ARRANGING FOR THE GAME.
On an open lot within sight of the Harlem River Frank Merriwell and
Bart Hodge were practicing. Merry was working to see what he could do
with the “spit ball,” which he had found to be extremely difficult to
control.
“You have it all right, Merry,” declared Hodge. “Great Scott! doesn’t
she take a sharp shoot!”
“Always feel like I’m going to lose control of the ball when I deliver
it,” confessed Frank.
“You seem to have more speed when you spit on her.”
“The ball leaves the fingers with greater speed. I suppose the sharp
shoot is caused by the banking of air against the wet surface. You know
air will bank heavier against the wet surface of a moving object than
against a dry surface. About all the spit-ball pitchers have one way
that they deliver the ball. I’ve been trying various ways. Watch this.”
Merry swung his arm in a peculiar manner and the ball was delivered
with his hand high in the air. It sped downward toward the outside
corner of the stone which served as a plate. Suddenly it took a queer
upward swerve.
Hodge grabbed at it and was nearly upset.
“What the dickens——” he cried, and stopped.
Merry was laughing.
“Do that again,” urged Bart, returning the ball.
Frank complied.
“That beats!” gasped Bart. “Why, the ball seems to come down from your
hand on a straight line toward the outside of the plate. Four or five
feet before it reaches the plate it swerves upward with a combined rise
and incurve, passing over the inside corner. It’s marvelous!”
“It’s something like an outdrop reversed—turned bottom up,” said Frank.
“That’s just what it is; but I can’t see how you make it rise so much.
Merry, can you control that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve found out how to throw it. I presume control will
come with practice.”
“If you can control it, I’ll guarantee you can strike the best of ’em
out with it. It will be even more effective than the double shoot. It’s
marvelous! If you could start it toward the inside corner and give it
the other sweep it would be magic.”
“Let me see,” said Merry, taking the ball in his hand and studying over
it. “How could that be done?”
He tried several times, being rather wild, but finally Bart gave a
shout.
“That’s it! You did it then!”
“It seemed to be it,” nodded Frank. “Wonder if I can repeat that?”
He kept at it until he did repeat it, not only once, but a number of
times.
“Talk about sorcery!” cried Bart. “Certainly you are a sorcerer with a
baseball!”
“I think I shall keep after that until I can handle it,” said Merry.
“I’d like to see what batters could do with it. I’ll try it in the next
game we play.”
“Who are these men coming this way?” said Hodge, scrutinizing two
persons who were approaching across the lot.
“I believe I know one of them.”
“One looks natural to me.”
“We met him at the Eagle Heights club the other day. It’s Wallace
Grafter.”
“Sure enough!”
Grafter it was, and he was accompanied by Melvin McGann.
“How do you do, Mr. Merriwell!” cried Grafter cheerfully. “How are you,
Mr. Hodge. We’ve had some trouble finding you.”
He shook hands heartily with them, and then said:
“Let me introduce Mr. McGann, manager of the Outcasts, a baseball team
you may have heard about.”
“I should say we had heard about it!” exclaimed Frank. “Every one who
takes the least interest in baseball must have heard of it by this
time. So you are the manager of the Outcasts, Mr. McGann? Well, I
congratulate you, for you certainly have a great team. I know good
judges who declare your team is faster than anything in either of the
two big leagues.”
“You are correct in pronouncing men of that opinion to be good judges,”
said McGann. “We think we have the real thing. But, by the way, I have
heard a little something about you and your team.”
“Which has interested him somewhat,” laughed Grafter. “He’s after you,
Merriwell. He’s out for all the scalps he can gather.”
“After us, is he? I suppose he is looking for a game with our team?”
“That’s just it,” nodded McGann. “We have an idea that you will be
fruit for us, although we hope you’ll be strong enough to make the game
fairly interesting, in case you are not afraid to play us.”
Hodge muttered something under his breath. It always irritated Bart to
have any one insinuate that the Merries were afraid of anything on the
diamond.
“It’s a fine thing to have a good opinion of yourself,” smiled Frank.
“Evidently you are not troubled by modesty, Mr. McGann. Considering
what your team has done, I don’t know that I blame you.”
“Will you give us a game?”
“We’ll be delighted.”
“You bet!” put in Hodge.
“Of course,” said McGann shrewdly, “we’ll give you a fair deal. We’ll
furnish the grounds, pay all expenses of advertising and pay you a
hundred dollars for a game next Saturday afternoon. We can play in
Hoboken if I engage the ground to-night.”
