“When are them guys coming?”
“They’ll be along pretty quick, Bully. I hear there ain’t any game
Saturday?”
“No. There’s been a flood down the valley, and them Greenville scrubs
wired that they wouldn’t be up. They’re all helpin’ flood sufferers.
Think o’ lettin’ a little thing like that interfere with our schedule!”
Bully Carson grunted sarcastically. It was evident that he had little
use for flood sufferers.
“Come on, Bully, let’s get a little practice right here,” suggested
one of the half dozen fellows standing around in baseball uniforms.
“Bunting practice.”
“Might’s well, while we’re waiting, I suppose,” assented Carson.
They were waiting by the schoolhouse, lolling about the village green,
and waiting for the remainder of the Clippers to show up for the
morning work-out. Off at one side stood a group of young fellows who
were watching proceedings with scowling faces.
Bully Carson and “Squint” Fletcher, who covered home plate for the
Clippers, stepped out and began to plunk a ball back and forth.
Hendrix, the shortstop, seized a bat and began to bunt.
At this juncture; Frank Merriwell, junior, accompanied by Billy Mac,
strolled up. They had been having a work-out of their own down by the
river, and Billy carried his catcher’s mitt. They paused not far from
the group of discontented-looking chaps, who nodded to Billy. Merriwell
was introduced, and all watched the Clippers at work.
It was the morning after Colonel Carson’s ultimatum had been delivered.
From the comments which were passed, Chip decided that the young
fellows of Carsonville cherished a distinct feeling of dislike for the
colonel’s son, who was captain of the Clippers.
“Bully gives me a pain,” declared one of the group, Bud Bradley. He
proceeded to narrate Carson’s comment on the action of the Greenville
club.
“That doesn’t sound extra well,” commented Merry. “It’d be more to the
point if the Clippers would pile down to Greenville and help out the
flood sufferers.”
“No chance of that,” exclaimed Dan McCarthy, a lanky village youth.
“Nobody ever heard o’ Bully Carson helpin’ any one, nor his dad
neither.”
“Howdy, fel-l-lers,” piped Chub Newton, as he joined the group. “Any
one want to order groceries this morning? I hear there’s no game
Saturday.”
“Open date,” returned Billy. “Too late now to rearrange things, too.”
“Look at that second baseman drop them!” growled Jim Spaulding.
“And talkin’ about bushers, watch that feller who tries to play first,”
added McCarthy.
“Yah!” jeered Chub Newton, prodding Bud Bradley in the ribs and dancing
away. “You fel-l-lers are jeal-l-lous, that’s what! You’re sore because
you aren’t inside of those uniforms.”
“And who wouldn’t be sore?” said Bradley hotly. “When that fellow
Carson blacklists his own townfolks, and drags in city players, it’s
enough to make any one hot!”
“’Tisn’t as if we wasn’t good ball players, either,” added McCarthy.
“Bully knows he couldn’t show off around us, that’s all. He wants to be
captain, and he’d stand a fine chance of us electin’ him!”
Merriwell moved off a few steps, watching the Clippers. The foregoing
remarks had indicated clearly the position of things in the town. The
group of disgruntled natives comprised several of those who, like Billy
Mac, had been ousted from the Clippers by the imported amateurs.
It was not hard to understand the reason for this, and Merry found
himself in sympathy with the feeling. Knowing what he did of Bully
Carson, he thought it highly probable that the captain of the Clippers
doubted his ability to hold that position among the young fellows who
had grown up with him.
It was much easier to impress a crowd of chaps who worked for his
father. They would be very likely to toady to him, and allow him to
lead them. This was plainly the sort of thing that Carson loved.
“Just the same,” remarked Chip to Billy, who stood beside him, “I don’t
think your friends give him full credit, old man. He looks like a good
pitcher, and those other chaps know their business.”
“You’d show him up in two jerks, Chip,” declared Billy stoutly. Merry
smiled, but did not reply.
Carson had noted the arrival of the two friends, for more than once he
looked blackly at the group, and passed remarks to his companions that
drew their eyes also. They grinned at his words as if they formed great
strokes of humor.
Merry saw at once, however, that Carson knew his business. So did the
rest of the Clippers. They had spread out over the green, and handled
the bunts in fine shape, moving in perfect harmony and whipping over
the ball with precision.
Their captain and star pitcher might have a bad case of “swelled head,”
but he showed that when it came to pitching, he was right there. As a
group of girls passed on the other side of the street, he proceeded to
cut loose.
And Merry admitted to himself that Bully Carson was a pitcher. He had
speed and good control, while his curves broke sharply.
“Aw, cut out the comedy, cap,” growled his catcher, Squint Fletcher.
“This ain’t no stage performance!”
Carson scowled, but kept silent. Perhaps he had already discovered that
his husky backstop had little desire to truckle to him.
