MR. BRENT TELEPHONES
Perhaps a liking for baseball is latent in every American. Otherwise how
explain the fact that Mr. Jonathan Brent, who, on his own showing, had
never witnessed a game before in his life, watched that one with very
evident interest? It was, of course, quite incomprehensible to him at
first and both Morris and Louise had to do a lot of patient explaining.
But by the end of the second inning their father had a very fair notion
of what was going on, although he still was puzzled by many of the
incidents. As when a Lesterville player tried to reach second after Will
Scott had captured a foul behind third base and was thrown out by a
scant foot. If it was a foul, argued Mr. Brent, that fellow on first
shouldn't have left his base. No sooner was that explained--by Morris,
since Louise's knowledge of baseball wasn't sufficient for the
task--than Tom Haley was unfortunate enough to hit the Lesterville right
fielder on the elbow. The umpire waved the squirming, dancing batter to
first and Mr. Brent exclaimed: "Now, what's that for, Morris? He didn't
hit the ball, did he?"
At the end of the fourth inning, when Clearfield had managed to bat out
a two run lead, Mr. Brent looked at his watch and announced his
intention of leaving. "Guess you can finish this without me now," he
said. "Mother will be wondering where I've gone to."
"No, she won't," replied Louise. "Mama's gone to Mrs. Grey's this
afternoon. Do stay and see just two more innings, papa."
"Yes, don't leave us now, dad," said Morris. "You never can tell what's
going to happen in a ball game!"
Mr. Brent frowned, fidgeted and finally leaned back again. "Well," he
said, "I'll see one more turn for each of 'em."
But at the end of the seventh when, after Lesterville had gone ahead in
the fifth, Clearfield came back with two doubles and a base on balls and
evened up the score, Mr. Brent was still there and showed no signs of
leaving. In fact, although we have only Morris' word for it--Louise
remaining smilingly reticent on the point--when, in the eighth, with
three Lesterville players on bases and only one out, Harry Bryan and
Pete Robey executed a lightning double-play that retired the side
without a tally, Mr. Brent's voice was to be heard with the others that
went up in a shout of delight! And even Louise affirmed that, in the
tenth inning, when Gordon rapped out the single that sent Harry Bryan
across with the winning run Mr. Brent pounded approvingly with his cane
and declared that "that Merrick boy was a smart one!"
Ten to nine was the final tally and Dick and Harold Townsend, who had
sat beside the manager during the entire game and kept a perfectly
correct score--barring a mistake or two quickly set right by a
surreptitious glance at Dick's columns--closed their score-books with
delighted slams. Revenge is sweet, and this had been fairly won.
Later on Louise, Morris, Dick, Gordon and the unescapable Harold
journeyed together by trolley car to the Point and talked the game over
with a wealth of detail and enthusiasm. There was a very merry party at
the Brents' cottage that evening. Mr. Brent pretended to have found the
game very tiresome and declared that he didn't see any sense in grown-up
boys wasting their time on such nonsense, and the young folks, and Mrs.
Brent, too, she having heard of her husband's doings, pretended that
they believed him. After dinner Gordon, who had failed to get his swim
in the ocean before, borrowed Morris' suit and went in by moonlight. The
cottage almost overhung the waves and the others, on the veranda,
watched him glide in and out of the moon's path and supplied him with a
lot of doubtless excellent advice on the subject of swimming. Still
later, with Gordon once more among them, Louise brought out her mandolin
and they sang songs. Attracted by the music, Loring Townsend and Caspar
Billings joined the company and added their voices to the chorus. Then
they talked some more; of the day's game, of the next Saturday's
important contest--and the _Reporter's_ latest efforts--of school and a
dozen other things.
Dick and Gordon got the last car back to Clearfield, both comfortably
tired and sleepy, and Gordon walked home with Dick. It was just before
they reached the Levering gate that Dick sprung a surprise on his
friend.
"I've been thinking," announced Dick, "that there's one mighty good use
we can put our money to, Gordie."
"What money?" asked Gordon, with a yawn.
