Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 28

"Don't want any. Haven't had an appet.i.te for three days. I caught this rotten cold riding a motorcycle back here from Clearport after the game last Sat.u.r.day. I wouldn't mind if this cough didn't tear me so."

"It's tough," said Newbert. "Can I help you? Going to take a dip?"

"Boo! No, I won't bathe this morning; haven't got the nerve for a cold plunge, and a warm one might fix me so I'd catch more cold. Just you make yourself comfortable as you can while I'm getting into my duds."

Three times while dressing Herbert was compelled to sit down to rest, and Newbert declared that his friend seemed to be pretty nearly "all in."

"I certainly am," agreed Rackliff; "I'm up against it. Never was knocked out like this before. Why, I can't even smoke a cigarette, it makes me bark so. You can imagine how tough that is on me. Sometimes I'm half crazy for a smoke--I'm shaking all over; but when I try it I just have to quit by the time I've taken three whiffs."

"You've smoked too many of those things, that's what's the matter.

Used to hit 'em up myself; thought it real devilish. Never took any real satisfaction in it, though."

"That was because you didn't inhale; they're no good unless you do."

"They're no good if you do; give me a cigar every time."

"You got my last letter all right?" asked Herbert, selecting a necktie from his abundant supply.

"Oh, sure. I've put all the bunch wise, too. They're wondering how I got hold of the information, but I didn't give you away, old pal. I reckon mebbe Foxy and Snead suspect now, but they won't say anything."

"You've got to win," said Herbert, carefully knotting his tie at the mirror. "My old man is kicking over being touched up for cash so often; says he can't see how I spend so much in this quiet place. I've bet every sou of the last amount he sent me on your old baseball team, and if you don't take this game----"

"We will, don't worry about that. We could have done so anyhow, but of course you've helped make it a dead-cold certainty. If you've got any friends here who----"

"Friends!" sneered Rackliff; "friends among these country yokels!

Don't make me laugh, for it might start me coughing again."

"But you said you let a chap in on the Barville deal. He----"

"He wasn't a friend of mine," said Herbert scornfully; "he was only a chap I wanted to use. I've let another dub into this deal, but I didn't do so simply to befriend him--not on your natural. Perhaps you've heard of him--Phil Springer. He expected to be the star slab artist on the great Oakdale nine this season, but he unwisely coached another fellow to a.s.sist him as second-string pitcher, and now the other man has pushed him into second place--and he has quit, dead sore.

He's an egotistical yap, and it simply killed him to death to have his pupil step right over his head."

"What's your idea in boosting him by putting him next to a winning proposition?"

"Perhaps I can use him, too. At any rate, he can pitch some, and by keeping him raw and working him the way I am, I'm weakening the pitching staff. See?"

"Oh, yes," muttered Newbert. "I swear you're a clever schemer, Herb."

"Thanks. You see, I induced this man Springer to let me have seven bones to bet against Oakdale, and now, no matter how much they may happen to need him, as long as he has his money at stake, they can't coax him into the game to-day. They may try to do that if you fellows get to batting Grant good and plenty. Oh, I've taken pains to forestall in every direction, for I've simply got to make a killing on this go. How's the weather?"

"Fine, but you'll need to wear an overcoat in the auto. I didn't take one, but it's rather cool whistling through the air at the rate Foxy drives. Besides, you've got to look out for that cold. Better wear a cloth overcoat now than a wooden one by and by."

"Don't talk that way," s.h.i.+vered Herbert. "I'm not anxious to shuffle off."

He brought his overcoat from the wardrobe, and Newbert helped him into it, after which they descended the stairs together.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PLUNGE FROM THE BRIDGE.

Herbert was introduced to Foxhall and Snead. The former, with goggles pushed up on his forehead, pulled off his gauntlet glove to shake hands, saying he was mighty glad to meet Dade Newbert's chum, of whom he'd heard so much from Newbert's lips.

"Yes," gurgled Snead, as he also shook hands; "according to Dade, you're a warm old scout. Get right in here with me, and hang on when Foxy turns on the juice, for there'll be something doing. I imagine we'll touch only a few of the very elevated spots on our way back, judging by the way he cut it out coming over. If you're nervous----"

"Don't worry about me," said Rackliff, as he settled himself beside the fat fellow. "I'm simply dying for something to stir up my blood and set it circulating."

Foxhall adjusted his goggles, switched on the current, and pressed a b.u.t.ton that started the engine.