“Say, I got an idea!” chirruped Chub Newton shrilly. His voice lifted
across to the green, and it caused Bully Carson to throw a vicious
glance in the direction of the group.
“Be careful of it,” grinned McCarthy. “You want to set on it an’ hold
it gently by the ears, Chub. Don’t push it too hard.”
“You l-l-listen to me,” went on the little fellow eagerly. “We could
get a better team right here in town than those Cl-l-lippers! I’d
l-l-like to form another one, a cl-l-lub of our own, and l-l-lambaste
the spots out o’ them!”
At this astounding proposal, the members of the group stared at each
other. Carson, who must have heard the words, looked blacker than ever,
but continued tossing the ball.
“We couldn’t do it,” and Bud Bradley shook his head. “We’ve no money
for grounds or uniforms or things, and most of us have to keep close to
work.”
“I’d like to show that second baseman up, just the same,” said
Spaulding. “But I guess there’s no chance, Chub.”
“Why not?” spoke up Billy Mac hastily. “We’ve got uniforms of one kind
and another already, haven’t we? We don’t need grounds--we can practice
up and beat the Carsonville Clippers on their own grounds, fellows!”
“Yah! That’s the stuff!” shrieked Chub, dancing excitedly. “Wouldn’t
that be a scream, though! A bunch of us l-l-lambastin’ the town
cl-l-lub! Wow!”
It was plain that Chub’s proposition appealed strongly to most of those
present, but the difficulties seemed insurmountable.
“It’d take down Colonel Carson a heap,” muttered McCarthy. “I’d do a
good deal to pay him back fer the way he gobbled our pasture lots, when
his cussed mortgage come due!”
“Look here,” exclaimed Billy Mac, with eagerness. “It isn’t near so bad
as it looks, honest! We got pretty near a full infield right here in
this crowd. We could get to work and practice off days till the ball
season gets going, then light into that bunch right.”
“Sounds good,” admitted Spaulding. “But it won’t work, Billy. Those
fellows are sluggers from Sluggville. We’d have to have a crackajack
pitcher to hold ’em down. And you know as well as I do that we’d have a
hard job hitting Carson.”
“That’s all right,” retorted Billy Mac. “Mebbe we could get Chip
Merriwell, here, to come down from Fardale and pitch!”
At this proposal, every eye went to Merry. McQuade’s eager seconding
sent Chub into spasms of delight.
“Yah!” he piped shrilly. “Put Chip in the box, and watch him l-l-lam
Carson! See him cl-l-lip the Cl-l-lippers! Yah!”
“What do you think of the plan, Merriwell?” inquired Bud Bradley
doubtfully. “Would you be willing to come over and pitch?”
Merry nodded. Before he could speak, however, his eye was caught by a
sudden movement on the part of Carson’s team.
Three or four members had just arrived. Bully Carson, who must have
heard the eager cries of Chub Newton, had immediately ceased practice.
He had gathered the Clippers around him, and appeared to be talking
vigorously, though his words were lost.
“You’d better put on the soft pedal, Chub,” advised Merry. “Seems to me
that Bully has it in for you and Billy Mac.”
“Let him come!” sniffed Billy. “But what do you think about the idea,
Chip?”
The group closed in about Merriwell, every member anxious for his
opinion, as Billy had more than once described the diamond wizard’s
prowess to his home friends.
Merry hesitated, as he glanced around the faces. It did not appear
likely that the Clippers could be easily trounced, and, besides this,
he did not like to appear to be stirring up ill feeling.
He knew that there was a strong current of dislike against the Carson
methods. At the same time, Colonel Carson controlled the town, and
could possibly make it hot for those who opposed his son. Merry
hesitated to give advice, under the circumstances, but finally nodded.
“Yes, I think the idea’s a good one, if you don’t carry your antagonism
to extremes. As to coming over and pitching for you, I can’t promise
definitely. I’d be glad to do it, of course, if things shape themselves
right.”
“Hurray!” went up a general shout of delight, and Billy Mac patted his
friend on the back, until Merry almost choked.
“Hurray for you, Chip! I knew you wouldn’t go back on us!” he cried.
“By gum, we’ll have the first practice this afternoon!” exclaimed
McCarthy, in high excitement. “Chub can get off o’ the store, I reckon,
and we’ll go down to the river an’ start things! Jim, can we get enough
fellers together?”
“I guess so,” assented Spaulding, with a nod. “Merriwell might be able
to give us some good advice, and he could get a line on our work.”
He was interrupted by a sudden cry from Chub Newton.
“Hey! L-l-look out, fel-l-lers! Here they come!”
Merry and the others turned quickly. Bearing down upon them was Bully
Carson, a bat in his hand, and crowding around him were the members of
the Clippers. One and all looked ugly in the extreme.