LENNING YIELDS TO PERSUASION.
The short mile separating Ophir from the mine was quickly covered by the
big car. There was little time for conversation during the ride, and
what little talk the general manager indulged in had nothing to do with
Lenning, but concerned Mexican Joe entirely.
“Burke got hold of Joe less than two weeks since,” remarked Mr.
Bradlaugh. “The boy came here from a mine near Wickenburg, with the best
recommendations I ever saw for a Mexican. He’s as strong as a horse and
as spry as a wild cat; what’s more to the point, he knows his business,
and is straight as a string. Just now, Merriwell, Joe is a comparative
stranger. He flocks by himself pretty much, but he is well liked by
those who have come to know him. Burke, the superintendent, can’t say
too much in his favor.”
“How old is he?” Frank asked.
“Eighteen.”
A disappointment awaited the general manager and Merriwell when they
stopped at the blacksmith shop for a few words with Mexican Joe. Joe had
been given leave of absence by Burke to go to the bedside of a sick
relative who lived near Gold Hill.
The superintendent, who saw the car at the blacksmith shop, strolled
down from the little headquarters office to find out what the general
manager wanted. His face lighted up when he heard about the forthcoming
ball game.
“You’ve got to have Joe, Merriwell,” he declared. “Our miners play ball
a little, between shifts, and I’ve seen Joe behind the bat. He’s a
wonder as a backstop.”
“But if he’s away,” Frank answered, intensely disappointed, “how can we
possibly have him?”
“He’ll be back to-morrow morning, and I’ll arrange to have him go out to
the clubhouse whenever you say.”
“Good! Make it to-morrow afternoon at two-thirty.”
“He’ll be there; and I can promise you that, on the day of the game,
there’ll be a big attendance from these diggings. But don’t you let Gold
Hill down you!”
“We’re going to do our best, Burke,” laughed Merriwell. “Where is
Lenning?”
“Lenning?” the super echoed, giving Frank a quick glance, and then
shifting his gaze to the general manager.
“Merriwell,” Mr. Bradlaugh explained passively, “has chosen Lenning for
one of his players.”
It seemed, for a moment, as though Burke was going to voice a protest of
his own against the availability of Lenning. He thought better of it,
however.
“Lenning ought to be at the bunk house now,” said he. “He’s still the
night watchman, you know, and doesn’t go on duty until seven-thirty.”
“You go over to the bunk house, Merriwell, and talk with him,” suggested
Mr. Bradlaugh. “I’ll stay here with Burke.”
Frank was glad that he was to be alone when he talked with Lenning. In a
private interview there would be less restraint, and a freer expression
of views and motives, than could have been the case if the general
manager or the superintendent had been present.
Lenning was found sitting on a bench in the shadow of the bunk-house
wall. His back was against the wall and his eyes were turned upward,
staring into vacancy. Evidently he was in a thoughtful mood, and gave
no heed to Frank when he came around the corner of the bunk house.
At a little distance, Frank halted. The friendly shout which was on his
lips was smothered, and he stood silently at gaze for a few moments
studying the form on the bench.
Lenning had a sinister face and eyes that showed a tendency to waver and
shift about, looking anywhere but at the person with whom he happened to
be talking. Neither face nor eyes, it must be admitted, were calculated
to inspire confidence. And yet, as Merry knew well, such appearances are
not to be taken as final in judging a person’s character.
Just at that moment, Lenning’s face wore an overwhelming expression of
sadness, perhaps of contrition. He did not have to go far into his past
to find abundant cause for self-reproach and regret.
Lenning, when he had posed as the favorite nephew of Colonel Hawtrey,
had been allowed everything for his comfort that money could buy. His
only work had been to act as his uncle’s secretary, and he had worn
expensive clothes and had been supplied with more of the good things of
life than often come the way of most boys.
Now, by contrast, he was an ordinary hand at the cyanide plant, and the
serviceable corduroys in which he was clad were frayed and stained with
oil and dust. From almost a drone, living on another’s bounty, Jode
Lenning had become a worker, and was earning his own support.
Here was proof of Lenning’s resolve to be different from what he had
been, and it was one of the things that had impelled Merriwell to
befriend the fellow when all others had turned against him. With an odd
feeling of heightened respect for the lad on the bench, Frank moved
forward with a cheery, “Hello, Jode!”
Lenning gave a start, lowered his eyes, and turned. The next moment he
had started to his feet, a pleased smile wreathing his lips.
“Howdy, Merriwell?” he called, taking the newcomer’s outstretched hand.
