting a non-committal nod from Mr.
Brent, took himself off.
"I'm so glad, papa," said Louise gratefully. "It would have been horrid
if they couldn't have played the game, wouldn't it?"
"Would it?" Mr. Brent smiled and settled his cane between his knees.
"Who are those young fellows out there, Morris?"
"Those are the Lesterville players, sir. They're warming up for the
game."
"Warming up, eh? Then the game hasn't begun yet?"
"No, sir. They're coming in now, though. It will start in a minute."
"Need all this room for a game of ball, do they?"
"Why, of course, papa," replied Louise. "Sometimes they hit the ball way
over by the further fence there!"
"That so? Well, let's see 'em do it!"