Merriwell drew out the letter and sank into a chair. While Billy
listened, he read over that portion of the letter referring to the
request for a loan. Chip read as follows:
“I sympathize very deeply with both Billy and his mother, Frank, and
I would be glad to have you read this to Billy, and assure him of my
best regards and wishes. As to lending you the money, however, I do
not think that this would be wise, for several reasons.
“The first and most important is that it seems to me to be a poor
way in which to checkmate a scoundrel like this Colonel Carson. I
have made inquiries about him, and find that he had a reputation as
a plunger on ball games, and is wrapped up in the success of his own
team.
“I think you have done well in raising a team to defeat the Clippers,
as intimated in your wire to Clancy. I was going to suggest that very
thing. If you and Billy can beat his club, it would be an ideal way
in which to punish him. I only wish that more of the Fardale boys
were here, so that they could come down and help, but vacation has
scattered them.”
“That’s all very well,” interrupted Billy mournfully, “but licking the
Clippers isn’t going to save this house for mother, Chip. I wish--I
wish we’d taken a chance on it, and taken up that bet he offered!”
“No, you don’t,” exclaimed Merriwell. “Hold on, Billy. I haven’t
finished yet.”
“Go ahead and whip Carson’s team, Frank. You and Billy and Clancy can
do it if you try, and remember that I’ve every faith in all of you.
Do it, and I will see that Billy and his mother do not lose the roof
over their heads.
Your loving father,
FRANK MERRIWELL, SENIOR.”
Merry looked up to meet his friend’s startled gaze.
“What does he mean by that, Chip?”
“Search me,” said Merry, as he stowed away the letter. “But you can be
sure that father means something, all right.”
“I guess he does,” rejoined Billy, new hope dawning in his eyes. “My
eyes! It’s a promise, Chip! I’ll bet he means that if we beat the
Clippers he’ll lend you the coin!”
“No,” and young Merriwell shook his head decidedly. “He doesn’t think
it a good plan, old man, and that ends it. Father doesn’t have to say a
thing twice. Yes, it’s a promise, I imagine. I’ve no idea what he means
by it, of course, but he has some kind of plan up his sleeve. You quit
worrying.”
“I’ll try,” said Billy, with a sigh. “But I wish he’d said something a
little more definite than that.”
“So do I, Billy,” confessed Merry. “He didn’t, so there’s no use
wondering. I’m not going to say anything to Clan about this business,
so now let’s go around to Jim’s house with him, then we’ll get out to
the ball field again.”
Merriwell decided that the McQuades’ trouble was a personal affair. He
had entered into it largely through accident, and he did not consider
it a matter to share even with Clancy. So all three of the friends
piled into the _Hornet_, Billy standing on the running board, and they
made a triumphal progress to the Spaulding residence.
Despite his unbounded confidence in his father, Chip could not help
feeling disappointed over that letter. However, the definite promise at
the end served to relieve his anxiety, to some extent, but he could see
no light upon the subject. How could his father prevent Colonel Carson
from carrying out his threats?
As he obtained no answer to this mental query, Merriwell tried to
forget the whole thing, and trust that his father knew best. But it was
no easy matter.
That afternoon they met the other Clippings on the village green,
going from there to their practice ground. Chub Newton had been given
a vacation until Saturday night, and his employer had promised that if
the Clippers were beaten, Chub would get full pay.
In fact, the entire town was already plunged into excitement over the
sudden contest. Public disapproval of Bully Carson had long simmered
beneath the surface, kept under cover by the influence and general fear
of Colonel Carson.
It was not yet daring enough to show itself openly, but it peeped forth
in minor ways. Every one knew that Billy McQuade, prompted by his guest
from Fardale, Chip Merriwell, had dared to defy Colonel Carson. Also,
that half a dozen of the town’s best local baseball talent had joined
the two friends.
Consequently, the grocer’s son, who was taking Chub Newton’s place
behind the counter temporarily, ran out with a bag of apples and
deposited them mysteriously on the ground by the astonished Clippings.
A little later, as they passed the one ice-cream parlor in the place,
the proprietor appeared suddenly and thrust a paper bucket of ice cream
into Spaulding’s hand, then vanished without a word.
By such tokens as these, Frank and his friends soon discovered that
they were not without secret good wishers, though none of the latter
dared come into the open.
“Talk about a scared town!” laughed Clancy, munching an apple
vigorously. “Looks like your friend Carson had this place buffaloed for
sure, Chip!”
“Well, there’s good reason for it,” explained Spaulding. “The colonel
owns the bank here, and pretty near half the farms and orchards around.
If he said to smash a merchant, that merchant would be apt to smash. I
know, because he’s done it before this, and he’d do it again.”
