THE YOUNG MAN IN TROUBLE.
When Dick and his friends left the Clover County Club, to continue
their trip, Forest Hills was their next scheduled stopping place.
“Try the Burlington,” said Roger Clingwood, as he bade the party
good-by; “the restaurant is the best in the place.”
Following Clingwood’s advice Dick and his friends had gone at once to
the Burlington, and after removing the stains of travel, sought the
dining room.
As the head waiter spied them, he conducted them to a round table near
one of the open windows and drew out the chairs with a flourish.
As soon as they were seated, Tucker reached for the menu.
“Well, let’s get this struggle over with,” he remarked, as he ran his
eye down it. “I eat from a sense of duty. Hotels must be supported.
Mere grub is repugnant to me, but I have to go through the motions.”
Buckhart looked at Dick and lowered one eyelid.
“Catch on to his order, pard,” he murmured.
At that moment the waiter approached with pad and pencil.
“What are you going to have, Tommy?” Dick asked. “Don’t torture
yourself too severely.”
The little fellow’s brows were knitted in deep thought.
“H’m! A little _consommé_ to start with, I think. That ought to taste
pretty good on a warm day like this. Then--let me see. A _filet mignon_
sounds right. Potatoes come with it, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded the waiter.
“Lima beans and green corn will do for the other vegetables. Follow
that with a lettuce salad; and, for dessert, sliced peaches with a
portion of vanilla ice cream. That’s about all, except that I want a
pot of coffee with cream brought with the filet.”
He sat back in his chair and unfolded his napkin with an air of much
satisfaction.
“Looks like you got a rake off from the management,” the Texan grinned.
“Aren’t you the real clever thing to guess it,” returned Tucker. “How
else do you suppose I make expenses? These hotel proprietors are only
too glad to give a little bonus to a good-looking chap like me. Gives
tone to the establishment, you know.”
Merriwell gave his order and then, sitting back, glanced casually
around the room. It was well-filled with the usual crowd of business
men, among whom were a few ladies in light summer dresses, and a
pleasant air of refinement pervaded the establishment.
Presently Dick noticed a party of three young fellows who were lunching
at a table in the centre of the room. One of them faced him--a
pleasant-looking, well set up man of about twenty-two, with clean-cut
features and curly, brown hair; and, as the Yale man glanced at him, he
hastily averted his eyes as if he had been staring.
“I suppose there isn’t any chance of going through the mine this
afternoon,” Dick remarked, turning back to his friends. “Clingwood
said the morning was the best time. We can put in the rest of
the day looking the town over, and after dinner I’ll hunt up
the superintendent, Orren Fairchilds, and give him that card of
introduction.”
“I think I’ll take a rest,” yawned Bigelow. “The roads were awful this
morning. I’m black and blue all over from being jounced around.”
“Hear him talk!” jeered Tucker. “He’s so packed with blubber, you’d
have to jab something into him a good two inches before he could feel
it.”
Dick glanced over at the other table again and met the curly haired
fellow’s eyes fixed squarely on him. One of his companions had half
turned and was also regarding the Yale man intently.
“They’re certainly going to know me the next time they see me,” he
thought. “I wonder if I have ever met them before.”
He decided that he had not. Endowed with an extraordinary memory, he
never forgot a face, and those two were totally strange.
The next moment he was surprised to see the brown-haired man rise from
his table and come across the room toward him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, pausing beside Dick’s chair; “but isn’t
your name Merriwell--Dick Merriwell?”
There was a slightly puzzled look on Dick’s face.
“It is,” he answered. “But I don’t remember----”
“No, of course you don’t,” the other interrupted with an embarrassed
smile. “You’ve never laid eyes on me before; but I’ve seen Merriwell
pitch several times, and the minute you came into the room I was sure
you were he.”
He hesitated for an instant, and Dick waited quietly for him to
continue.
“I’m the captain of the Field Club nine here in Forest Hills,” the tall
fellow went on presently. “Our big game--the game of the season--is
scheduled for to-morrow, and our battery is beastly weak, especially
Morrison, the pitcher. I thought--I wondered whether it would be
possible for you to come out to the grounds this afternoon and give us
a pointer or two. I--I know I’ve got nerve, but that game means a lot
to us. My name is Gardiner--Glen Gardiner.”
Merriwell’s heart warmed to this frank, pleasant-voiced young fellow,
who was so obviously embarrassed at the favor he had ventured to ask;
and, as Gardiner finished speaking, the Yale man rose quickly to his
feet and held out his hand.
“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Gardiner,” he said heartily. “You’re
not nervy at all. I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can. We
were just wondering how we could put in the afternoon. I’d like you to
meet my friends, Brad Buckhart, Tommy Tucker, and Bouncer Bigelow.”
Gardiner’s face glowed with pleasure as he shook the Texan’s hand.
“I’ve seen Mr. Buckhart before,” he said quickly; “and I’m very happy
to meet you all. You have no idea, Mr. Merriwell, how much I’ll
appreciate your coming out and coaching us.”
“Better wait until you’ve seen how I can coach before you thank me,”
Dick smiled. “Won’t you bring your friends over and lunch with us?
There’s room enough at this table, and we can get some more chairs.”
“Thank you very much, but we’ve just finished,” Gardiner said. “I know
they’d be awfully pleased, though, to sit here while you eat yours.”
He went back to his own table and returned with the two men, whom he
introduced as Ralph Maxwell and Stanley Garrick. The former played
shortstop on the nine and was short and wiry, with red hair and
freckles. He was not unlike Tucker in looks and manner, and the two
took to each other at once. Garrick, who played second, was tall and
rather ungainly, with a noticeable deliberation of speech and manner.
To the casual observer, he seemed slow and clumsy, but on the diamond
he was anything but that.
They were both delighted to meet the Yale men, and, drawing up some
chairs, made themselves comfortable while the latter began on the
luncheon which had just appeared.
“Who is it you play to-morrow?” Dick asked, as he took up his knife and
fork.
“The Mispah team--the mine boys,” exclaimed Gardiner. “They’ve got a
crackajack nine this year and have licked everything they’ve been up
against, so far. We have a pretty good organization ourselves, and
we’ve won every game we’ve played. So you can see that it will be
a hard fight from start to finish. If we win, we’ll hold the state
championship.”
Dick nodded.
“I see; but how does it come that these mine fellows are so good? They
don’t generally amount to much at scientific baseball.”
“It’s on account of Orren Fairchilds, one of the mine owners,” Gardiner
answered. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Yes, I have. But I didn’t know he was one of the owners. I thought he
was the superintendent.”
“He’s both. He also happens to be one of the greatest baseball
enthusiasts in the country. Before he went into mining, he played on
one of the big-league teams, and he’s still a crank over the game. He
got together the most promising of the young fellows in the mine and
practically taught them the game from start to finish--spent months
coaching each man separately and the whole nine together. He hardly ate
or slept during that time, and, as a result, he’s got a crowd that he
boasts can lick anything in the country outside the big leagues.”
“He must be all to the good,” Dick said, smiling. “He’s a man after my
own heart, and I shall be much interested in meeting him to-night.”
“You have an appointment?” queried Gardiner.
“No; a card of introduction from a mutual friend,” Merriwell returned.
“We are anxious to go through the mine to-morrow, if possible.”
“You’d better be at his house before seven to-night, then,” Gardiner
said. “He has dinner at half-past six, and the minute he’s through he
goes up to the diamond he’s laid out near the mine, where the boys
practice until dark.”
“Much obliged for the advice,” Dick smiled. “I’ll be there on the dot;
for our only reason for coming to Forest Hills was to see the mine.”