A PERILOUS CROSSING
Sid hurried on, his thoughts in a wild tumult. In his pocket was a note
from Dr. Churchill, restoring him to all his rights and privileges. Sid
had asked for it, lest Boxer Hall protest his entrance into the game at
the last minute, for Sid was fully determined to play, and help his team
to win. He knew he was in good form, for he had not neglected practice.
"If I can catch the next car," he thought, "I'll be in time." Then, as
he caught sight of something yellow through the trees on the banks of
Sunny river, along which the electric line extended, he exclaimed:
"There's a car, now! I'll have to sprint for it. Glad I didn't stop to
get my suit. I can borrow one from a sub when I get there, I guess." He
broke into a run, but noted, curiously, that the car did not seem to be
moving very fast. Then, as he made the turn in the road, he saw that it
was standing still, and that a number of the passengers were walking
about, idly. "Must have had a fuse blow out, or a hot box, and they're
waiting to cool it," he mused. "Lucky for me, as the electrics don't run
very often from now on."
Sid dropped into a walk, and was soon at the stalled car.
"What's the matter?" asked the second baseman of the motorman, who was
sitting on a grassy bank, idly chopping at a stone with his controller
handle.
"Power's off."
"For long?" asked Sid, his heart thumping under his ribs.
"Hard to say. It's been off nearly an hour now, and the conductor just
telephoned in, and they said it might be an hour more."
"An hour more! Then I can't get to Boxer Hall in time for the game."
The motorman looked quizzically at Sid.
"Not unless you walk, or hire an auto," he remarked, and fell again to
hammering the stone. The other passengers were fretting, complaining, or
accepting the situation philosophically, as befitted their natures. Sid
made up his mind quickly.
"I can walk to Fordham junction, and take the train," he decided. "From
Bendleton, which is the nearest railroad station to Boxer Hall, it's
only two miles. Maybe I can run it in time, or perhaps I'll meet some
one who will give me a lift. Anyway, that's my best chance. I'll do it,"
and, with a final glance at the stalled car, hoping he might see the
flashing up of the lights on it, which would tell of the power being
turned on, Sid turned and made off toward the distant railroad station.
As the janitor had informed Sid, Tom and the other ball players,
including the substitutes, had made an early start in a large
automobile, carrying twenty passengers. It was of the type known as a
"rubber-neck," from the fact that they are used in big cities to take
visitors to the scenes of interest, there to "rubber," or stretch their
necks in gazing aloft.
"See anything of Sid, as you came away?" asked Holly Cross, who sat
beside Tom and Phil, as the auto swayed along.
"No," answered Tom briefly. "I fancy he's left for good. Poor old Sid!
Isn't it a shame that he went to pieces as he did? If we only had him
now our chances would be brighter."
"Would you play him if he came along?" asked Phil.
"Of course--provided I could--that he was in good standing so Boxer Hall
couldn't protest. But what's the use of talking?"
"Is he in good form, captain?" asked Bricktop.
"Sid never goes stale," answered Tom. "Besides, with his ability to
slice a ball to right or left field in a pinch, hitting right and left
handed as he does, it would be just great for us to-day."
"Still worrying?" asked Phil.
"Of course. So would you, if you were in my place. Don't you know what
this game means to us?"
"Sure we do, me lad," answered Bricktop, kindly. "But say this over to
yourself a few times and you'll feel better. 'Tis a proverb of me old
Irish ancestors. 'Soft an' aisy goes far in a day,' that's it. 'Soft
and aisy goes far in a day.' Remember that, Tommy, me lad, and take it
'aisy' as the good Irish say. We'll win--never fear--we'll win."
There was talk and laughter, serious conversation and much chaffing as
the auto rumbled along. They had started early and thought they would
have plenty of time, but something went wrong with the steering gear
once, and a second time the water in the radiator needed replenishing,
so that with the delays it left the players with no more than time to
get to Boxer Hall in season for the game, and left hardly any time for
practice.
"Hadn't you better hit up the pace a little, my friend," suggested Mr.
Leighton to the chauffeur.
"I will, yes, sir," was the answer, and the big car did make better
time, for it was on a good road. The team fell to laughing and joking
again, but suddenly stopped, as the auto once more came to a halt just
before crossing Pendleton river, a stream somewhat larger than Sunny
river, and intercepting the main road between the two colleges.
"What's up now?" asked Tom.
"The drawbridge is open," replied the chauffeur.
The players stood up and looked across the river. The draw, which was
necessary on account of a number of sailboats on the stream, was swung,
making an impassable gap, for the stream at that point was swift and
deep. Some men were seen on the middle of the bridge.
