GLOWING HOPES
The boys all laughed at Fred's declaration, though they hoped ardently
that it would turn out to be true.
"Well," conceded Frank, "confidence is a good thing, especially if there
is good hard work back of it. One thing is certain, and that is if any
team beats Rockledge it will know it's been in a fight."
"I suppose Larry Cronk will be pitching for Belden," mused Fred.
"I suppose so, and he's a corking good pitcher too. But Bobby beat him
the last time he faced him and I guess he can do it again."
"Trust Bobby," replied Fred loyally.
"Well, I'll have to go now," concluded Frank. "I'm glad you boys think
the league is going to be a good thing."
"The best thing that ever happened," declared Sparrow.
"I'm tickled to death with it," agreed Fred.
"Hits me awful hard," said Bobby.
"Monatook Lake League sounds mighty good to me," added Skeets.
"There's a lot of work to be done yet in getting it fairly started,"
observed Frank. "We'll have to work out a schedule of dates and decide
on the kind of pennant we're going to have and a bunch of things like
that. But we'll have plenty of time for that, and everything will be
running slick as grease by the time the season begins. And remember what
I said, Fred, about cutting out all hard feelings," he concluded.
"I'll do it all right," answered Fred. "I don't like the fellow and I
never will, but I'll forget all about that when it comes to working for
the good of the team."
"That's the way I like to hear you talk," returned Frank with a smile,
as he went away.
"What did Frank mean by that?" asked Skeets curiously.
"Oh, it's about that Tom Hicksley," Fred replied. "Frank has heard that
he's a good ball player, and if he is, he wants him on the nine. He
heard Bobby and me talking of the scrap we had with him this morning,
and he doesn't want trouble in the team."
"Maybe Frank's right, at that," conceded Skeets. "But I don't know that
it's good dope to have a fellow like that on the nine, no matter how
good a player he is. He'll be wanting to run things and perhaps break up
the whole team."
"We'll hope not," said Bobby. "At any rate, there's no use worrying
about it yet. He may not be so good a player as Frank has heard he is,
and may not play on the team at all."
"We'll have to look over our baseball togs and see if they're in good
shape," said Fred. "I know the spikes on my shoes need sharpening."
"And I'll have to pound that new baseball glove of mine until it's good
and soft and has a big hollow in the middle," added Bobby. "We mustn't
overlook the least thing that's going to help us to win."
"Won't the Clinton boys open their eyes if we can tell them when we go
home for the summer vacation that we're the champions of the Monatook
Lake League?" gloated Fred.
"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," laughed Sparrow.
"It's a long time yet before the end of the season."
"It's all over but the shouting, the way I look at it," persisted Fred
defiantly.
"Don't wake him up, he is dreaming," mocked Skeets.
"The pennant bee is buzzing in his bonnet," laughed Sparrow.
For that matter, they all heard the buzzing of the same bee, and it was
a very pleasant sound to them. To these four eleven-year-old boys the
words "league" and "pennant" conveyed a sense of dignity and importance
that they had never felt before.
From that time on, baseball took up a large part of their thoughts, even
though the ground was covered with snow and the lake held fast in icy
fetters.
The gymnasium was warm and comfortable, and though they had no regular
cage and the limited space did not give much chance for batting practice
the boys got in quite a lot of pitching and catching. And this was
quickened by the news that came to them that Belden had taken up the
idea of the league with as much enthusiasm as they had, and were already
predicting that they would be the victors in the coming struggle. It was
said that two of the new Belden boys were hard hitters and could "send
the ball a mile."
"But we heard something like that before the last game, and we licked
them just the same," remarked Fred, who expected to play short stop, the
same position he had held the previous season.
"Belden's bark is worse than its bite," confirmed Bobby. "But because
they didn't come through the last time doesn't say they won't now. We'll
have to be right up on our toes all the time. It isn't going to be a
walkover for anybody."
The study hours at Rockledge were not excessive, and had been arranged
with a view of giving the growing boys all the time they needed for
wholesome exercise and recreation. Dr. Raymond knew that a well trained
mind and strong body must go together in order to get the best results.
And on the occasions of the big baseball and football games he was
always sure to be present as a keenly interested spectator.
