“Too bad about Ted Crockett,” said Garding, pulling on the weights.
“For Fardale, you mean,” returned Lee Chester. “Fine for Ted.”
“Uh-huh,” Hunt Garding paused with a sigh. “Going around the world with
his dad, eh?”
“He’s foolish! I’d sooner be captain of the Fardale nine than go around
the world a dozen times! When does he leave, Hunt?”
“Monday night--right after the Franklin Academy game. Say, Chesty!”
“Huh?”
Garding dropped his voice with a glance around. No one appeared to be
in hearing, and he leaned forward.
“Do you think Chip will get it?”
“Get what?”
“The captainship. Ted’s going away leaves it vacant, you know.”
“Holy smoke! That’s right! By golly, we’ve got to root for Chip!”
Hunt Garding nodded, but looked doubtful. He and his brother plebe were
among Frank Merriwell, junior’s, stanchest supporters at Fardale. In
common with many other students, they had remained at Fardale during
the spring vacation.
It was Saturday morning, the last day of the vacation. Owing to a
conflict in the schedules, a postponed game with Franklin Academy was
to be played off on the following Monday, a half holiday having been
declared by the two schools. Franklin was Fardale’s ancient rival, and
as it was the second game of the season, feeling was running high.
Unfortunately for the Fardale team, its second baseman and captain, Ted
Crockett, was leaving school. He had been called away suddenly to take
a long trip with his father, but had managed to postpone his leaving
until after the Franklin game.
His abrupt departure would leave vacant an important office, that of
captain of the nine. It was of this that the two plebes were talking in
the gymnasium. They did not observe a figure which stood just around
the corner, and which was that of Bob Randall. He had just emerged from
the locker room, had caught their words, and was listening for the
remainder.
“I’m not so sure, Chesty. Chip isn’t certain to get the place, you
know.”
“I’d like to know why not!” broke out Lee Chester indignantly, glaring
at his chum. “Why, he’s the best pitcher Fardale ever had, barring his
father and uncle!”
“Of course,” said Garding. “Best all-around athlete, too.”
“Well, what’s the matter with you, then? All we’ve got to do is to get
the fellows on their toes, and----”
“There are several things the matter. First, there’s another chap on
the team who’s a mighty fine tosser.”
“You mean Bob Randall?”
“Yes.”
The silent figure around the corner drew back, with a little smile
playing about his clean-cut mouth. Randall was a handsome, dark-eyed,
fiery-tempered Southerner, who could play ball like a fiend, when he
wanted to.
He was full of pride, and his greatest fault was his temper. Despite
this, however, he was a prime favorite. At Lee Chester’s next words his
face flushed darkly, and his smile changed to a quick scowl.
“Randall? Nonsense, Hunt! He’s a dandy fellow, and is a peach of a
pitcher, but he’s not in Chip’s class.”
“Naturally not, since Merry is a chip of the old block,” said Garding,
with a chuckle. His face instantly became serious, however.
“You’re wrong, Chesty,” he went on. “Bob Randall is popular.”
“So’s Chip, according to my notion.”
“Sure. There’ll prob’ly be an election right after the game on Monday.
But Chip, Clancy, and Billy Mac are over at Carsonville, and who’ll
look after their interests? You can bet that Chip will not try to get
the captaincy, but he ought to.”
“I s’pose there will be some campaigning done,” admitted Chester. “But
I don’t think Randall has much show. He’s too hot-headed to work as
captain. Now, look at Chip Merriwell. Did you ever see him rattled? Not
enough to notice it. He can pitch rings around Bob Randall, too. Wait
till Monday, and you’ll see.”
“Well, you wait yourself. Randall doesn’t think a heap of Chip, I
guess----”
“You’re wrong there, Garding.”
The two plebes whirled in surprise as Bob Randall stepped out. With an
effort the latter had wiped the traces of discontent from his dark,
good-looking features.
“You’re wrong,” he repeated easily. “I do think a good deal of Chip
Merriwell, but since you seem to be discussing the subject frankly,
I’ll say that he hasn’t any more chance of being elected captain than
you have.”
The two plebes were inclined to be angry at being overheard by Randall,
of all persons, and much more so by his words.
“Who gave you any license to butt in?” snapped Chester.
