MR. HOBSON
Boxwood Hall had won the second game of the important series in the
tenth inning. It was game and game--a third one would be necessary to
decide the championship. And as the rooters of the victorious side
realized this, and as they thought of what snap and ginger Ned, Bob
and Jerry had put into the team at the crucial moment, there came glad
shouts and cries.
The winning team had cheered its losing rivals, and in turn, to show
their sporting spirit, the military lads had responded. Then out on the
diamond swarmed the Boxwood Hall rooters.
“Oh you Jerry Hopkins!”
“Oh you Bob Baker!”
“Three cheers for Ned Slade, our peerless pitcher!” called one
enthusiast.
The cheers were given with a will, and the boys thronged around our
three heroes, patting them on the back, hugging them, trying to shake
hands with them and lead them about in a wild snake dance.
Ted Newton saw a dark and scowling look on Frank Watson’s face. He did
some quick thinking.
“Three cheers for our captain!” he called. “The pluckiest baseball
captain Boxwood Hall ever had.”
And the cheer that followed brought a smile even to Frank’s dour
face. Ted had guessed rightly--that Frank was getting jealous of the
popularity of the three chums, and Ted did not desire this, for he
wanted to see all enmity wiped out.
“Great work, old man!” exclaimed Jim Blake, the deposed pitcher, as he
shook hands with Ned. “I was certainly off form to-day.”
“Well, maybe you’ll be all right next time,” said Ned.
The celebration over the victory proceeded, yells, cheers and songs
being intermingled. The vanquished hastened away, not a little
down-hearted, for after their decisive victory in the first game they
had looked for a walkover in the second one. And they would have found
it only for the timely playing of Ned, Bob and Jerry.
One might have thought that he would have given credit where it was
due, but Frank did not. He did not approach the three lads he had
publicly said he would make eat humble pie.
“Say, old man, don’t you think it’s about time you made up?” asked
Bart, linking his arm in that of Frank as he walked with him off the
diamond.
“Make up with whom?”
“With Jerry and his friends. They pulled us out of a hole to-day,
and----”
“I’m willing to admit that,” broke in Frank. “I’ll give them all the
credit in the world for playing ball, but, personally, I don’t care to
have anything to do with them.”
“That’s no way to feel,” added Bill Hamilton.
“What is it to you how I feel?” snapped Frank. “You let me alone! I’m
willing to have them play on the team, because they can put up a good
game. But beyond that I won’t go!”
Frank was as obstinate as ever. Bart and Bill were about to give up,
for the time being, the attempt to reconcile Frank to the three chums,
when Ted Newton, having overheard what was going on, took a hand.
“Frank, you’re all wrong in this,” said the football hero, as he and
Bart and Bill, with the baseball captain walked off to one side.
“You’re making a big mistake!”
“Well then, let me make it!” exclaimed Frank, angrily. “I wish you’d
let me alone! I know my own business. I know what I’m going to do. I
say I won’t be friends with those fellows, and I won’t. That’s all
there is to it.”
Ted shrugged his shoulders, and did not know what to answer. At this
moment, off among a little group of lads, a voice was heard saying:
“There he is--right over there!”
A hand pointed to where Frank stood disputing with Bart, Bill and Ted,
and a man, detaching himself from those who had evidently been giving
him directions, approached the baseball captain.
“Hello, Frank!” he cried in jolly tones, holding out his hand. “I hear
you just won a big game.”
“Oh, hello, Dad!” Frank cried, his face lighting up with surprised
pleasure, in strange contrast to the former looks that disfigured it.
“Say, I wish you could have been here. It was great! We’ve tied Kenwell
now. When’d you arrive?”
“Just a little while ago. I had a blowout and it delayed me, otherwise
I’d have been here, as I wrote you.”
The two linked arms and walked away, showing mutual affection more like
two brothers or chums than any other relationship.
“That’s Frank’s stepfather,” said Bart. “They surely are fond of each
other.”
“Frank would do anything for him, so I’ve heard him say,” remarked
Bill. “But there’s no use trying to get Frank to do anything about
Jerry and his chums.”
“No, I guess not,” agreed Ted.
Frank and his stepfather, walking toward college, saw three lads
approaching them. It was Ned, Bob and Jerry, and just now Frank would
have preferred not to encounter them.
Frank made as if to turn to one side, but his stepfather, taking a
second look at our heroes, exclaimed:
“Hold on a moment, son. I know those lads!”
“Know them?” gasped Frank.
“Yes. Hello there!” he cried. “Aren’t you Jerry Hopkins, Ned Slade and
Bob Baker?”
For a moment neither of the three chums answered. Then looks of
recognition came over their faces.
“Mr. Hobson!” Jerry fairly shouted. “Mr. Hobson!”
“I thought so,” went on Frank’s stepfather, laughing. “I’ve got a
pretty good memory for faces. I never expected to see you at Boxwood
Hall. Frank, you know these lads, of course?”
“I--er--I--that is--Oh, yes, of course.”
Frank was ill at ease. But his stepfather, Mr. Hobson, went on, not
seeming to notice.
“Frank,” he said, “I want you to shake hands with three of the
pluckiest lads in the world. When I had an accident some time ago--when
my auto left the road, rolled down a bank, pinned me under it and then
got on fire--these lads raised it off me and got me out in time to save
my life. Shake hands with Ned, Bob and Jerry, Frank, and thank ’em for
your dad’s life.”