Mr. Carrier, too, the second assistant on the teaching staff, had
himself been an athlete in his college days, and his advice and coaching
on the diamond and the gridiron were very valuable to the Rockledge
boys.
With the lake so near at hand, there were plenty of winter sports. The
smooth level of the ice, stretching away for miles in every direction,
made skating a delight and offered a splendid field for hockey games. On
all fine afternoons and every Saturday from morning till night, the ice
was alive with darting figures, and rang with the music of steel against
the frozen surface and the merry laughter of the skaters as they cracked
the whip or flew by in impromptu races.
There was plenty of snow on the ground this year and this gave a chance
for some good coasting. Most of the boys had sleds, and Bobby had
brought along the splendid one that he had received as a Christmas
present.
He had had considerable trouble in settling on a name. Billy Barry's
suggestion that it be called "Lightning" and Betty Martin's laughing
idea that it ought to be called "Oyster," because it "slipped down so
easily," had received due consideration, but Bobby had finally settled
on "Red Arrow." This seemed to him to cover both its color and its
speed. And that speed could not be questioned. It certainly shot down
hill like an arrow from a how. None of the other sleds at the school
could do such fetching.
Naturally Bobby took great pride in his sled, and the runners were
rubbed with emery and oil until they were as smooth as silk and shone
like silver.
There were several good hills in the vicinity of the school, but most of
them were dangerous; one because it crossed the railroad at its base and
others because cross streets, along which there was much travel, offered
chances for collisions. These were therefore forbidden to the boys.
On one hill, however, they were permitted to coast whenever they wanted
to do so. This stretched away from the town, and there were no cross
streets throughout its entire length. It was absolutely safe, and as it
was very long and reasonably steep, the boys felt no special regret at
not being allowed to use the other hills.
For several days before Lincoln's Birthday the weather had been mild and
there was a considerable thaw. The snow on the hill had become soft and
mushy and coasting had been impossible.
This interfered with the plans of the boys in Bobby's dormitory, who had
expected to have a big coasting carnival on the night of the holiday,
when there would be a full moon. Now it looked as if the ground might be
bare.
But on the eleventh of February there came a sudden change in the
weather that gladdened the hearts of the would-be coasters. The
thermometer fell rapidly until it was ten degrees below zero. The hill
froze solid and was even better than it had been before, because the
water from the melting snow now formed a glare of ice over the whole
surface.
Bobby and his chums were jubilant over the change as they got together
in the gymnasium after breakfast on the morning of the holiday.
"Isn't it just bully?" cried Fred, doing a handspring.
"The hill will be like glass," gloated Mouser.
"I'll bet we fetch further than we ever did before," exulted Bobby, who
could see himself scudding like the wind on his trusty Red Arrow.
"But, gee! won't it be tough climbing up to the top again," put in Pee
Wee, who liked well enough to ride down but hated the task of walking
back.
"Don't worry, Pee Wee," chaffed Fred. "We wouldn't let a hard-working
fellow like you walk back. We'll take turns drawing you up on our
sleds."
"Sure we will," added Sparrow. "We'll just fight for the privilege."
"I'd hate to have Pee Wee bark his shins again," laughed Bobby.
The boys were so engrossed in the lively give and take that none of them
noticed that Tom Hicksley, who had been practicing on the rings and had
been near enough to hear their conversation, had quietly slipped out of
the gymnasium.
There had been no open trouble between him and Bobby and his friends
since that morning when the coming of Mr. Carrier had stopped the
quarrel. None of the boys took any special pains to avoid him but had
simply left him alone. Hicksley had cast sullen and angry glances at
them as they passed him on the campus or in the halls, but they cared
nothing for that. They did not doubt that he was nursing his grudge and
would lose no chance to get back at them if he could, but they felt able
to take care of themselves.
As a matter of fact, Hicksley had only two friends in the school. These
were Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, the two most detested boys at
Rockledge. They were of the same type as Hicksley, mean and tyrannical.
They were two of the largest pupils and took advantage of their size to
make themselves thoroughly disliked by the other boys.
They had "cottoned" to Hicksley at once, recognizing him as a kindred
spirit, and the three were almost constantly together.
Bronson and Jinks belonged to neither of the dormitories, but occupied
one of the smaller rooms together.
To this room Hicksley went straight from the gymnasium and rapped on the
door.