BRAD LEARNS THE TRUTH.
“What’s this—what’s this, boys?” cried Dick, as they were passing the
office of the Rockford _Star_, on their way to the hotel. “Just look at
that bulletin board. Maplewood defeated Seaslope! Take a look at the
standing of the teams! Did you ever before see anything like that?”
No wonder the boys uttered exclamations of surprise and astonishment as
they stood in front of the bulletin board, for by the record there it
was seen that every team in the Trolley League was tied. The four clubs
had played forty games each, and all had won twenty and lost twenty.
“Now for the race to the finish!” exclaimed Merriwell. “It will be good
and hot!”
No wonder the Fairhaven crowd was enthusiastic and delighted.
Bart Hodge was the hero of the day. Still wearing his ragged clothes, he
marched at Dick’s side with the ball players, his dark eyes gleaming and
a smile on his face.
“Frank will enjoy the letter I’ll write him,” he declared. “I’ll tell
him how his plan worked. I didn’t think I could fool you, Dick. It
wasn’t so difficult last night, for we met in the dark and you could not
get a good look at me. To-day you were somewhat excited and wrought up
over the game, which kept you from inspecting me closely.”
“I thought you acted mighty queer,” laughed Dick. “You kept that old hat
on all the time and had it pulled down over your eyes. Besides that, you
seemed disinclined to talk with me after we agreed on the signals we
would use. Whenever I spoke you turned your head away and did not
answer. Besides, I never dreamed of seeing Bart Hodge in rags and with
his face and hands dirt-begrimed.”
“It’s good, clean dirt, Dick,” retorted Hodge. “Still I confess I’m
rather anxious to wash it off now. Hear that big chap whoop! He nearly
broke his neck by falling off the bleachers when you struck out the last
Rockford batter.”
“That’s McLane,” said Dick. “He’s one of our most enthusiastic
supporters.”
The big lobsterman was marching down the street, waving his hat in the
air and occasionally letting out a yell that sounded like a steam
calliope.
In the island crowd was Grace Garrett. Without attracting the attention
of his companions, Earl Gardner dropped back and walked at Grace’s side.
“Oh, I’m so glad you won the game to-day, Earl!” she exclaimed, placing
her hand on his arm.
“I didn’t win it,” he laughed. “Dick and Bart Hodge deserve all the
credit.”
“Not all the credit,” she denied. “But who is this Bart Hodge? Is he
really a tramp?”
“Hardly that!” smiled Gardner. “He’s a chum and comrade of Dick
Merriwell’s brother, Frank.”
“Well, how does he happen to be here now?”
“Frank Merriwell sent him. He couldn’t come himself, and so he sent
Hodge. It was a mighty lucky thing for us that Hodge turned up just when
he did. No other man could have gone behind the bat and handled Dick’s
pitching to-day.”
“What was the matter with Brad Buckhart? He actually seemed crazy.”
Earl shook his head.
“That was something mighty queer,” he said. “Buckhart was ill—he’s ill
now, and he has two bad-looking eyes. That ball struck him between the
eyes, and they are nearly closed up.”
“It was dreadful!” said Grace. “It frightened all the girls. I thought
he was killed.”
“It takes something harder than a baseball to kill that Texan,” declared
Gardner. “Dick tried to induce him to go to a doctor, but he remained
through the game and kept a wet handkerchief over his bruise.”
With a handkerchief tied round his head, Buckhart was plodding along at
the rear of the ball players. The Western lad was doing some thinking
now. Gradually his head seemed getting clearer, and he was trying to
devise some explanation for his own remarkable actions on the ball
field. He remembered very well the singular feeling of lassitude and
weakness that came upon him a short time after eating dinner at the
Corndike Hotel that day. Over and over to himself Buckhart put this
question:
“What did I eat that knocked me out?”
As the ball players were passing the Corndike, Uriah Blackington hurried
out of the hotel, and called to Ray Garrett.
“Come here a moment, Garrett,” he urged. “Bring Merriwell with you.”
Ray and Dick joined the Rockford manager.