“Such generosity is altogether surprising!” said Frank, with bland
sarcasm. “Aren’t you afraid you can’t afford it?”
“I thought that would be satisfactory,” said McGann. “I understand you
chaps are playing for sport. Have you any salaried men on your team?”
“No.”
“Well, you see——”
“We might play you for nothing!” interrupted Frank. “In Hoboken, too.
There will be eight or ten thousand people out to the game, if the
weather is good. Eight thousand paid admissions will mean two thousand
dollars in gate money, if only twenty-five cents is charged. Mr.
McGann, I am overwhelmed by your generous offer of one hundred dollars!”
“Oh, but you know expenses will be heavy. We must pay a round sum for
the grounds, to say nothing of advertising and other expenses. Besides
that, our players are high-priced men—all under salary. It costs like
fire to run the sort of team we have.”
“I’ve heard that you started out with every player under an agreement
that your men should not be paid unless you made money. You took small
chances at the outset. You have made money hand over hand. It’s been a
great thing for you. I don’t wonder, if you pay the teams with which
you play as liberally as you have offered to pay us!”
Frank’s sarcasm was biting now, and McGann squirmed under it somewhat.
“Well, what do you want?” he asked sharply. “We have the reputation.
The people will turn out to see us play.”
“Oh, I think our team has some drawing power,” retorted Merry. “We
haven’t failed to get out fairly good crowds wherever we have appeared.
No, Mr. McGann, we’ll not play you in Hoboken on the terms you have
offered.”
“You can say what you want, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“We want all we can get. Although we enjoy the game, we’re not easy
marks.”
“I didn’t take you for easy marks, Merriwell,” said McGann. “You
misunderstood me.”
“I hope I did.”
Bart was smiling in a grimly satisfied manner.
“What is your idea of what is right in the way of terms?” asked the
manager of the Outcasts. “Will two hundred dollars satisfy you?”
“Hardly!”
“Then what?”
“Not less than fifty per cent of the net receipts.”
“Oh, that’s no square deal! Why, we furnish the grounds and do the
advertising.”
“I said the net receipts. Expenses to be taken out before the money is
divided.”
“We couldn’t think of it,” said McGann decisively. “We have the
reputation to draw the people. I’ll make all the arrangements. We’ll
pay you fifteen per cent.”
“I don’t think we’ll play,” said Frank. “You’ll have to look after
other marks.”
He seemed to consider the matter settled.
“We’re anxious to play with you,” protested McGann.
“You seem to be!” laughed Frank.
“We really are. You’re the fellows we want to beat next Saturday. Some
people actually seem to think you can make us work hard for the game.”
“If you play us, you won’t do any loafing,” cut in Hodge. “That is, if
you keep in the game for a minute.”
“Fifty per cent is unreasonable,” said the manager of the Outcasts.
“I’ll tell you what we will do. We’ll give you twenty of the net.”
“No go,” said Frank. “Two-thirds to the winners, one-third to the
losers. How does that strike you?”
McGann objected. He admitted that he felt as if the Merries would be
getting too much if they received one-third of the net receipts.
“Oh, but we’d get two-thirds under that arrangement,” declared Hodge.
“Would you?” sneered McGann. “Then what do you say if the winners take
all the money?”
“That suits me very well,” said Frank promptly.
The manager of the Outcasts gasped. Of a sudden, he fancied he saw how
he could get out of it without paying Merriwell a dollar.
“Are you in earnest?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“You’ll sign an agreement to play on those terms?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a go!” cried McGann. “Let’s make out the agreement and sign it
right here. I’m afraid you’ll change your mind.”
“Don’t worry in the least,” said Frank. “Go ahead and write the
agreement.”
The manager of the Outcasts brought forth a large notebook. On one of
the pages he wrote in the briefest manner possible the agreement, to
which he signed his name. Frank read it over and promptly added his
signature. Then Grafter and Hodge signed as witnesses, and the affair
was settled.
Grafter was relieved, and he betrayed it.
“I was afraid you two would blow up over it,” he confessed. “I want to
see the game pulled off. I believe it’s going to be the hottest kind of
a tussle.”
“Then there is another reason,” said McGann. “But I fancy your old man
would be far better off if no game took place.”
Then it came out that, at the advice of Wallace, old man Grafter had
bet that the Merriwells could defeat the Outcasts. He had done this
without knowing what team he was backing, which demonstrated his
implicit confidence in the judgment of his son.
“That’s how I happened to bring Mr. McGann to you,” laughed Grafter the
younger. “Now I hope you can show the old man that my confidence in you
was not misplaced.”
