The Lucky Seventh Part 34

announced Fudge. "It looks s-s-s-swell!"

"It's sort of one-sided, though," said Lanny. "They ought to put up some Point flags too."

"I don't suppose there are any," answered Gordon. "They haven't any regular color over there, have they?"

"Sure; blue and yellow. It's a funny combination, but some of the girls out at the Point have made some flags and they say they look mighty well."

"Mr. Potter told me to-day," remarked d.i.c.k, "that he's hired four kids to sell flags at the field. He got Jordan and Fillmore to make up two hundred of them for him. He can certainly think of more things to do!"

"Those are probably the flags they have in their window," suggested Lanny. "What are they like, Fudge?"

"J-J-Just like the High School flags, only they have just a C instead of C. H. S. on them. They're s-s-swell!"

"You told us that before," said Gordon. "I guess Potter will be stuck with about a hundred and fifty of his two hundred."

"I don't believe he will. Say, why didn't we think of doing that, fellows? We might have made a lot of money." And Lanny looked almost accusingly at d.i.c.k.

"I don't see that we need any more money," replied the manager. "We'll have so much as it is that we'll have to open a bank account. I'm scared to death to have it in the house."

"How much have we got now?" asked Lanny.

"Over a hundred, and all bills paid. Did Gordie tell you my scheme for using it, Lanny?"

"Yes," was the unenthusiastic reply. "But I don't believe--"

"It's a dandy scheme," interrupted Gordon quickly. "We-we'll talk it over some day, after this game's over with. No use trying to think of anything else right now. I say, d.i.c.k, have you studied that automobile book any?"

"No, I haven't had a minute's time. No hurry, is there? I've about decided to wait another month or so and get one of the next year's models. I've already got almost two dollars laid by toward it."

"Well, don't buy a cheap car," laughed Lanny. "Get-get one like Morris's."

The succeeding silence was broken hurriedly by Morris. "Yes, but don't break a leg with it," he exclaimed. Lanny and Gordon and Fudge laughed loudly and d.i.c.k stared at them through the half-darkness of the porch with a puzzled look on his face. He had seen Gordon reach out and aim a kick at Lanny's s.h.i.+n and, judging from Lanny's pained contortions immediately afterward, d.i.c.k fancied that Gordon's aim had been true. For over a week now d.i.c.k had been aware that some project was under way by the others that he was purposely excluded from. What it was he couldn't imagine, but that it had to do with automobiles seemed certain. More than once he had seen warning glances sent from one fellow to another and quite often a remark had been cut short at his approach. That the mystery concerned him particularly d.i.c.k did not suspect, however. And just now he had too many things on his mind to allow of much consideration of it.

"You really ought to read that book, though," said Gordon. "Oughtn't he, Morris?"

Morris agreed emphatically, and Fudge said, "You really ought, d.i.c.k!"

and Lanny murmured something about it being well to know such things.

"Look here," exclaimed d.i.c.k, half laughing, half in earnest, "if you fellows don't quit nagging me to read that book I'll-I'll pitch it out the window! What the d.i.c.kens do I want to learn about running an automobile for? Are you fellows dippy?"

There was complete silence until Lanny said: "You never can tell, d.i.c.k, when you might be called on to-to profit by the-er--"

"Oh, certainly," responded d.i.c.k with sarcasm. "Most any old day I might get the offer of a chauffeur's job! Or maybe you fellows are going to save up for Christmas and buy me a taxicab!"

"Ha, ha!" said Lanny weakly. Fudge giggled. Gordon had a fit of coughing. Morris became intensely interested in the stars seen through the vines.

"You'd make a peach of a chauffeur, d.i.c.k," laughed Gordon finally.

"Why?"

"Why-er-just because," replied Gordon flatly. "Say, I've got to be going home, fellows. You coming my way?"

The others displayed a most uncomplimentary enthusiasm for departure, and after they had clicked the little gate behind them d.i.c.k could hear them talking in low and excited tones as they pa.s.sed up the street. He shook his head as he moved his crutches toward the doorway.

"Either they're all crazy," he murmured, "or they're trying to work some sort of a game on me. I wonder what it is."

But he didn't wonder long, for the morrow's lessons awaited him upstairs and when he had finished with them he was too tired and sleepy to wonder about anything.

Clearfield and Logan played only six innings the next forenoon. The visitors arrived nearly twenty minutes late and the game dragged. There was a lot of hitting and each team seemed determined to make more errors than its opponent. Curtis Wayland and the rival pitcher were pretty evenly matched and it was only because Clearfield, in spite of her endeavors, failed to tally as many errors as Logan that the home team stood three runs ahead when the contest was called to allow the visitors to s.n.a.t.c.h some dinner before going over to the Point. d.i.c.k couldn't derive much satisfaction from that game, and was inclined to be downcast until, just before supper time, Harold telephoned over to him that the Point team had won by only two runs. After that d.i.c.k cheered up and saw things more brightly. And then, scarcely two minutes later, came Gordon with his news.