“I’ve just received a telephone message from Hammerswell and Whitcomb,”
said Blackington. “They urged me to call a meeting right away for the
purpose of making certain changes in the schedule.”
“Why should there be any changes made?” asked Garrett. “Isn’t the
schedule satisfactory to Rockford?”
“Not exactly,” answered Blackington. “We wish to make one or two changes
ourselves.”
“Ten to one,” cut in Dick, “this is some sort of a trick on the part of
Hammerswell. Don’t help him out in his schemes, Mr. Blackington.”
In a frank manner the Rockford man placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
“Don’t you worry about that, my boy,” he said. “I have no particular use
for Benton Hammerswell. Still, as two of the managers in the league have
called for this meeting, one must be held. They demand it at once,
saying they will be here within an hour and ready to transact business.
Mr. Garrett can stop off and attend the meeting, while the rest of you
may return to the island.”
“If I stop,” said Ray, “I want you to remain with me, Dick. I may need
your advice. We’ll not go back to Fairhaven on the _Lady May_ to-night,
for, according to our agreement with the captain, that boat leaves here
as soon as possible after the game.”
“Wait a minute,” said Merriwell. “Perhaps Captain Jennings might be
induced to wait a while if we pay him. There’ll be a moon to-night, and
there are no signs of fog.”
“The excursionists might object.”
“Let’s go down to the boat and talk it over.”
As they started off, Blackington called to them:
“Under any circumstances one of you must stay if you wish to have a
finger in the alteration of the schedule.”
When the _Lady May_ was reached Garrett gathered the excursionists and
told them it was necessary for Dick and himself to remain in Rockford
two hours at least.
“If you people say so,” said Ray, “the _Lady May_ will swing off at once
with you; but if you’re in no haste we’ll see if the captain can be
induced to wait for us.”
“Oh, say!” cried Brick McLane, “we want to take everybody back with us.
There’ll be a warm time on the island when we git there.”
“That’s right! that’s right!” cried several of the others. “If the
captain will wait we’ll wait.”
There was not a dissenting voice, and therefore Ray and Dick talked with
Captain Jennings at once. He agreed to wait until nine o’clock if they
desired, in case he received ten dollars extra for the delay. This
amount was promised him and the excursionists were notified.
“I’m glad of that,” said Hodge. “It will give me a chance to change my
clothes and cross to the island with you. I had my luggage forwarded to
the Corndike, and it’s there now, I suppose.”
The baggage belonging to the ball players had been sent from the hotel
to the steamer, and the boys were now given an opportunity to change
their clothes in the cabin. As they were making this change it was
discovered that Buckhart was not with them.
Immediately Dick became alarmed.
“Where is that fellow?” he exclaimed. “Has any one seen him?”
Some remembered Brad had marched down the street with them, but still he
could not be found on the steamer.
“First thing,” said Dick, as he hurriedly finished dressing, “is to look
him up. What the dickens can be the matter with him?”
While Dick and Ray were talking with Blackington, Buckhart had walked
into the Corndike quite unobserved and taken a seat in the office near
an open window at the front of the hotel. He was still puzzling over his
own condition and seemed quite unaware that his friends and the
excursionists proceeded to the steamer without noticing he was missing.
For at least thirty minutes the Texan sat in a big chair by the open
window. Finally he shook himself a little and started to get up. As he
did so he glanced through the window and saw Tom Fernald standing just
outside. The look on Fernald’s face was one of bitter disappointment.
“He’s some sore,” thought Brad. “I opine he lost a dollar or two
to-day.”
A slender young chap approached Fernald and spoke to him. This slender
fellow the Texan recognized as Pete Knox, head waiter at the Corndike.
“I need that money now,” said Knox, in a low tone, “and I need it mighty
bad, too.”
Fernald frowned.
“You’ll have to wait,” he retorted. “I can’t pay you.”
“But you promised it to me right after the game. I’ve been discharged
here.”
“Discharged?”
“Yes.”
“Why? How’s that?”
“I don’t know. I was fired this afternoon, and I’m out of a job. Haven’t
a dollar, either. So you see the twenty-five you agreed to pay me will
come in handy.”
