ARLINGTON MAKES MORE TROUBLE.
In making their trip through that section the Great Northern Athletic
Association had succeeded in arranging a game with Rivermouth, to be
played the following Monday morning after the game with Fardale.
Having been defeated by the Great Northern, the Fardale boys anxiously
awaited the result of the game at Rivermouth.
It was generally believed that Rivermouth would be disastrously
defeated. This being the case, when a telephone message was received,
late Monday afternoon, that Rivermouth had won by a score of five to
three, few were willing to believe it. His disbelief led Anson Day to
call up the captain of the Rivermouth team and ask for the actual facts.
To do this Day was obliged to visit a telephone pay station in the
village, and his return was eagerly awaited by the boys at the academy.
It was one of those times when there were no drills or exercises of any
sort, and the cadets were enjoying a brief leisure, many of them
rambling over the parade ground, when Day, accompanied by one or two
friends, came down the road from the village.
“’Ere ’e comes!” exclaimed Billy Bradley. “Now we will know ’ow ’ard
Rivermouth was beaten.”
The boys flocked around Day.
“What was the score?” they eagerly demanded.
“Five to three,” answered the chairman of the athletic committee.
“Dern my picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs; “that was close! I s’posed the
Great Northern would beat ’em worse than that.”
“But the Great Northern didn’t win,” declared Anson. “The report that
Rivermouth took the game was correct.”
“I knew it!” cried Ted Smart. “I was certain Rivermouth would win.”
Somebody gave him a punch in the ribs.
“You’re a fibber!” roared an excited cadet.
“Look here, Day,” said Bob Singleton, “are you sure you have this
straight? Why, it can’t be possible!”
“I have it straight,” asserted Day positively.
At this the boys groaned.
“Well, wouldn’t that skin you alive!” chattered Jolliby.
“Great Cæsar!” muttered Barron Black. “If Rivermouth defeated those
fellows what are we going to do against Rivermouth Saturday? We have to
play her then, and it begins to look as if we were due for a trimming.”
“Oh! we could have beaten the Great Northern all right with Merriwell in
the box,” asserted Hector Marsh, who had forced his way into the group.
“We all know how the game was lost.”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Mel Fraser, Arlington’s roommate. “You can’t say
that. Didn’t Merriwell go in? Wasn’t the game lost with him in the box?
Don’t pile this whole thing onto Chester.”
“Waugh!” exclaimed Brad Buckhart. “They made two runs off Dick and seven
off Arlington. That’s the size of it. And one run was made through a
fielding blunder.”
At that moment a stocky, square-shouldered boy, who had remained silent,
spoke up:
“I lost the game,” he said. “I am the only one to blame. Every one tells
me that Merriwell shouted for Jolliby to take that fly. I didn’t hear
him.”
The speaker was Dave Flint.
“I suppose that lets Merriwell out,” half sneered Fraser. “All the same
he was in the box when the game was lost.”
Instantly Buckhart was aroused.
“I want to tell you fellows one thing,” he said. “I am going to tell it
right here and now. I have kept still just as long as I propose to. My
pard had no business to go in to pitch. He was not in condition.”
“Oh, was that it?” inquired Fraser insinuatingly. “Strange we never
heard about it before.”
“Nothing strange in it!” fiercely retorted the Texan. “Dick don’t go
around any whatever telling his troubles. Any one who knows anything
about him could see Saturday that he used neither speed nor curves. He
couldn’t. He was a heap used up. He had a lame side that kept him from
pitching at his best. He had it a week ago, too, and he won that game by
setting his teeth and pitching when every ball he threw nearly cut him
in two. If he hadn’t pitched against Hilsboro his side would have been
all right last Saturday. That is straight goods, and any galoot who says
different is a prevaricator. You hear me warble!”
“Why didn’t he tell us about his side?” asked Earl Gardner.
“Why didn’t he? Because he didn’t want to knock the confidence out of
his team. That’s why he didn’t tell.”
“How did he get this lame side?” inquired Fraser, still in a sneering
manner.
