[Illustration: “Like a white streak, Perry breasted the string”]
THE
PURPLE PENNANT
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF “THE SECRET PLAY,” “THE LUCKY SEVENTH,” ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
NORMAN P. ROCKWELL
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1916
Copyright, 1916, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 1
II. THE TRY-OUT 11
III. THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 23
IV. THE ODE TO SPRING 38
V. PERRY REMEMBERS 50
VI. THE FALSE MUSTACHE 61
VII. FUDGE REVOLTS 74
VIII. LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 89
IX. THE NEW SIGN 99
X. THE BORROWED ROLLER 110
XI. GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 120
XII. ON DICK’S PORCH 130
XIII. FOILED! 142
XIV. THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 152
XV. THE WHITE SCAR 166
XVI. SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 179
XVII. THE SQUAD AT WORK 190
XVIII. THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 202
XIX. THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 213
XX. MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 226
XXI. ON THE TRACK 240
XXII. THE NEW COACH 258
XXIII. OUT AT THE PLATE! 273
XXIV. CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 290
XXV. SPRINGDALE LEADS 300
XXVI. THE PURPLE PENNANT 311
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Like a white streak, Perry breasted the string” _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“‘On your mark!... Set!... Go!’” 18
“‘What’s that?’ asked Perry, startled” 220
“Lanny, dropping to his knees on the plate, got it a foot
from the ground” 286
THE PURPLE PENNANT
CHAPTER I
FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED
“‘Keys,’” murmured Fudge Shaw dreamily, “‘please’――‘knees’――‘breeze’――I’ve
used that――‘pease’――‘sneeze’――Oh, piffle!” His inspired gaze returned to
the tablet before him and he read aloud the lines inscribed thereon:
“O Beauteous Spring, thou art, I ween,
The best of all the Seasons,
Because you clothe the Earth with green
And for numerous other reasons.
“You make the birds sing in the trees,
The April breeze to blow,
The Sun to shine――――”
“‘The Sun to shine――――,’” he muttered raptly, “‘The Sun to shine’;
‘squeeze’――‘tease’――‘fleas’―――― Gee, I wish I hadn’t tried to rhyme all
the lines. Now, let’s see: ‘You make the birds――――’”
“O Fudge! Fudge Shaw!”
Fudge raised his head and peered through the young leaves of the
apple-tree in which he was perched, along the side yard to where,
leaning over the fence, was a lad of about Fudge’s age. The visitor
alternately directed his gaze toward the tree and the house, for it
was Sunday afternoon and Perry Hull was doubtful of the propriety of
hailing his friend in week-day manner.
“Hello, Perry, come on in!” called Fudge. And thereupon he detached the
“Ode to Spring” from the tablet, hastily folded it and put it in his
pocket. When Perry climbed the ladder which led to the platform some
eight feet above the ground Fudge was in the act of closing a Latin
book with a tired air.
“What are you doing?” asked Perry. He was a nice-looking chap of
fifteen, with steady dark-brown eyes, hair a shade or two lighter and a
capable and alert countenance. He swung himself lithely over the rail
instead of crawling under, as was Fudge’s custom, and seated himself on
the narrow bench beyond the books.
“Sort of studying,” answered Fudge, ostentatiously shoving the books
further away and scowling distastefully at them. “Where have you been?”
“Just moseying around. Peach of a day, isn’t it?”
It was. It had rained until nearly dinner time, and grass and leaves
were still beaded with moisture which an ardent April sun was doing its
best to burn away. It was the first spring-like day in over a week of
typical April weather during which Clearfield had remained under gray
skies. Fudge assented to Perry’s observation, but it was to be seen
that his thoughts were elsewhere. His lips moved soundlessly. Perry
viewed him with surprise and curiosity, but before he could demand an
explanation of his host’s abstraction Fudge burst forth triumphantly.
“‘B-b-bees!’” exclaimed Fudge. (Excitement always caused him to
stammer, a fact which his friends were aware of and frequently made use
of for their entertainment.) Perry involuntarily ducked his head and
looked around.
“Where?” he asked apprehensively.