“It’s a pretty poor kind of influence to hold over people,” declared
Frank. “I’d hate to walk down the street and know that nine out of ten
people hated me in their hearts.”
“The colonel doesn’t know it. He’s got too much vanity. And he wouldn’t
care very much if he did realize it, I guess.”
“Somebody ought to l-l-lam him good,” piped Chub. “I’d l-l-like to see
him run out of town!”
“Maybe you will some day,” growled McCarthy ominously.
“Don’t forget your promise,” said Frank, in a low voice.
“No danger o’ that, Merriwell. I filed them spikes o’ mine, though.”
“See here, Dan, I don’t want to have any of that work----”
“I ain’t goin’ to start anythin’, I said,” broke in the lanky youth
doggedly. “And I won’t. But I ain’t goin’ to let trouble hit me over
the ear, you bet. I’ll be jest as meek as a lamb until they try dirty
work on me, only I want to be ready.”
Frank nodded. After all, he did not greatly blame McCarthy for
distrusting the caliber of Squint Fletcher, or, for that matter, the
rest of the Carsonville club. He did not believe in fighting fire with
fire, but he saw that it would be useless to try argument with Dan
McCarthy.
So he let the matter drop, confident that the lanky third baseman would
not be the first to start any “dirty work.” The general sentiment of
the Clippings was that the Clippers would not stop at anything to win,
but that the umpiring would be fair.
“I want you to help me out, Clan,” said Frank, as he walked along
beside his old chum. “These chaps are just aching for a good chance
to start a scrap with the other team. They’ve all promised me that
they’d go slow during the game, but I want you to get after ’em during
practice.”
“In what way, Chip?”
“By showing them how necessary it is that they keep their heads. That’s
our only hope. If our boys get rattled, the Clippers will walk away
with us. Impress on them, Clan, that, no matter what provocation they
get, they have to keep quiet while the game is on. What happens later
doesn’t concern me.”
Clancy grinned. “All right. Count on me, Chip.”
Upon reaching the practice grounds, Merry at once sent the men to their
positions. He took the bat, and for half an hour gave the entire team a
driving practice work-out. The new white balls seemed, oddly enough, to
put new heart into his team.
It showed them that Frank and Clancy meant business. It was a little
thing, but it is just such little things that count tremendously. The
red-haired chap covered first like a demon, scooping up everything that
came his way. His example fired the others.
As Billy had foretold, the Clippings seemed like a different set of
players. They went after the ball with a vim. Spaulding, Chub, and
McCarthy tackled anything, and managed to smother the stiffest ones
Frank drove at them.
In the outfield, the marvelous fielding of Nippen astonished Merriwell.
The gigantic, overgrown fruit picker, in his lumbering fashion, fairly
ate up the ground. When he went after a high one, he seemed never to
know where it would fall, but when it came down, it invariably plunked
into his mitt. He had no science, but he seemed to have luck.
“How do they strike you?” inquired Merry, as he and Clan conferred
during a brief rest.
“Pretty promising bunch, Chip. But when they get up against those
Clippers, it’ll be a whole lot different. Those fellows can do in their
sleep what this crowd has to break their necks over.”
“That’s true, but, just the same, they’ll improve a lot by Saturday.”
Clancy shook his head doubtfully. It was clear that he was not greatly
impressed by the Clippings.
The batting practice that followed served to back up Clancy’s opinions.
Calling in the outfielders, Frank kept putting over nothing but outs
and ins and straight fast ones, yet the batters could not seem to
connect.
His coaching helped them a good deal, but nothing wonderful resulted.
Nippen seemed to have spent all his energy on the one ball he had
struck that morning. Chub Newton could hit nothing. Henderson was
afraid to stand up to the plate, and Billy McQuade seemed to have lost
his batting eye.
McCarthy, however, fell on the ball, and pounded it viciously until
Frank served him up slow floaters, when he failed lamentably. Then
Merry put Billy through his paces as backstop, using everything from
the double shoot to the jump ball; and the work-out was over.
“It’s a bum lookout,” observed Billy, when they were walking together
past the orchard to the house. “We did pretty rotten at bat to-day.”
“Oh, not so bad,” said Frank encouragingly. “We’ll all be nerved up
more on Saturday, for one thing. Then remember, Bill, it isn’t the
sluggers who win.”
“That’s right, Chip. Do you honestly think we’ve got a show?”
“I do,” replied Frank earnestly. “Our fellows are fine on
base-throwing, and when they get to work on a decent diamond, the
results will be astonishing. I really think we’ve an excellent chance,
old man.”
“Then that takes a load off my mind,” said Billy, with a sigh. “I
thought you’d be pretty disgusted with us.”
Frank smiled and patted him on the back cheeringly. But in his heart he
felt that, while the Clippings might have a chance, it was a terribly
slim one.