Frank knew it would be useless to express his view in regard to
gambling. Wallace Grafter had been brought up in the full knowledge
of his father’s ways, and to him gambling was something forbidden by
cranks who knew nothing of the real pleasure in venturing the winning
on a contest of skill or a game of chance.
It is remarkable how some men close their eyes to the bad results of
gambling. They have tasted the pleasurable excitement of it, and they
regard it, if not as a means of revenue, as a pastime in which the
strong-minded may indulge without harm to any one.
But gambling has ruined more men than drink. It is a vice that may be
practiced secretly, and, unfortunately, it seldom leaves its branding
marks on the boy or young man who becomes its victim. When a man begins
to drink hard his features tell on him, even though he is clever enough
to refrain from getting drunk. His changed face warns his employer,
who may take precautions in regard to the victim of drink. But there
are no telltale signals hung out on the face of the young gambler who
follows the races, the pool rooms, or occasionally plunges heavily
in stocks. His employer is unwarned until the crash comes and the
young man flees, a defaulter, or blows out his brains, disgraced and
dishonored.
Are there not men who gamble mildly, without harm to any one?
No!
The man who does a wrong thing sets an example before others. Even if
he has such perfect control of himself that he may never indulge to
excess, his example may lead some weaker soul into the crooked path
that leads through fields of pleasure and pain to the gate of Purgatory.
Frank Merriwell was one who believed that a man should be judged not
alone by the company he kept, but by the example he set. He believed
that some of the world’s best and greatest men had associated with the
meek and lowly, but had exalted and uplifted others by their exemplary
behavior.
He who keeps constantly in mind the desire to set a good example before
others, cannot very well go wrong himself.
“It’s pleasant to know some one has such confidence in our team,”
nodded Merry; “but, of course, you are aware that we’ll be doing
something remarkable if we break the winning streak of the great
Outcasts.”
“I know; still I think you’ll break it. Some one will. It can’t keep
up.”
McGann laughed.
“We wouldn’t think of letting Merriwell’s team defeat us,” he said.
“We shall take extra precautions. Every man will be in the best
condition possible, Mat O’Neill will pitch, and we’ll try to shut the
mighty Merriwell bunch out.”
“You’ll succeed!” exclaimed Bart Hodge; “I don’t think!”
“You may think,” chuckled McGann. “Wait until after the game. Why, you
don’t know what you are going up against.”
“By the way, Merriwell,” said Grafter, placing a hand on Frank’s arm,
“have you seen anything of Hobe Manton lately?”
“I haven’t seen him since the day of the meet at Eagle Heights.”
“I have. Ran across him yesterday by accident. He stopped to speak with
me, although I fancy he dislikes me now almost as much as he does you.
He’s a dangerous chap, and you want to keep your eyes open for him.”
“Why, I fancied he was pretty well cooled down.”
“Not at all; he’s pretty well warmed up. He hasn’t forgotten that he,
the great ‘gentleman pugilist,’ was soundly thrashed by you out behind
the cedars at Eagle Heights. And that is why he is determined to get
even with you some time. He stopped me yesterday to tell me that he was
going to square up the score. He said he had been keeping track of your
movements, and he meant to catch you alone and off your guard. You want
to be careful, Merriwell. There is no telling what he may try to do.”
“Oh, I think he’s not nearly as dangerous as he would have people
believe.”
“I don’t know about it. He felt most keenly the disgrace of being
kicked out of Eagle Heights.”
“He brought it on himself.”
“He thinks you were the cause of it all. He doesn’t blame himself. At
least, he doesn’t seem to.”
“Well, I’m much obliged for your warning, Grafter. I’ll keep my eyes
peeled.”
Grafter and McGann now took their departure, bidding Frank and Bart
good day. The manager had secured Merriwell’s address, so that he might
communicate with him if he should desire to do so before Saturday.
“Well, Bart,” said Merry, as the manager of the Outcasts and the
shot-putter of the Eagle Heights A.A. were disappearing from the lot,
“how do you like the prospect?”
“It’s great!” answered Bart. “Merry, if it is in us, we must defeat
those chaps. I’d rather beat them than any team we have met this
season.”
“It would give us more glory.”
“Glory is not all. I can tell by the way McGann talked that they
believe themselves the only ones on earth. He fancies he has a snap in
the arrangement that the winning team shall take all the gate money.
He’s chuckling in his sleeves over the fact that you refused his offer
and then stepped into a trap by which we’ll get nothing at all. His
manner made me sore. I’d rather take that game than any ten common
games.”