"We've got the field, d.i.c.k!" he cried from the sidewalk even before he reached the gate. "Mr. Brent is going to give it to the school! It isn't going to be cut up!"

"Give it to the school!" echoed d.i.c.k amazedly.

"Yes! Isn't that fine and dandy?" Gordon sprawled into a chair on the porch and fanned himself vigorously with his straw hat. "He's having a deed made out and just as soon as Mr. Grayson comes back it will be ours. Morris is giving it."

"Morris! How can he give it?"

"Well, I mean Mr. Brent is giving it in Morris's name. It's to be called Brent Field. And he almost as much as promised to build us a big new grandstand some day! Isn't he-isn't he a corker?"

"But-but what-how--"

Gordon laughed excitedly. "I guess it was seeing us play the other day that did it. He said he guessed as we got so much enjoyment out of the field we ought to have it. He didn't get home until nearly half-past four and I called at the office three times before I found him. I thought the first time that I'd sneak off and not come back. But I'm glad I did, though. I was scared to death when I went in. But he was as nice as pie. He asked a lot of questions about baseball and football and the Athletic Committee and the field we talked of getting, and then-then-well, then he asked me if I thought the fellows would like to keep the field. And I said of course they would. And then he said he had decided to make the school a present of it if-if I wanted him to."

"If you wanted him to!" exclaimed his hearer.

Gordon nodded. "You know he told me the time I-the time I was with Morris when he got hurt that if I wanted anything I was to ask him for it. So the other day when Mullin was going to plow up the field I-I sort of reminded him of what he had said and told him I'd like him to let us use the field that day. I didn't tell you, but that was how we got it. Well, to-day he said I hadn't made the most of my opportunity, or something like that. He said I should have asked for the field outright if I wanted it. 'Why didn't you?' he asked. Gee, I didn't know what to say, so I just looked silly, I guess, and grinned. Then he said how grateful he and Mrs. Brent were for what I did for Morris that day and that if I'd asked him then for the field he'd have given it to me; I mean to the school. So I said, 'Yes, sir, if you please,' and he laughed and said: 'All right, Merrick. I'll have the deed made out to-morrow.

But I want you to understand that it is Morris who is giving the field and not me. He's one of you and the gift will come better from him.' And then he shook hands with me and walked 'way out to the stairs with me!

And-and say, d.i.c.k, isn't it _great_?"

CHAPTER XXIII

MR. BRENT THROWS A BALL

If that Sat.u.r.day had been manufactured to Mr. Potter's order it couldn't have been finer. There was a bright blue sky overhead and not a cloud bigger than a handkerchief to be seen. A westerly breeze, bearing the first hint of Autumn, cooled the ardor of the sun. Clearfield had a gala look as soon as the shades at the store windows were drawn in the morning. Touches of purple appeared everywhere. By ten o'clock the downtown streets began to show the incursion of visitors from the neighboring villages and even from the country and the stores reaped a small harvest. At noon Common Street in the vicinity of the field was well lined with sidewalk vendors of peanuts and popcorn, lemonade and soft drinks, while in a vacant lot near-by a hustling gentleman with a blue-black mustache and a yellow corduroy coat had set up a merry-go-round whose strident organ ground out a repertory of four tunes monotonously from forenoon to midnight. Small boys with purple pennants bearing white C's importuned pa.s.sers to show their patriotism at the expense of a quarter of a dollar and other small boys flaunted copies of the morning _Reporter_. "Line-up of to-day's game! Here you are!

_Reporter!_ Only two cents!"

The reserved seat tickets on sale at Howland's gave out at eleven o'clock, and at twelve, after a hasty conference over the telephone with d.i.c.k, Mr. Potter had a load of lumber and four carpenters at the field erecting sixty extra seats.

At one, even before the last nail had been driven, the drug store reported that they had again sold out. "Sell fifty more," telephoned Mr.

Potter, "and mark them 'Bench!'" Then he hurried to Odd Fellows' Hall with a moving-van and transferred ten settees from there to the ball grounds and placed them in a double row all along the third base line.

After that he threw up his hands.

Shortly before noon a blue runabout, with its bra.s.s glistening radiantly and its newly varnished surface reflecting back the sunlight, stopped in front of the carriage gate at the field and honked its horn. After which Gordon, who rode beside the operator, jumped to the ground, climbed the fence and unbarred the gates from inside. Then Morris drove in, Gordon dropped the bar back in place and climbed into the car again and the blue runabout ambled across the white foul line and stopped a few feet from the home plate, with its glistening radiator pointed at the grandstand.