"Why, the money we've made on the games. You see, if we have the crowd
next week that Potter thinks we'll have we ought to be about two hundred
and fifty dollars in pocket."
"Easy! Then what?"
"Present it to the Athletic Committee to build a track on the new field.
How's that for a scheme?"
"Why--er--oh, that's fine!" But Gordon's tone didn't sound terribly
enthusiastic!
Mr. Potter's prediction came true. By Monday Clearfield was undeniably
baseball-mad. Even middle-aged and serious-minded merchants discussed
the probable outcome of the third game between the home team and the
Pointers when they met each other on the street or when they hobnobbed
over the Fifty Cent Merchant's Lunch at Martin's Café. The younger
element of the town was wrought up to a fine pitch of excitement. Those
of its sterner sex who could do so went out to watch the Clearfield team
practice in the afternoon, while the gentler sex, especially those with
High School affiliations, became wildly partisan. A dozen or more girls,
led by Grace Lovering, got together and manufactured a gorgeous pennant
of purple and white silk, some four feet long, which, when completed,
was hung behind the silver trophy in Wetherell's window and, like the
handsome cup, was to be presented to the winner. It was Lanny who made
the suggestion that the pennant was much too good looking to become the
property of the Pointers and that it should be a perpetual trophy to be
played for each year. The girls approved the suggestion and the
_Reporter_ amended its previous statement regarding the flag. The
trolley company announced a fare of one-half the usual rate for the
round-trip on Saturday between Clearfield and near-by towns, and, while
Mr. Potter failed to prevail on the Mayor to declare a public holiday,
he did persuade the shop-keepers to agree to close their places of
business between the hours of two and five. As a matter of fact, with
few exceptions all of them were glad to do so, for they wanted to see
that game as much as anyone!
There was usually a crowd in front of Wetherell's jewelry store that
week. In the front row one found a half-dozen or so of small urchins
with their noses pressed closely against the plate-glass, while behind
them stood a scattering of older persons admiring, criticizing and
audibly reading the engraved inscription which informed the world that
the cup was to be "Presented by the Retail Merchants of Clearfield to
the ---- Baseball Club, Winners of the Clearfield Championship,
September Third, Nineteen Hundred and----." It was a very attractive
affair, that trophy; twelve inches high, with a fluted base and two
scrolled handles and a polished ebony stand beneath it. It was generally
conceded that the merchants had done themselves proud. The _Reporter_
gave a picture of it and a half-column list of those who had subscribed.
The town was liberally scattered with the red and green posters on
Monday. They glared and shouted at one from every window. One was not
allowed to forget for an instant that on the following Saturday
afternoon the greatest and most important athletic event in the history
of Clearfield was to be witnessed at the High School Field for the
ridiculously moderate price of fifty cents--or seventy-five if you
wanted to be sure of a seat!
All this in spite of the fact that from every indication there would be
no field to play on!
Mr. Potter was at Dick's at a quarter past seven that morning. He was
filled with dismay and wrath, and some of the things he said about Mr.
Jonathan Brent would not look at all nice in print! At seven-thirty-five
he hurried away to find Mr. Brent. At a few minutes before nine he was
back again, literally frothing at the mouth.
"Say!" he almost shouted in response to Dick's anxious query. "Say! He
didn't say a thing! He let me talk my head off, that is all he did! I
told him that public opinion would be against him if he allowed that
field to be demolished before the game, that Clearfield would be up in
arms, that the _Reporter_ would deal editorially with the matter and not
mince its words!" Mr. Potter faltered then.
"What did he say to that?" asked Dick. "He must have said something!"
"He said," replied the newspaper man subduedly, "that he controlled
three-fifths of the stock of the _Reporter_ and he guessed the paper
wouldn't be too hard on him!"
Dick grinned. "Does he?"
Mr. Potter nodded sheepishly. "Yes, but I'd forgotten it. After that I
had to--well, I had to tone down a bit. I asked him if it wouldn't be
possible to delay work on the field until after Saturday. I told him
about all the advertising that had been done and how everyone was
looking forward to the game and all that, you know."
"Yes? And he wouldn't agree?"