“Nowhere.” Fudge chuckled. “I was just thinking of something.”
“Huh!” Perry settled back again. “You’re crazy, I guess. Better come
for a walk and you’ll feel better.”
“Can’t.” Fudge looked gloomily at the books. “Got to study.”
“Then I’ll beat it.”
“Hold on, can’t you? You don’t have to go yet. I――there isn’t such
an awful hurry.” The truth was that Fudge was not an enthusiastic
pedestrian, a fact due partly to his physical formation and partly to
a disposition contemplative rather than active. Nature had endowed
Fudge――his real name, by the way, was William――with a rotund body and
capable but rather short legs. Walking for the mere sake of locomotion
didn’t appeal to him. He would have denied indignantly that he was
lazy, and, to do him justice, he wasn’t. With Fudge it was less a
matter of laziness than discrimination. Give him something to do
that interested him――such as playing baseball or football――and Fudge
would willingly, enthusiastically work his short legs for all that
was in them, but this thing of deliberately tiring oneself out with
no sensible end in view――well, Fudge couldn’t see it! He had a round
face from which two big blue eyes viewed the world with a constant
expression of surprise. His hair was sandy-red, and he was fifteen,
almost sixteen, years old.
“It’s too nice a day to sit around and do nothing,” objected Perry.
“Why don’t you get your studying done earlier?”
“I meant to, but I had some writing to do.” Fudge looked important.
Perry smiled slightly. “I finished that story I told you about.”
“Did you?” Perry strove to make his question sound interested. “Are
you going to have it printed?”
“Maybe,” replied the other carelessly. “It’s a pippin, all right,
Perry! It’s nearly fourteen thousand words long! What do you know about
that, son? Maybe I’ll send it to the _Reporter_ and let them publish
it. Or maybe I’ll send it to one of the big New York magazines. I
haven’t decided yet. Dick says I ought to have it typewritten; that the
editors won’t read it unless it is. But it costs like anything. Morris
Brent has a typewriter and he said I could borrow it, but I never wrote
on one of the things and I suppose it would take me a month to do it,
eh? Seems to me if the editors want good stories they can’t afford to
be so plaguey particular. Besides, my writing’s pretty easy reading
just as soon as you get used to it.”
“You might typewrite the first two or three sheets,” suggested Perry,
with a chuckle, “and then perhaps the editor would be so anxious to
know how it ended he’d keep right on. What are you going to call it,
Fudge?”
Fudge shook his head. “I’ve got two or three good titles. ‘The
Middleton Mystery’ is one of them. Then there’s ‘Young Sleuth’s
Greatest Case.’ I guess that’s too long, eh?”
“I like the first one better.”
“Yes. Then I thought of ‘Tracked by Anarchists.’ How’s that sound to
you?”
“‘The Meredith Mystery’ is the best,” replied Perry judicially.
“‘Middleton,’” corrected Fudge. “Yep, I guess it’ll be that. I told
that fellow Potter about it and he said if I’d let him take it he’d
see about getting it published in the _Reporter_. He’s a sort of an
editor, you know. But I guess the _Reporter_ isn’t much of a paper,
and a writer who’s just starting out has to be careful not to cheapen
himself, you see.”
“Will he pay you for it?” asked Perry.
“He didn’t say. I don’t suppose so. Lots of folks don’t get paid for
their first things, though. Look at――look at Scott; and――and Thackeray,
and――lots of ’em! You don’t suppose they got paid at first, do you?”
“Didn’t they?” asked Perry in some surprise.
“Oh, maybe Thackeray got a few dollars,” hedged Fudge, “but what was
that? Look what he used to get for his novels afterwards!”
Perry obligingly appeared deeply impressed, although he secretly
wondered what Thackeray _did_ get afterwards. However, he forebore
to ask, which was just as well, I fancy. Instead, tiring of Fudge’s
literary affairs, he observed: “Well, I hope they print it for you,
anyway. And maybe they’ll take another one and pay for that. Say,
aren’t you going out for baseball, Fudge?”