"What's the matter? Why don't you swing shut that bridge?" yelled Phil.
"Can't," answered one of the men.
"Why not?"
"The machinery that operates the draw is broken. We swung the bridge
open to let a boat pass, and now we can't close it again. We've sent for
some mechanics to repair it."
"How long will it take?" yelled Tom.
"Oh, not long. Two or three hours, maybe."
"Two or three hours! Great smokestacks!" howled Tom. "That will be too
late for us. We can't get to the game on time!"
"Of course not!" agreed Holly Cross. "And Boxer Hall will be just mean
enough to call a forfeit, and claim the championship!"
"Say, you've got to swing this bridge shut, and let us pass!" sung out
Phil.
"Can't!" yelled the men who were on the bridge, marooned as it were.
"We've tried, but it won't budge."
"What's to be done?" asked Jerry Jackson.
"Yes, what's to be done?" echoed his twin brother.
"Guess we'll have to swim for it," suggested Dutch Housenlager. "That
is, unless Grasshopper Backus can jump over with us on his back, one at
a time."
But, though they could joke over the situation, they all knew that it
was serious. The time was drawing close, and they were still some
distance from Boxer Hall. Further inquiry of the men on the bridge did
not help matters, nor did the fuming and fretting of Tom and his chums.
"Can't you suggest a plan?" asked Mr. Leighton of the chauffeur.
"Well, there's another bridge about five miles below here."
"That's too far. Ten miles out of our way. Time we went there, and got
back it would be too late. Boxer Hall would claim the game. Can nothing
be done?" and the coach looked at the swiftly swirling river. At that
moment a man driving a mule hitched to a buckboard came along. He took
in the situation at a glance.
"Stuck, eh?" he remarked sympathetically.
"That's what," replied Bricktop Molloy. "Maybe ye happen t' be a fairy,
Mr. Man, an' can help us across."
"Why don't you try the ford?" asked the man.
"Ford? We didn't know there was one," said Tom.
"Sure there is. About half a mile below here. It's where the river is
shallow, and many's the time I've driven across before this bridge was
built. The water's a leetle high now, but I guess your ark could make
it. Will it go in water?"
"If it's not too deep, and there's good bottom," was the chauffeur's
answer.
"Oh, it's good bottom, but, as I say, it's a trifle deep."
"Try it, anyhow," suggested Tom. "It's our only chance. Go ahead."
This was the sentiment of all, and the players getting into their seats
again, which they had left to gaze at the river, the auto was backed up,
and headed for the ford, the man with the buckboard going in advance to
show the way.
As he had said, the water was rather high, and it seemed to swirl along
dangerously fast. He would not venture in with his mule, but, after a
look at it the chauffeur said he would try it.
"I'll be all right," he announced, "if the water doesn't come up high
enough to short-circuit the batteries or the magneto."
"Let her go!" cried Tom.
Backing up, to get a good start down the slope that led to the ford, the
chauffeur turned on full speed. Into the river went the big auto, with
its heavy load. The water splashed up in a spray as the front wheels,
with the big tires, struck the limpid surface. A moment later the entire
machine was in the water, submerged to the hubs.
"It's all right! Go on! Go on!" urged the man with the mule. "It won't
be much deeper than that."
"If it is we're done for," remarked the chauffeur in a low voice.
It was a perilous passage, but the Randall nine was too anxious over the
consequences of delay to mind that much. The man in charge of the auto
was rather white-faced, but he gripped the steering wheel, and kept on
high speed, though he throttled down the engine a trifle as he neared
the middle of the river. The big machine careened dangerously, and
several clung instinctively to the sides.
"Can you make it?" asked Mr. Leighton anxiously.
"I don't know," replied the chauffeur, as he peered at a bit of smooth
water directly ahead. It looked to be deep, and he was contemplating
turning to one side, though their guide had warned him to steer straight
for the other side.
"Keep on! Keep on!" cried the man with the mule encouragingly. "Straight
ahead, and you'll be safe!"
The chauffeur yanked the gasolene lever over the rachet, opening the
throttle wider, and the car shot forward at increased speed. It swayed,
and seemed about to topple over, righted itself, almost like a thing
alive, and then, with a crunching of gravel, was out of the stream, and
climbing the slope that led from the ford to the road.
"By Jove! I'm glad we're over that!" exclaimed Tom, with a sigh of
relief. "Speed her up now, and get us to Boxer Hall!"
Half an hour later the players were on the diamond, being received by a
crowd of their friends who had preceded them to the game earlier in the
day, for the last game of the season was a gala affair, and the Randall
lads usually came over to Boxer Hall early in the morning.
"Now for a battle to the death," said Tom grimly, as he led his men out
to practice.