“ALL OUT FOR BASEBALL”
“Boss” Russell was waiting for Jeff when, a little later than his
usual hour for reporting, he appeared in the editorial rooms of the
_Freeman_. There was a smile on the usually grim face of the editor.
“Hello, my boy. Been waiting to see you. Want to congratulate you and
thank you for last night’s work. We beat the town on both stories. The
first editions of the _Sun_ and the _Call_ were out without a line of
it and when we bloomed forth with the news about the wreck and Hammond
and the bonds, they tumbled all over themselves to rewrite our stories
to run in the second editions. It was great work and I’m ready to do
almost anything within reason for you, Thatcher,――that is, if you want
me to. Mr. Davidson called me up at my home this noon, however, and
told me that he had a plan for you that sounds better than anything I
can do for you. Have you been to see him yet?”
“You bet I have, Boss,” said Jeff, still jubilant over the result of
his interview with the bank president.
“Good. Are you going to accept his proposition?” asked the editor.
“Why――er――I want to. That is, if it is all right with you, sir.”
“Boy, I wouldn’t stand in your way a bit. Indeed, I’ll help you. You
can be school reporter again when――er――I understand there’s a reason
why you can’t handle the job this term.”
“There is,” said Jeff ruefully. “All special privileges have been
denied me and I suppose I’ll have to sweat out my punishment when I go
back. But I’ll take my medicine the same as I always have.”
“That’s the boy, Thatcher. And remember, if you ever want to come back
into newspaper work and I’m still boss here, why just you come and
knock on my office door. But go back to Pennington now by all means.
I’m interested in that old school, too. Had a son who graduated from
there back in 1910. You don’t remember him, of course. He played
baseball; was captain in his senior year.”
“Oh, is that so. Bud Russell, wasn’t he? Shucks, I’ve seen his name on
the list of captains any number of times. Played catcher, didn’t he?
Sure. Gee, I want to make that team this year. I’m going out for it and
try mighty hard.”
“Good, and if you make it, I’m going over to Montvale and see you play.
When are you getting through here?”
“As soon as possible, Boss. I don’t want to waste a day’s time. I’ll
have to plug like the dickens to catch up with my classes now. I’ve
been out nearly three weeks and it’s getting close to the end of March
now.”
“Well, my boy, you can get through now. No, work to-night. Dig out that
list of obits, run in on the hospital and――er――yes, look in at the Pipe
Fitters’ Association Ball at Concordia Hall. Then you can get through.
I’ll have a new man on the job to-morrow.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jeff smiling for the first time as Boss called
off the list of his assignments.
And so Jeff made his last rounds of the undertaking establishments,
visited Memorial Hospital for the last time, looked in at Concordia
Hall, and came back to the editorial rooms, to pound the old
typewriter for the last time.
After his copy had been turned in he purposely stayed around the noisy
editorial rooms for some time, for despite the fact that he was glad to
be going back to Pennington in the morning, he was loath to leave that
noisy, paper-littered room with its many busy typewriters, its array of
desks, its battery of clicking telegraph instruments and the many busy
men who were working feverishly to get out the first morning edition.
But when a lull came in the press of work he said good-by to his
friends on the staff and shook hands again with Boss Russell.
“Good-by, my boy. Be a good kid and make the team. Stop in at the
cashier’s office and get your envelope. There will be ten dollars extra
in it for your part in last night’s scoop――shush――not a word――you
earned it.” He held up his hand in protest as Jeff thanked him.
Then he gripped Jeff’s hand again, very heartily.
“So long, my boy. Don’t let any one put anything over on you.” And
Jeff left the editorial rooms with Boss Russell’s last words for some
reason reoccurring in his mind.
“Don’t let any one put anything over on you,” he mused. “Well, now, I
wonder if any one will try. Shouldn’t be surprised if Gould and Pell
tried to get back at me for a certain unpleasant affair, but I don’t
think they can put much over on me if I keep my eyes open. Then, again,
maybe I’m too suspicious. Bet they are both good fellows when you know
’em.” And dismissing the idea he hurried home and to bed so as to be up
and abroad early in the morning.
It was not a long trip by trolley from New City, across Wading River
bridge and out to the suburbs of Montvale where Pennington Institute
was located, but Jeff Thatcher, all eagerness to go back to the old
school, was up betimes and off on an early trolley car. He arrived
while chapel was still in session, and waited patiently in Dr.
Livingston’s office until the Headmaster returned to his desk.
“Hello, Thatcher,” was the cheery greeting when he saw Jeff as he
entered his office. “Heard you were coming back. That’s simply bully
of Mr. Davidson. Fine work you did, too, Thatcher. Er――of course, you
realize that you still have a penalty hanging over you. No special
privileges this term and you cannot leave the school grounds for two
weeks without special permission.”
“Yes, sir, I realize it. I’ll take my medicine, sir,” said Jeff.
“Good. That’s a fine chap. Well, let’s forget the late unpleasantness.
Go back to your class. Take your old room, and no more fighting. I
think Wade Grenville will be glad to see you. I’ve noticed he hasn’t
been in the best of spirits since you left.”
Wade was glad to see him. So was Buck Hart and Cas Gorham and Brownie
Davis and Rabbit Warren and all the rest of the fellows, when he met
them at Freshman’s corner, the northeast corner of the building where
for school generations members of the Freshman class at Pennington
gathered at odd times.
“Whoops, he’s back. He’s here again. Dr. Livingston told us about
it yesterday,” cried Wade, rushing up to him and pouncing on him
good-naturedly.
“Oh, boy, our young hero has returned,” affectionately shouted Buck
Hart.
“Rah for the hundred thousand dollar bond hero,” yelled Rabbit Warren
enthusiastically.
A dozen boys had gathered around Thatcher by that time, all celebrating
his return gleefully and all wanting to know the details of his brief
adventure in the business world and his thrilling experiences with the
wrecking crew.
And while he was in the midst of this hub-bub two Sophomores turned
the northeast corner and strolled past the group. Thatcher looked
up in time to look full into the face of Gould. For a moment he was
slightly embarrassed. Then he smiled and nodded cordially to his former
antagonist indicating very plainly that any malice he might have
harbored had disappeared.
But Gould refused to meet him half way. He did not return the nodded
greeting. Instead he turned to little Birdie Pell, who still followed
him like a shadow, and remarked with the utmost sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, well, I see our young movie hero has returned. The school is
saved from certain disaster.”
And Birdie, not always an appreciative audience for his older companion,
refused to laugh.
“The dirty mucker,” exclaimed Wade Grenville indignantly.
“Oh, let him wait. Jeff fixed him once. He’ll fix him again when they
go out for baseball. Jeff, you’ve simply got to win the job of holding
down third and cut him out of it,” said Rabbit.
“I’m going to try blamed hard you can bet on that. When is Mr. Rice
going to call for candidates?”
“Very soon. I think they are fixing up the cage in the gym. for indoor
practice now. That means that notices should be posted for candidates
to report mighty soon,” said Buck.
Just at that moment Brownie Davis joined the group coming from the
direction of the gym.
“All out for baseball, fellows. Coach Rice is just sticking a notice
on the bulletin board for candidates to report in the gym. to-morrow
afternoon,” he said with a great show of importance at being the first
to deliver the welcome news.
“Wow, that listens good,” exclaimed Thatcher enthusiastically. “Come
on, let’s have a look at it,” and the group rushed over toward the
gym. and gathered around the bulletin board where Mr. Rice was just
putting the last thumb tack into his very important announcement.