“We’ll go after it hard, Bart. If I can get the new curve down pat
before that game, I may be able to bother some of the batters with it.”
“Some of them! I’ll bet you’ll bother every one of them.”
“Let’s try it some more.”
They resumed practice, and both saw that Merry made progress in
handling and controlling the new curve. Bart also advanced in the way
of receiving it, for he grew accustomed to the sharp upward shoot of
what seemed to be a falling ball.
Finally they stopped and picked up their clothing, which lay on a pile
of lumber near by.
Frank had begun to adjust his collar when Bart said:
“Look here, Merry—look quick! Who are these fellows?”
Behind the cover of the lumber pile nine young men had approached. As
soon as they realized that they were seen by Bart, they started on
the run for the two youths. In their hands some of them carried heavy
clubs. They had the manner of thugs.
Merry took a look at them.
“Great Cæsar!” he exclaimed, not wholly without dismay. “It’s Hobart
Manton and a bunch of toughs! They’re after us, Bart, and we’re in for
trouble!”
Both Frank and Bart thought of taking flight. It seemed folly to stop
there and face nine ruffians who were armed with clubs. Bart caught up
his coat and vest and started. As he ran something fell from his vest.
“Dropped my watch,” he exclaimed, stopping and turning back for it.
It was a valuable watch in a certain way, being a present from his
mother. He thought a great deal of it. Instantly Frank stopped and
turned back.
They did not find the watch at once. Just as Bart picked it up the
thugs came rushing round both sides of the lumber pile and were upon
them.
“Yah!” snarled the leader, who was very well dressed, yet who had a
face that seemed flushed with drink. “We have ye! Don’t try to run!”
It was Hobart Manton himself.
“Manton,” muttered Merry.
“Yes, Manton!” cried the fellow.
“And Frost!” came from Bart, as he pointed at another of the gang.
“There’s Frost!”
“And Necker, also,” said Merry, nodding toward a third chap.
“Yes, we’re right here!” grated Manton, who was plainly the leader.
“We’ve caught you just where I’ve been wanting to get you, too!”
Merry surveyed the remaining six members of the gang, and he decided
that they were genuine young loafers and desperadoes.
Manton saw Frank surveying the gang, and he laughed harshly.
“Oh, they’re scrappers, every one of them!” he cried. “They know you
can fight, and they’re here to beat you up. You’ll get all that’s
coming this day!”
“What a fine, brave fellow Manton is!” grated Hodge.
“You’ll get yours, too!” declared the leader of the thugs. “Next to
Merriwell, it will give me pleasure to knock the wind out of you!”
“So this is really the sort of ruffian you are!” spoke Merry
cuttingly. “You were called the ‘gentleman pugilist.’ Gentleman,
indeed! Why, you’re just a common ruffian!”
“Go ahead!” cried Manton. “The more you talk like that the more delight
I shall take in beating you up.”
“You proved yourself a sneak at Eagle Heights. You brought disgrace on
your own head.”
“Yah! I was a member in good standing until you came.”
“And then, out of a desire to show off, you led yourself into the most
disreputable business. But I’m surprised to see Dent Frost and Jack
Necker with you. I hardly looked for them to be in such company. Is it
possible that they are chaps of the same caliber?”
Frost frowned, while Necker looked a trifle ill at ease.
“Oh, I have something to settle with you, too!” asserted the pole
vaulter.
“I ought to have!” exclaimed the jumper.
“Well, you are fine sports, to be sure!” scornfully flung back Frank.
“You were fairly and honorably defeated, and now you come here to beat
me up for it! I understood that the Eagle Heights A.A. was made up of
gentlemen! I don’t understand how you ever got into it.”
“Manton is our friend,” said Frost.
“That’s it!” Necker hastily cried. “He has been treated in a shabby
manner, and you are the cause of it. He is our friend.”
“You should be proud to own him as such!” sneered Bart.
“Another one for you!” growled Manton. “Come on, fellows.”
“Wait a moment!” exclaimed Frank, flinging up his hand. “What do you
think will be the end of this? If you don’t kill us here and now, I
promise to land you three in prison for assault with intent to kill.
I mean you, Manton, you, Frost, and you, Necker. I know you. You were
fools to come here with your thugs. The evidence against you will be
overwhelming. You’ll go to prison, every one of you!”
“Bah! He’s trying to frighten you, boys,” said Manton. “He thinks he
can bluff us.”
