That evening, the McQuade homestead thrummed with eager voices. Six of
the best local players, carefully picked by McCarthy, had gathered. A
good many more had offered their services, but most of these had more
enthusiasm than baseball knowledge.
“We sure need a first baseman,” exclaimed Spaulding. Merry smiled.
“I wired my chum, Owen Clancy, this afternoon,” he explained. “He’s at
Fardale now, and has been out West. He’s just getting over a sprained
ankle, but I think he can cover first for us all right. Now, let’s get
down to business and map things out.”
Billy Mac, of course, would be backstop. He had been practicing all
afternoon with Merry, and Chip had found that he could ask no better
partner. The lanky Dan McCarthy would cover third, and looked as if he
would do it efficiently.
Jim Spaulding made a bid for the central sack. He was one of the town
players who had been ousted by Bully Carson, and was correspondingly
bitter against the Clippers. Chub Newton would take care of short.
“We won’t be a cl-l-lassy-l-l-lookin’ bunch,” announced the little
fellow, as he inspected the ancient and tattered uniform he had
brought along, “but we’l-l-l be right there when it comes to bal-l-l
pl-l-laying!”
“You bet!” chuckled McCarthy, eying his own faded green shirt and
baseball pants. “If I don’t bang out a two-bagger, I’ll quit tryin’ to
play ball, by gum!”
The outfield would be taken care of by Moore, also an ex-Clipper;
Henderson, who had been a high-school star two years before, and a
tremendously built young chap named Nippen. This Nippen was almost a
giant in build, possessed of terrific strength, and apparently had the
general aspect and intelligence of a cow.
He was the one member of the gathering who did not impress Merriwell as
being especially adapted for baseball. Billy, however, reassured his
friend in a whispered aside that Nippen would produce the goods.
“He doesn’t look up to much, Chip, and he lumbers around like an
overgrown puppy. But when he lands on the ball, he kills it, and the
way he covers center field is something wonderful to watch. You wait!”
So Merry smiled and waited. Every one present displayed inspiring
eagerness to work. There was one thing, however, which troubled
Merriwell. This was the ill feeling which they displayed.
“You’ve got to watch that, fellows,” he said. “I noticed to-day that
you weren’t a bit anxious to avoid trouble. Now, if we start in to win
that game, it’s going to make the other crowd sore. They’ll try to get
us into a fight and break up things. I want you to promise me that
whatever they say or do, you’ll keep your heads and let the scrapping
wait till later. We can’t afford to get rattled, you know.”
All save McCarthy recognized this fact and readily extended their
promise. The lanky third baseman held back, however.
“If that feller Squint Fletcher gets gay, I’m goin’ to paste him,” he
declared stubbornly. “I won’t take any talk or any dirty work from him.”
“All right,” said Merry quietly. “We’ll have to find another man to
cover third, I’m afraid. We can’t take any chances that way, fellows.”
McCarthy was taken all aback by this. When he found that Merriwell was
in earnest, he scratched his head and reconsidered.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll promise not to start anything like a scrap,
no matter what Squint does. But I’m goin’ to file my spikes, jest the
same. I reckon we’d better make Merriwell captain, fellers.”
There was an instant shout of agreement. Chip held up his hand.
“Hold on, everybody! I think that Billy Mac ought to be your captain.
I’m an outsider, and I’m only butting in here, anyhow----”
“Not on your life!” yelled Billy.
“Yeh! You’re it, Merriwell!” chirped Chub Newton. “I’l-l-l bank on you
every time! L-l-let’s make it unanimous, fel-l-lows!”
Merry’s protests were voted down amid wild enthusiasm, and he was
elected captain of the pick-ups. Spaulding suggested that they call
themselves the Carsonville Clippings.
“That’s it!” cried Chub. “The Cl-l-lippers and the Cl-l-lippings--wow!
Won’t Bul-l-ly Carson be mad, though!”
The name was adopted with a yell of delight. The meeting was just
breaking up when there was a ring at the doorbell, and Billy returned
with a telegram for Chip.
“It’s from Clancy,” cried Merry, tearing open the envelope. “Hello!
Listen to this, fellows!”
And, holding up the message, he read as follows:
Coming on the jump. Ankle fine. Bringing your uniform and some balls.
Arrive to-morrow noon via _Hornet_.
OWEN CLANCY.
“What’s the _Hornet_?” inquired Billy, in wonder. “There’s no noon
train in!”
“That’s Clancy’s car,” laughed Merry. “It’s an old auto that he took
off the scrap heap and made into a racer, though it doesn’t look up to
much. He brought it with him from the West.”
“I’d like to put him up,” volunteered Spaulding. “We’ve got lots of
room at our place, and he’d be welcome to stay a month.”
Billy protested, for he wanted Clancy as a guest himself, but Merriwell
knew that two guests would sorely tax good Mrs. McQuade’s resources, so
he accepted Spaulding’s offer gratefully. The meeting broke up with the
first practice set for the following morning, Chub Newton stating that
he would get off work easily enough, as his employer had no love for
the Carsons.