“What brings you over this way? Had a notion you’d left Arizona by this
time.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Len,” answered Frank, “without coming around to say
good-by. Can’t tell just how soon we’ll go, but it won’t be for a few
days yet. What sort of a ball player are you, old chap?”
The question rather surprised Lenning.
“Oh,” he answered noncommittally, “I know the game, after a fashion. But
I’m no great shucks at it.”
“I guess you’re pretty good, from what I hear. I’m picking up some
fellows for a game next Saturday. How’d you like to make one of the
nine?”
“You--you don’t want me, do you?” Lenning inquired curiously.
“Sure I want you.”
“Who’s going to play?”
“Ballard, and Clancy, and I; then Mexican Joe, if we can get him, and a
few chaps from the O. A. C.”
“I reckon you better count me out,” said Lenning, turning his face away.
“It wouldn’t be pleasant for your chums, or the O. A. C. fellows, to
have me around.”
“Bother that! I’m bossing this nine, and I guess that whatever I say
will have to go. Don’t be foolish, Len. I’ve got a special reason for
wanting you in that game.”
“What reason?” Lenning, steadily enough, brought back his gaze and fixed
it on Merriwell.
“For one thing,” explained Frank, “there’s nothing like a good, stiff
contest on a ball field to level the differences one chap may have
against another. I’ve seen out-and-out enemies play together, help each
other in a pinch, according to league rules, and then, when the game was
done, forget that they’d ever had a grouch. Something queer about what
the diamond can do in a case of that kind, but it’s a fact, all the
same.”
Lenning’s face clouded and filled with distrust.
“You think, Merriwell,” said he, “that I haven’t any friends, and that
this game would probably make some for me. Is that it?”
“Well, yes, something like that.”
“Don’t you know,” went on Lenning, paling a little under his tan, “that
if I failed in a close play some one would say that I was trying to
throw the game? Nobody has any confidence in me. Every one has the
notion that I’m a crook, and can’t get over it. My cue is to keep away
from people. I’m sorry, Merriwell, because if there’s one person on
earth I’d hate to disappoint, it’s you.”
“I don’t think that’s the proper spirit, Lenning,” insisted Frank.
“You’re all right, but how is any one going to know it if you don’t get
out and show them? I’m planning on you. You’re one of the first fellows
I thought about when the idea of the game was sprung on me this
afternoon.”
“Who sprung it?”
“Colonel Hawtrey.”
“And your pick-up nine is going to play a team from Gold Hill?”
“Yes.”
“That does settle it. Even if I could get along with the Ophir crowd,
I’ll bet the Gold Hillers would refuse to play if they knew I was in the
game.”
There was bitterness in the boy’s voice.
“Why,” he went on, “the colonel himself would be the first to kick up
trouble. I’m asking no odds of my uncle. He’s cut loose from me, and I’m
not blaming him. I’ve got my own way to make, and I’m going to do it
without trying to curry favor with Colonel Hawtrey. You’ll have to find
another player in my place, Merriwell.”
Frank had not expected Lenning to take such a stand. Although it was
beginning to look as though his choice of Lenning for the nine, if not
unwise, might be hopeless, yet he continued to try persuasion.
“I’ve got my heart set on this,” said he, “and you might at least go
over to the athletic field with me and join in the preliminary
round-up.”
“Haven’t time for athletics,” was the answer. “I have to work nights,
you know, so I can’t very well stay up all day.”
“Mr. Bradlaugh says that he’ll relieve you of your work between now and
Saturday, if you’ll play.”
Lenning’s interest showed itself immediately.
“Mr. Bradlaugh said that, did he?” he asked, as though surprised.
“Yes.”
“Did he say he thought it was all right for me to get into that game?”
“That part of it was left with me, Len,” Frank answered. “You like to
play ball, don’t you?”
Lenning’s face lit up with a sudden glow, and his eyes sparkled. But it
was only for a moment. A dejected expression quickly drove away the
flash of feeling.
“I don’t think that has anything to do with it, Merriwell,” he returned.
“Then, you won’t play? You won’t give yourself a chance to make good on
the diamond?”
There was something about the phrase “make good” which evidently struck
the right chord in Lenning’s new resolutions.
“I’d do a heap for you, Merriwell,” said he, in a low tone, “and if you
really are anxious to have me go over to the clubhouse grounds this
afternoon, and it’s all right with Mr. Burke, I’ll go. But I won’t
promise to play until I see how matters stack up on the diamond. How
does that strike you?”
“Get your hat, Len, and come along,” answered Merriwell, pleased to
secure even that much of a concession.