“I promise the remainder of the gang that I shall make it pretty warm
for them. I seldom forget a face I have once seen, and I’ve been
looking them all over. I’ll spend a year, if necessary, in running this
gang down and giving each one the full strength of the law.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him!” howled Manton. “He always makes a
bluff. Fly at him!”
The thugs muttered among themselves and advanced, gripping their clubs.
They spread out to intercept Merry and Bart if the intended victims
sought to run away.
“Got to fight ’em, Merry!” hissed Hodge.
“Got to, Bart!” was the answer.
They placed themselves back to back, in order to defend themselves as
best they could.
Jack Necker was hesitating. Manton appealed to him.
“Come on, Jack!” he cried. “Get into it!”
Necker threw down his club.
“Not I!” he exclaimed. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“What?” snarled Manton. “What ails you?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“You’re afraid! You’re a quitter!”
“I’d rather quit than go to the jug, and Merriwell can send the whole
bunch up if he tries.”
Frost seemed to hesitate. Plainly he was inclined to follow the example
of the jumper.
“Don’t you quit, Dent!” rasped Manton. “You’ve been telling what you
wanted to do to Merriwell. Don’t be a coward!”
Thus urged, Frost reluctantly joined the others, and Manton gave the
word for them all to prepare for a grand rush.
“Make ready!” he cried. “We’ll jump on ’em all together when I give the
word. Now! One, two, three—go!”
A shout of warning came from Necker.
“Skip,” he yelled. “Here comes a bunch of cops! You’ll all be pinched!”
Then he took to his heels, running as if his very life depended on it.
Some of the ruffians had leaped in to get at Merry and Bart. Others,
including Manton and Frost, heard the warning words of Necker and did
not charge. They cast frightened glances around, saw three policemen,
with drawn clubs, followed by two other men, coming at a run, then
promptly took flight after the manner of Necker.
Manton was one of the very first to run, and he ran as if his life
depended on it, while Frost followed him closely.
Merry managed to leap on one of the ruffians, tripping him and flinging
him to the ground.
Hodge seized another and had a sharp fight with him; but the fellow
staggered Bart with a blow of his club and broke away.
When the officers came up it was seen that Wallace Grafter and Melvin
McGann were with them.
The ruffian Frank had held was promptly seized and subdued.
“I know him,” said one of the policemen. “It’s Hug Murphy, and he’s
wanted for some flat work. He’ll get a vacation.”
“We saw those chaps as we were leaving the lot,” explained Grafter.
“They were holding a consultation behind the board fence over yonder. I
recognized Manton and knew there was mischief brewing. Then we hustled
to find some officers; but we arrived just a moment too late.”
“Or a trifle too soon,” said Frank. “If they had tackled us in a bunch
it’s likely your approach might not have been noticed. In that case you
might have nabbed more than one. I am very grateful to you, Grafter.
It’s certain enough that the thugs, armed as they were, would have
hammered us up only for you.”
“Don’t mention it, Merriwell, old boy!” cried Grafter.
“Did you recognize any one in the gang besides Manton?” asked Frank.
“No.”
“Two other chaps who are well known to you were there.”
“Who?”
“Dent Frost for one.”
“Impossible!”
“It’s true.”
“Why, Denton Frost is a gentleman!”
“How about Jack Necker?”
“He’s regarded as one. You don’t mean to say——”
“He was the other one.”
“Well, this affair shall be reported at Eagle Heights!” exclaimed
Grafter warmly. “I don’t care to associate with ruffians of that cast.
If they are not asked to resign from the club, I shall hand in my
resignation.”
He was in earnest and highly indignant.
Frank and Bart left the lot in company with the officers and the
others. They saw nothing of the members of the gang who had taken
flight.
“You see my warning was one to be heeded, Merriwell,” said Grafter,
as he was about to leave Frank. “Hobe Manton is vicious, and he’ll do
everything in his power to injure you. He’ll stop at nothing. Better
swear out a warrant for his arrest and put the police after him.”
“I’ll consider it,” said Merry. “It would give me some satisfaction to
settle the matter with him personally. I have a strong desire to show
him that he received nothing but a mere taste when we had our little
fight at Eagle Heights.”
“I don’t blame you, Merry!” cried Hodge earnestly. “I always like to
settle such matters myself! I’d like to have a turn at him. He thinks
he’s a fighter; but I wouldn’t mind meeting him on even footing.”
“It seems to me that your friends are fighters, Grafter,” said McGann.
“You’ll think so after the game next Saturday,” retorted Wallace.