“Oh, I’m going out, I guess, but it won’t do any good. I don’t intend
to sit around on the bench half the spring and then get fired. The only
place I’d stand any chance of is the outfield, and I suppose I don’t
hit well enough to make it. You going to try?”
Perry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I can’t play much. Warner
Jones told me the other day that if I’d come out he’d give me a good
chance. I suppose he thinks I can play baseball because I was on the
Eleven.”
“Well, gee, if you could get to first you’d steal all the other bases,
I’ll bet,” said Fudge admiringly. “You sure can run, Perry!”
“Y-yes, and that makes me think that maybe I could do something on the
Track Team. What do you think, Fudge?”
“Bully scheme! Go out for the sprints! Ever try the hundred?”
“No, I’ve never run on the track at all. How fast ought I to run the
hundred yards, Fudge, to have a show?”
“Oh, anything under eleven seconds would do, I suppose. Maybe ten and
four-fifths. Know what you can do it in?”
“No, I never ran it. I’d like to try, though.”
“Why don’t you? Say, I’ve got a stop-watch in the house. You wait here
and I’ll get it and we’ll go over to the track and――――”
“Pshaw, I couldn’t run in these clothes!”
“Well, you can take your coat and vest off, can’t you? And put on a
pair of sneakers? Of course, you can’t run as fast, but you can show
what you can do. Perry, I’ll just bet you anything you’ve got the
making of a fine little sprinter! You wait here; I won’t be a minute.”
“But it’s Sunday, Fudge, and the field will be locked, and――and you’ve
got your lessons――――”
“They can wait,” replied Fudge, dropping to the ground and making off
toward the side door. “We’ll try the two-twenty, too, Perry!”
He disappeared and a door slammed. Perry frowned in the direction of
the house. “Silly chump!” he muttered. Then he smiled. After all, why
not? He did want to know if he could run, and, if they could get into
the field, which wasn’t likely, since it was Sunday and the gates would
be locked, it would be rather fun to try it! He wondered just how fast
ten and four-fifths seconds was. He wished he hadn’t done so much
walking since dinner, for he was conscious that his legs were a bit
tired. At that moment in his reflections there came a subdued whistle
from the house and Fudge waved to him.
“Come on,” he called in a cautious whisper. “I’ve got it. And the
sneakers, too.” He glanced a trifle apprehensively over his shoulder
while he awaited Perry’s arrival and when the latter had joined him he
led the way along the side path in a quiet and unostentatious manner
suggesting a desire to depart unobserved. Once out of sight of the
house, however, his former enthusiasm returned. “We’ll climb over the
fence,” he announced. “I know a place where it isn’t hard. Of course,
we ought to have a pistol to start with, but I guess it will do if I
just say ‘Go!’” He stopped indecisively. “Gordon has a revolver,” he
said thoughtfully. “We might borrow it. Only, maybe he isn’t home. I
haven’t seen him all day.”
“Never mind, we don’t need it,” said Perry, pulling him along. “He’d
probably want to go along with us, Fudge, and I don’t want any
audience. I dare say I won’t be able to run fast at all.”
“Well, you mustn’t expect too much the first time,” warned the other.
“A chap’s got to be in condition, you know. You’ll have to train
and――and all that. Ever do any hurdling?”
“No, and I don’t think I could.”
“It isn’t hard once you’ve caught the knack of it. I was only thinking
that if you had plenty of steam you might try sprints and hurdles
both. All we’d have to do would be to set the hurdles up. I know where
they’re kept. Then――――”
“Now, look here,” laughed Perry, “I’m willing to make a fool of myself
trying the hundred-yard dash, Fudge, but I’m not going to keep you
entertained all the rest of the afternoon.”
“All right, we’ll just try the hundred and the two-twenty.”
“No, we won’t either. We’ll just try the hundred. Will those shoes fit
me? And oughtn’t they to have spikes?”
“Sure, they ought, but they haven’t. We’ll have to make allowance for
that, I guess. And they’ll have to fit you because they’re all we’ve
got. I guess you wear about the same size that I do. Here we are! Now
we’ll go around to the Louise Street side; there’s a place there we can
climb easily.”