“I happened to overhear what you said, that’s all. This is a public
place, isn’t it?”
“Generally considered so,” said Hunt Garding, with a grunt.
Randall saw that he had hurt himself with these two plebes, and he
quickly tried to regain lost ground. He was not the kind to do any
disguising of his true sentiments, however, and stated his ground
bluntly.
“Look here, fellows, you seem to have the idea that I’m sore on
Merriwell. I’m nothing of the kind. But there’s no use beating about
the bush, after what’s been said, and I’m quite willing to admit that I
want to be captain.”
“We guessed it,” retorted Chester dryly.
“Well, there’s no harm in that, is there?” Randall began to grow warm.
“Can’t a fellow contest an elective office with Chip Merriwell?”
“Some fellows could, maybe,” said Garding. “But if you want it
straight, Bob, you’re not the fellow, in this case. He’s out of your
class as a pitcher.”
Randall’s dark eyes flashed, but he controlled himself.
“I don’t acknowledge that. Who’ll go into the box for Fardale when Chip
isn’t around? Tell me that.”
“You will, because you’re the next best pitcher,” retorted Hunt. “You
don’t need to get sore, Randall. I’m not decrying your ability when I
say that you’re not the equal of Merriwell, because you’re a blamed
good pitcher.”
This only added fuel to the flame, however.
“Well, that remains to be seen,” declared Randall hotly. “Chip gets
away with it because he has luck, that’s all. A whole lot depends on
this game with Franklin, Monday, and the fellow that pitches and wins
the game for Fardale will be the next captain of the regulars!”
“And that’ll be Chip Merriwell, for he’ll surely pitch,” said Chester.
“He won’t!” cried Randall, losing his temper. “I’m slated for that
game, and I’m going to show you fellows what a real pitcher can do
when he gets started. The trouble with a lot of you plebes is that you
truckle to Merry because his father and uncle are old-time diamond
stars!”
Lee Chester showed his wrath at this charge.
“I guess that lets you out,” he exclaimed angrily. “You’re so blamed
jealous that your brains are twisted, Bob Randall! Nobody gets truckled
to around this school, unless he’s got the goods, and you’re a long
ways from having them.”
“Well, I should hope so!” flashed back Randall. “I’d hate to have a
crowd of decent fellows thinking that I was a little tin god on wheels!
That’s what you seem to think about Merry.”
“Better take it easy, Bob,” advised Hunt Garding, with a frown. “Go out
and cool off, and you’ll see it differently.”
“I see it well enough, thanks,” snapped Randall furiously. “It isn’t
hard to see that a bunch of you fellows toady to Chip Merriwell
because you think it’s going to get you something. That chap is
overrated. He’s got ability, but it’s your crowd that has given him
such a case of swelled head that he thinks he can cop off everything.
He’s going to find that he can’t.”
“Aw, go away and sneeze! Your brain’s dusty!” jeered Chester.
“I’ll tell you two something!” cried Randall, shaking his fist and
advancing a step. “We’re going to win this game on Monday, and I’m
going to do it! Look at the team--it’s all shot to pieces! Billy
McQuade has left school. Crockett’s going to quit. Clancy is off with
Merry at Carsonville, instead of being back here practicing to get into
shape to cover first. What kind of a captain would Chip make, when he
allows this on the eve of an important game, tell me that?”
“He’d make a better one than you would, losing your fool head this
way,” retorted Chester. “He’s at Carsonville trying to persuade Billy
Mac to return, and you know it! Say, if I had that jealous disposition
of yours I’d hang it on the back fence and throw stones at it! You make
me tired!”
Randall’s temper lashed out. His face went white with anger.
“Yuh impudent little Yankee!” he roared. Whenever he forgot himself his
voice took on a soft Southern drawl, which it now assumed abruptly. “I
reckon I’ll teach yo’-all somethin’ right heah! I’ll show yo’-all yo’
cain’t talk to a Randall like he was a low-down niggah!”
He started for Chester, and Chester started for him with great
willingness. Before they could strike a blow, however, Hunt Garding
dashed in between with a quick warning, pointing across the gym.
“’Sh-h-h! The athletic instructor’s coming!”
Randall flung a look toward the door, then sullenly jammed his hat over
his eyes and strode away.