"He said, 'Young man, get out!' Just that and not another word!"
"Then I guess it's all off," said Dick regretfully. "It's too bad. Of
course, we might play the game at the Point----"
"We couldn't get the crowd over there. No, sir, it's got to be played
here. You're certain there isn't another field anywhere?"
"Absolutely certain."
"Then there's just one thing to be done. It's a last resort and it
doesn't promise well, but I'll try it."
"What?" asked Dick.
Mr. Potter sank his voice. "See the contractor," he said, "and buy him
off. For a hundred dollars----"
"A hundred dollars!" exclaimed his hearer. "Where'd we get it?"
"Pshaw, we'll clear up two hundred easy if we can pull the game off!"
"Well," replied Dick doubtfully, "but even so I don't believe Mullin
would dare to do it."
"Supposing, though, his men went on strike?" suggested the other with a
wink. "He couldn't help himself then, could he?"
"N-no, but--I don't like it, Mr. Potter. It's pretty under-hand, it
seems to me. After all, we don't _have_ to play that game, and----"
"Don't have to! You bet you have to! Look at that cup! Look at all the
printing we've done; posters, score-cards, tickets! Look at----" But
words failed him and he seized his hat from the table. "Here, I've got
to get busy! That Irishman may be plowing up the field right now! See
you later, Lovering!"
And Mr. Potter dashed off again.
Lanny called up a few minutes later to ask about developments and after
that Tom Haley wanted information. Dick had no hopeful news to impart,
however. Gordon and Fudge came around just as Dick was starting for the
Point--by way of Brentwood--and walked with him as far as the corner of
A Street. There Gordon drew Fudge back and reminded him that three was a
crowd. Dick had the grace to blush.
"Oh, come on," he said awkwardly. "Don't be a silly chump!"
"Thanks," murmured Gordon sweetly, "but we wouldn't think of intruding.
Come along, Fudge."
"Wh-wh-what's up?" asked Fudge when Dick had gone on. "Wh-why didn't you
w-w-want to go along?"
"I can't explain," replied Gordon gently. "You're too young, Fudge, to
hear such things."
Whereupon Fudge impolitely requested Gordon to "ch-ch-chase himself!"
Mr. Potter was back again after lunch, mildly incensed at Dick because
he hadn't been able to find him before. "Say, there's something funny
about this business," he confided, sinking into a chair on the porch and
mopping his forehead vigorously. "I went over to the field after I left
you this morning and there wasn't a thing doing. You said Mullin left
his wagon there, didn't you?" Dick nodded. "Well, it's gone now. I tried
to get him on the 'phone and his wife said he was out of town. What do
you make of that?"
Dick shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe Mr. Brent thought better of it
after you left him. You're certain the wagon was gone?"
"Sure! I walked all around the field and went inside. There wasn't a
scratch there and there wasn't even a wheelbarrow in sight outside. Now,
what does that mean? I'd call the old chap up and ask him, only--well,
frankly, Lovering, I'm afraid I'll lose my job! I suppose you wouldn't
want to get him on the telephone and ask him about it?"
"I'd a lot rather not," owned Dick. "I guess I'm just about as scared of
him as you are."
"But he can't hurt you! With me it's different. If he ever tells Stevens
I went to his office and read the riot-act to him Stevens will hand me a
ticket and a week's pay!"
"I guess Gordon would do it if I asked him to," said Dick after a
moment's thought. "I'll see if I can find him on the 'phone."
But Gordon was not at home. Mrs. Merrick said she believed he had gone
somewhere with Fudge.
"I'll see him at four o'clock," said Dick. "I told the fellows we'd meet
at the field and hold practice if we could find room there. I don't see
why--Excuse me a minute, will you?"
The telephone had rung and Dick took his crutches again and once more
swung himself into the house.
"This you, Dick?" asked the voice at the other end of the line. "This is
Morris. Say, Dick, I had a funny message from my dad a few minutes ago.
He telephoned from the office. 'You can tell that Merrick boy,' says he,
'that he can go on and use the field. Tell him to come and see me
Wednesday. I'm going to Hartford at three and I'll be back Wednesday
noon.' That's great, isn't it?"