"Ho! ho! We're off!" cried Newbert. "Just watch 'em rubber when we zip down through town. There's a b.u.mp this side of the bridge; hang on when we strike it, Herb."

Foxhall turned the car, yanking it round in a see-saw that was hard on transmission and brakes and tires, and started with a jerk that gave a snap to the necks of his three companions, cutting out the m.u.f.fler as he s.h.i.+fted swiftly through the gears into direct drive. When the main street was reached the reckless youth scarcely slowed down at all to take the turn, and the car came near skidding into the gutter.

"Isn't he the careless creature!" laughed Snead. "He always drives this way, and he's never had an accident."

Past Roger Eliot's home and the white Methodist church they whizzed, the automobile gathering speed on the down grade and obtaining enough momentum to carry it a considerable distance even though the power should be cut off and the brakes applied sufficiently hard to lock the rear wheels. With the discordant electric horn snarling a demand for a clear road, the foolish young driver tore up the dust through the very heart of the village, regardless of his own safety and absolutely ignoring the safety or rights of others. The postoffice spun by on the left; the machine shot across the small square; down the steepest grade of the hill it flew toward the bridge.

Despite the fact that he pretended to be as serene and unconcerned as his companions, who, perhaps, did not realize the danger, Herbert Rackliff was not fully at his ease; for he knew that such driving through a place where there were intersecting streets with blind corners was folly indeed.

As the bridge was approached the road swung to the left. At the very end of the bridge an old building cut off the view of the greater part of the structure from any one approaching from the main portion of the village.

The "b.u.mp" of which Newbert had given warning was struck with sufficient force to send the boys bouncing from their seats, and the shock seemed to disturb Foxhall's hold on the steering wheel, for the car swerved unpleasantly. The young driver brought it back with a yank, and then----

"Look out!" screamed Herbert, jumping up in the tonneau.

A woman of middle age, seated in a rickety old wagon, with a child on either side of her, was driving a young and half-broken horse into Oakdale. The young horse snorted, attempted to turn round, and then began to back up, cramping the wagon across the bridge. The woman struggled vainly with the reins, in a perfect panic of terror, and the children screamed, clinging to her.

Foxhall knew he could not stop the car, and to his credit let it be said that he did his best to avoid striking and smas.h.i.+ng the wagon--and succeeded. Success, however, was costly; for, in attempting to turn aside and shoot past, the wheel was pulled too sharply, and the machine struck the wooden railing of the bridge, through which it cut as if the railing had been built of cardboard.

Dade Newbert was the only one who managed to leap from the machine ere it crashed through that railing and shot off in a clean leap for the water below. Unimpeded by any barrier, Newbert jumped, struck the ground, plunged forward, and went sliding at full length almost beneath the wheels of the old wagon. Rackliff tried to jump, but he was on the wrong side, and the tonneau door bothered him; however, as the machine fell, with Snead sitting paralyzed in his place and Foxhall clinging to the wheel, Herbert succeeded in flinging himself out over the side.

Surprising to relate, Dade Newbert was not seriously hurt, and, still retaining a certain presence of mind, he scrambled back from the wagon wheels and sat up on the bridge, covered with dirt, a rather woe-begone spectacle. He was still sitting thus when the horse, having turned about at last without upsetting the wagon, went galloping away across the bridge; and he continued to sit there until some boys came running down from the village, shouting as they ran, and asked him if he was hurt.

Then Dade scrambled up. "Oh, mercy!" he gasped. "Don't mind me. I'm all right. The other fellers--they'll be drowned!"

He ran to the side of the bridge and looked over. Foxhall was swimming toward the nearest bank, with Snead puffing and blowing behind him; but Rackliff, who had struck on his stomach sufficiently hard to have the breath knocked out of him, was being carried away by the current, struggling feebly.

With the idea of leaping in to help Herbert, Newbert pulled off his coat; but before he could make the plunge some one flung him aside with the sweep of a muscular arm and went shooting headlong like an arrow toward the surface of the river.

People were running toward the bridge from various directions. Some of the boys started down to help the swimmers out when they should reach the sh.o.r.e; but no one else ventured to plunge into the river.

The one who had made that unhesitating plunge was Rodney Grant.

Springer, who had reached the spot a moment ahead of Rod, saw Grant as he shot downward with hands outstretched and palms pressed together.

"Wh-why didn't I do it?" muttered Phil. "I didn't th-think quick enough."

He saw Grant's head appear above the surface and beheld the Texan striking out toward Rackliff with strong strokes that sent him forging through the water. The gathering crowd on the bridge began to cheer the rescuer.