Buckhart took a stride and confronted Arlington’s roommate.
“I will tell you how he got it,” he snorted. “He got it while doing Chet
Arlington a good turn. He was jumped on by a bunch of Arlington’s
associates and knocked against the edge of a pool table. That’s how he
got it, Cadet Fraser.”
“We will take your word for it,” said Fraser, backing off, as he was
somewhat afraid of the fighting Texan.
“Well, it’s a right good thing that you do,” growled Buckhart.
At this point a burst of laughter caused the boys to start and turn.
They saw Chester Arlington pushing into the crowd.
“Well, I have expected something like that,” cried Chet. “I didn’t
believe Dick Merriwell would take his medicine without making some sort
of an excuse. A lame side, eh? Well, that sounds first rate; but, if you
fellows have noticed it, it is a fact that a pitcher who loses a game
always has a lame shoulder, a lame arm, or a lame side to put the blame
on after the game is over.”
Buckhart’s face grew dark as a thunder cloud. He confronted Chester, who
continued to laugh in that aggravating manner.
“Look here, you,” said the Texan in a low tone; “do you mean to call me
a liar?”
“Oh, not at all!” said Chet easily. “Of course Merriwell told you all
about his lame side. I don’t doubt that a bit.”
“Then do you mean to say that my pard lied? Waugh! I’d swallow it a heap
better if you called me a truth twister. Maybe Dick will swallow these
yer things from you, but hang me if I do!”
The fury of the Texan burst forth in a twinkling, and he struck full and
fair at Chester’s face; but Arlington ducked, and his cap was knocked
from his head. Instantly the boys pressed between them and pushed them
apart. They remonstrated with Brad, who for the time being seemed to
have wholly lost control of himself.
Hal Darrell was one of those who seized Buckhart.
“Hold on there, old man!” hissed Hal in Brad’s ear. “I am the one who is
laying for that fellow. I am the one to settle a score with him.”
At last the Texan was quieted and led away.
After this the boys knew that at any time there might come a clash
between Arlington and Darrell or between Arlington and Buckhart.
Chester, however, kept by himself a great deal of the time, and the days
slipped by without the expected encounter taking place.
Dick took little part in practice during the week, although he was on
the baseball ground every day and saw that the team put in the proper
work and was given needed coaching.
As Saturday grew near the apprehension of the cadets over the result of
the game with Rivermouth increased. There were all sorts of rumors about
the great improvement of the Rivermouth team, which was said to be
superior to anything the place had turned out in many seasons.
Brad’s statement concerning Dick’s lame side was also accepted as a fact
by the great mass of cadets. With Dick out of condition to pitch, it
seemed that Rivermouth would have an easy thing.
“I am sorry you said anything about my side, old man,” declared Dick one
day. “It was a mistake. I told you to keep still.”
“Pard,” cried the Texan, “I couldn’t do it—I just couldn’t keep my face
closed and hear what they were saying. I had to spit her out.”
“And the result has been the very thing I feared. The boys have lost
confidence. They are afraid of Rivermouth.”
“I am plumb sorry, partner. I reckon you’re right. I am tired of
answering questions about your side.”
“Yes; they all want to know about it. Even Professor Gunn has heard
about it and made inquiries.”
“We will never have any peace in this yere school until Arlington gets
out,” averred the Westerner. “I have it pretty straight that he has been
telling some rotten things about you lately. Just what he has told I
don’t know, but I am going to find out if I can.”
“You pay too much attention to Arlington,” declared Dick. “I have found
that the fellow who lies about another usually hurts himself the most.
Lies, like curses and chickens, come home to roost.”
“That may be the way you look at it, pard; but the galoot who lies about
me has to fight or run.”
“It’s useless to fight Arlington. If you whip him it simply makes him
worse. Unless he straightens out of his own accord, he will eventually
bring about his destruction.”
“Mebbe that’s right, but I can’t look at it just that way. Say, pard,
are you going to try to pitch this game against Rivermouth?”
Dick nodded.
“I am going to pitch that game!” he grimly declared.