Merriwell rather expected that he would get a letter from his father in
the morning’s mail, but none came. Though he said nothing of it, this
worried him slightly. He had explained to Billy that he had written his
father, asking for the thousand dollars, and he began to wonder if his
letter had miscarried.
He soon forgot his worry, when the Clippings assembled on an old
diamond used by the high school. It was in a meadow beside the river.
Three or four old balls were produced, and Merry at once set to work to
get an idea of what his team could do.
The results were both encouraging and discouraging. The diamond was
rough and uncared for, so that the infield had a tough time judging
balls, but the base throws were excellent, and they showed good form.
Merry handed up slow ones, and the batting practice proved that in
this quarter his team was lamentably weak. Chub Newton would bite at
anything. McCarthy faced the plate wickedly, but his eye was poor on
slow ones, and it was said that Bully Carson did his best work with a
fadeaway ball.
Spaulding proved to be a fair batsman, while Nippen landed on Merry’s
first ball and knocked it into the middle of the river. Henderson and
Moore did poorly, and, although the three outfielders showed up better
on gathering in high ones, Merry was not greatly encouraged when he and
Billy went home for lunch.
“We’ve got a tough nut to crack here, old man,” he remarked soberly.
“Can the Clippers hit pretty well?”
“That’s their strong suit,” gloomily returned Billy Mac. “They get a
pitcher going, and it’s all off with him. They’re pretty ragged when it
comes to headwork, but they give Carson mighty good support. Yes, they
can certainly hit. Squint Fletcher leads the league.”
“Slugging doesn’t always mean hitting,” said Merry cheerfully. “Brace
up, old man! We’ve a day and a half for practice, and we’re going to
improve a whole lot.”
“We’ll need to,” muttered Billy. He halted suddenly, staring up at the
house just ahead of them. “Hello! There’s a machine standing out in
front!”
“Clancy must have come ahead of time!” cried Merry.
The two burst into a run. Reaching the veranda, they found a red-haired
young fellow seated in a rocker. He was talking with Mrs. McQuade. At
sight of Merriwell, he leaped up and vaulted the railing.
“Hello, Chip!” he cried, wringing Merry’s hand. “Wow! I’m glad to see
you!”
“Same here,” returned Chip. “I see you’ve already met Mrs. McQuade, eh?”
“We’re old friends by this time,” said Clancy. “Hello, Billy! I haven’t
seen you since last fall. How’s everything?”
“Pretty good,” stated Billy, forgetting his troubles for the moment.
“When do we get some eats, mother?”
“Lunch is all ready,” said Mrs. McQuade, who had taken a fancy to the
red-haired chap already. “Do you want to bring your stuff inside, Mr.
Clancy?”
Merriwell hastily explained that Clan was going to stop with Jim
Spaulding, and they turned to examine the load heaped in the vacant
seat of the machine.
This was composed of two Fardale uniforms, together with a catcher’s
mitt, protector, and mask, and a half dozen balls. On these Billy
pounced with delight.
“Wait till this afternoon, Chip! We couldn’t do much with those old
balls this morning, but we’ll show you something this afternoon! Say,
this looks pretty good to me.”
“Something to eat would look pretty good to _me_,” said Clancy. “I’ve
been hitting the high places ever since early this morning. Say, it
certainly did feel good to go out and have your mother pump water over
me, Billy. Reminded me of days on the farm.”
The three settled down about the table, and Merry at once launched into
a description of events at Carsonville. Billy and his mother never
tired of watching the bronzed young fellow, who had been regaling Mrs.
McQuade with tales of his adventures in Arizona, and Clancy polished
off the good things before him with astonishing rapidity.
“It listens good to me,” he commented, with a sigh, when, at length, he
could stow no more away. “I hear at Fardale that Billy has developed
into quite a backstop, eh?”
“Sure,” said Merry. “He’s a wonder, and no mistake, Clan.”
“Oh, my eye!” sniffed Billy. “Just because I happen to hold on to your
double shoots, you needn’t raise my modesty like that!”
“It isn’t every one who can hang on to them,” said Clancy. “Oh, by the
way, Chip, I came mighty near forgetting! Your father was at Fardale
yesterday on a flying visit.”
And he began to dig excitedly at his pocket, finally extricating an
envelope which he handed to Merry.
“Your father asked me to give this to you. He said it would get to you
quicker than if he mailed it.”
Merriwell nodded. With a word of apology to Mrs. McQuade, he tore open
the envelope, half expecting to see an inclosure. None fell out. He ran
his eye quickly over the letter, and his cheeks paled a trifle, then he
refolded it, and put it in his pocket.
Five minutes later he stood on the veranda with Billy. Clancy was down
in the drive explaining the hidden beauty of his car to Mrs. McQuade.
“What’s the trouble, Chip? Wouldn’t he let you have the coin?” asked
Billy.
“I’m sorry, old man,” and Merriwell bit his lip. “He didn’t think it
wise.”