“You’re no worse off than I am,” said Fernald. “I am broke. Lost my good
money on this beastly ball game.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” said Knox. “I thought you were sure of winning
if you could get that stuff into the Fairhaven catcher.”
Buckhart grasped the arms of his chair and every muscle grew tense.
“I should have won,” growled Fernald. “That ragged bummer upset my
calculations. He’s as good a catcher as Buckhart—or better.”
“You can’t blame me if your game miscarried,” said Knox. “I followed
directions, and I saw Buckhart drink the water, which I brought him
myself. I want my money now. I can’t help how much you lost, you’ll
settle with me.”
“And you’ll both settle with me!” roared the Texan, as he leaped like a
panther through the open window and lighted on the sidewalk outside.
“Here’s one for you!”
Saying which he struck Knox a blow that sent the fellow spinning,
wheeling instantly on Fernald, who seemed electrified by the occurrence.
“Had me drugged, did you?” snarled the Westerner. “You get yours next!”
Fernald was not exactly a weak man, but his astonishment prevented him
from meeting the assault of the enraged boy. Brad’s hard fist landed on
the man’s chin and sent him backward a step. The Texan would have
followed up this blow with another, but at that juncture Dick and Ray
Garrett came round the corner, having returned from the steamer.
Merriwell seized his excited friend by the wrist and held him, while
Garrett promptly stepped between the man and boy.
“Let go, pard—let go!” grated the Texan. “Let me smash that cur!”
“Where are the police?” exclaimed Fernald. “I’ll have him arrested!”
“You’re crazy, Brad!” said Dick. “What ails you?”
“I know what ailed me to-day!” panted the Fairhaven catcher. “I was
drugged! This low-down coyote paid the waiter here to get the stuff into
me! Stand back, pard, and let me square up the score!”
It required all of Merriwell’s strength to hold the furious lad back.
“How do you know this, Brad?” demanded Dick.
“Just heard them talking right here by this window.”
“That’s a lie!” asserted Fernald. “Where’s Knox? He’ll say it’s a lie!”
But the fellow who had been knocked down by Buckhart was not to be
found. He had picked himself up and hurried away as he saw the people
gather in front of the hotel.
Finding Knox had fled, Fernald became still more bold.
“Somebody call the police,” he said. “We’ll have this crazy chap locked
up.”
“Let them lock me up!” hissed Buckhart. “I am ready to tell the judge
why I jumped on Fernald.”
“All right,” nodded Dick, “go ahead and call your policemen.”
Then he turned to the crowd that had gathered.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “some of you were present at the ball game to-day,
I fancy. You must remember the singular behavior of our catcher here. He
complained of feeling wrong directly after dinner. Yesterday Tom Fernald
tried to bribe him—tried to induce him to throw the game to-day. Deny it
if you want to, Mr. Fernald; we have proof of it. Buckhart induced
Fernald to make the offer in a room of this hotel, and several of us
heard all the talk. If you doubt my word, ask Uriah Blackington; I fancy
you won’t doubt him. He was present and heard it all. That’s why Fernald
was compelled to resign as manager of your team. Evidently he has been
looking for revenge. It’s my belief that no man who makes a living as a
professional gambler can be on the square. I doubted the squareness of
Fernald from the first. He has been proved a crook. I mean it,
Fernald—you’re a crook!”
The deposed manager of the Rockford team was pale, but he forced a
sneering laugh.
“You will find I have some friends in this town,” he declared. “You
think yourself very smart, young chap, but in time you will get what’s
coming to you.”
This speech was promptly hissed by some one in the crowd, and as if that
hiss was a signal, a storm of hisses followed it.
Fernald shrugged his shoulders and snapped his fingers defiantly.
“You go to blazes, the whole of you!” he exclaimed.
Then he turned and walked away, paying no attention to the scornful
remarks of the crowd.
“Let him go, Brad,” urged Dick, restraining the Texan. “It’s my opinion
he lost enough money to-day to punish him for his dirty work.”
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