Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 23

"Dead sure."

"I don't just see how you can be."

"I suppose you've heard how Wyndham actually buried Barville last Sat.u.r.day. The score was seventeen to three--something awful."

"But Clearport came mum-mighty near beating Wyndham the week before."

Herbert winked wisely. "Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't," he said.

"Oh, but they did! They batted Wyndham's new pitcher, Newbert, off the slab."

At this Rackliff laughed. "Tell it to the marines. I happen to know Dade Newbert; we were chums. I own up I was surprised when I heard how the Porters had biffed him. Wrote him asking about it. He'd been out the night before the game--out with a hot bunch playing poker till daylight. He didn't want to pitch anyhow, but the captain just shoved him in; so when he got tired and Wyndham seemed to have a safe lead, he just lobbed the ball over and let Clearport hit. Of course he was taken out, and that gave him a chance to look on while Twitt Crowell did the heavy work."

"If that's right," said Phil, "Newbert can't be trusted. Why, he might have thrown the game away."

"Oh, he reckoned Crowell was good enough for the Porters, that's all.

The result proved his judgment correct."

"Still a fellow who'll tut-take such chances is liable to do anything.

He cuc-can't have any real loyal interest in his team. If he took a notion, he'd throw a game."

"You must remember," reminded Rackliff, "that Newbert doesn't belong in Wyndham, and it really doesn't make any great difference to him whether that team wins or not. Of course, if he's pitching, ordinarily he'll do as well as he can on his own account. And let me tell you, Spring, old fel, he's a lulu; there's nothing down in this neck of the woods that can pitch with him. I'm betting that he makes the Oakdale batters look like monkeys."

"You haven't had very good lul-luck betting, have you?"

"Might have done better," admitted Herbert, shrugging. "I'll even it all up next Sat.u.r.day, though, if these pikers around here have sand enough to give me another show."

"Perhaps you will, and, then again, perhaps----"

"I'll bet you five or ten, even money, that Wyndham wins."

"Thought you went bub-broke last Sat.u.r.day."

"I'll have some more money by to-morrow."

"Well, I don't want to bet. I hope Wyndham does win. It will make me happy."

"Then you'll be happy, all right, Bo."

"Looks like the fight for the champions.h.i.+p will be between Wyndham and Oakdale. If Wyndham takes the first game from Oakdale, the chances for this town will be mum-mighty slim."

Herbert rose to his feet.

"Oakdale hasn't one chance in a hundred to win next Sat.u.r.day," he declared in a manner which seemed to denote that he positively believed what he was saying. "It's dead lucky for you, old man, that you're not going to pitch. Your dear friend Grant is enjoying great popularity just at present, but even the dummys will realize that he's a fourth-rater after they see him pitch against Newbert. Dade knows what I want him to do, and for old times sake he'll do his prettiest. And, by the way, if you want to coin some easy money, just find a sucker who is ready to back Oakdale for a little bet."

CHAPTER XXII.

SELF-RESTRAINT OR COWARDICE.

Rackliff had succeeded in doubling Springer's hatred for Rodney Grant.

So the fellow Phil had befriended and taught to pitch was sneering about him behind his back! And everybody was saying that Grant was already a better pitcher than his instructor ever could hope to become!

Springer wondered how it was possible that, even for a moment, he had ever taken a fancy to such a chap.

"He'd better not say too much about me," Phil growled to himself. "I know he is a fighter. I know he has a fearful temper. But he'll find out I'm not afraid of him."

That very night Lela Barker, coming to the post office to mail some letters, was followed and annoyed by Rackliff when she started to return home. Herbert persisted in forcing his unwelcome company upon her until, catching sight of a familiar figure pa.s.sing on the opposite side of the street, she called for a.s.sistance.

Rodney Grant came running across, giving Rackliff a look, cap in hand, as he inquired the cause of the girl's alarm.

"Oh, Rod," she said, "I do wish you would walk home with me.

This--this fellow has persisted in following me and forcing his company upon me."

"The onery, conceited, unmannerly cad!" exploded the Texan, evidently itching to put hands on Herbert, who bluffed the situation through with insolent effrontery, laughing as he lighted a cigarette. "What he needs is a good thras.h.i.+ng, and, if he wasn't a sickly, insignificant creature, it would give me a right good heap of satisfaction to hand him one."

"Bah!" said Herbert. "You're a big blowhard, that's all. It betrays lamentably poor taste on Miss Barker's part to prefer the company of a lout like you to that of a gentleman."

It was lucky for Rackliff that Lela was there and her hand fell on the arm of the boy from Texas, for otherwise Rodney might have forgotten himself. Fearing his lack of self-restraint, the girl urged him away, and they left Herbert leaning against a tree and still laughing, his cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Half an hour later Grant, having returned, was talking baseball with several fellows who had gathered in a group near Stickney's store, when Rackliff sauntered up.

"Just a word with you, Mr. Cowpuncher," said Herbert in a loud voice.

"You applied several objectionable adjectives to me a while ago, and now I want to tell you just what I think about you. You're nothing but a common, low-bred, swaggering bluffer, as the blind dubs around here are due to find out. You think you're a baseball pitcher. Excuse me while I laugh in my sleeve. You're the biggest case of egotistical jacka.s.sism it has ever been my luck to encounter. Next Sat.u.r.day, when you get up against a real pitcher who can pitch, you'll look cheaper than thirty cents."

Grant surveyed the speaker with mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and disdain.

"Have you got that dose of bile out of your system?" he asked. "If it's all over, go lie down somewhere and forget yourself. That will be a relief. Being ashamed all the time sure must get tiresome."

Herbert lost his head at once. "You're a duffer and a bluffer!" he shouted shrilly. "How any decent, refined girl can have anything to do with you I can't imagine. It just shows that Lela Barker is----"

He got no further, for, brus.h.i.+ng one of the fellows aside, Grant caught the speaker by the throat and stopped him. His face dark, the Texan shook Rackliff until his teeth rattled.

"Shoot your mouth off about me as much as you please, you miserable sneak," he grated; "but don't you dare ring in the name of any decent girl unless you are thirsting to get the worst walloping of your life!"

Rod's eyes blazed and he was truly terrible. Once before the boys had seen him look like that, and then they had realized for the first time that it was the young Texan's uncontrollable temper that he feared and which had made him, by persistent efforts to avoid personal encounters, appear like a coward. There was not a cowardly drop of blood in Grant's body, but experience and the record of his fighting father had taught him to fear himself.

Even now the fact that he let himself go sufficiently to lay hands on Rackliff seemed to spur him on, and, still shaking the limp and helpless fellow, he maintained his hold on the city youth's neck until Herbert's eyes began to bulge and his face grew purple.

Suddenly another lad pushed his way through the circle and seized Grant by the shoulders:

"Lul-let up on that!" he cried, his voice vibrant with excitement.

"What are you trying to do, choke the lul-life out of a fellow that you know isn't any match for you? If you want to ch-choke somebody, let him alone and take me."

It was Phil Springer. His head jerked round toward his shoulder, Rodney Grant looked into the eyes of his friend of a short time past, and suddenly he released his hold on Rackliff, who, gasping and ready to topple over, was supported by one of the other boys.

"If you want to choke somebody, take me!" repeated Phil savagely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"