"Fine! Do you suppose he means that we can have it until after Saturday,
Morris?"
"Sure! Anyway, it sounds so, doesn't it? And his wanting to see Gordon
makes it look that way, too. I've been trying to find Gordon, but his
mother says he's out somewhere. If you see him get him to call me up
here at the Point, Dick."
"I will. That's bully news, Morris, and your father's a brick! I've just
been talking with Mr. Potter. He's all het up about it," laughed Dick.
"He will be tickled to death! So long, Morris, and thanks. I'll tell
Gordon when I see him about four."
Dick hung up the receiver and went back to the porch to be confronted by
Mr. Potter's eager and questioning countenance.
"I couldn't help hearing what you said," he exclaimed. "Has he come
around?"
"I think so. He telephoned Morris to tell Gordon that we could go on and
use the field and that Gordon was to call and see him on Wednesday. He's
going to Hartford this afternoon. I guess it's all right."
Mr. Potter heaved a vast sigh of relief. "Well, I hope so. I want to put
this thing through now that I've started, Lovering. I'll breathe easier,
though, when I hear for certain. If he changes his mind again about
Wednesday we'll be in a worse pickle than ever!"
"I don't think he will, Mr. Potter. I guess he's concluded to let us use
the field. If he hadn't Mullin would be at work this minute. If I were
you, though, I'd hear what Mullin says."
"I will, just as soon as he gets home." Mr. Potter looked at his watch
and jumped to his feet. "I must be off. Say, that's a load off my mind,
all right! Now I'll go ahead and close with Nagel for the music. He
wants twenty dollars for two hours. I guess that's fair enough. By the
way, can you let me have your batting-list to-morrow? We want to print
those score-cards about Wednesday. And, say, if you hear anything more
call me up at the office. If I'm not there they'll take a message. Bye!"
"I wonder," mused Gordon when Dick met him at practice an hour later,
"what he wants to see me about."
"Well, it's about the field, I suppose," said Dick. "Don't look so
frightened, Gordie. He won't eat you!"
Gordon laughed and then shook his head ruefully. "I know, but that man
scares me to death. I don't know why, either. He's always been as nice
as pie to me. I guess it's his eyes. They sort of go right through you
and come out the other side!"
There was a big crowd of onlookers there that afternoon and the
Clearfield Baseball Club performed to enthusiastic applause. Dick had
sought to arrange a game for Wednesday afternoon but had found no team
that could or would play them, which was a matter of regret since
Clearfield needed harder practice than it could get without an opponent.
Rutter's Point, which had been playing two games a week steadily, was to
meet Logan on Wednesday at the Point.
"I wish we had got them," said Dick. "They'd give us just about the sort
of a game we need."
"Maybe," suggested Jack Tappen, "they'd swap dates with us if we asked
them. They won't get any money at the Point, you know."
"Yes, they will," piped up Harold, who had come over to watch practice
at Dick's invitation. "They pass a hat around and sometimes get ten or
twelve dollars."
"Anyway, I don't care to do a thing like that," said Dick. "It wouldn't
be exactly square, I guess."
"I'll tell you what!" exclaimed Harold.
"Go ahead," said Jack. "You're full of information, kid."
"Well," said Harold, pausing long enough to regard Jack with a look of
disdain, "why don't you play them in the morning?"
"By jove!" said Lanny.
"'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings!'" murmured Jack. "Kid,
you're all right!"
"We might," pondered Dick. "They're coming over anyway, and I dare say
they'd just as lief come in the morning as later. I'll get hold of that
captain of theirs this evening and see what he says."
"Tell 'em we'll pay their fares both ways," suggested Will Scott.
"Sure thing; and buy them a lunch," agreed Way.
"They'll do it," said Gordon. "Make the game at ten-thirty, Dick."
"Better say eleven. They could hardly get over here before half-past
ten. Well, I'll get after them as soon as I get home. Harold, you are a
youth of ideas!"
And Harold smiled proudly.