The Lucky Seventh

“That’s my last ride in her,” said Morris regretfully as he got out.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gordon. “He may give you a lift some time.”

Morris smiled. “I meant the last time I’d run her,” he amended. “Gee, but I kind of hate to give her up, Gordon.”

“She’s a nice little car,” replied the other, “even if she did try to break your neck for you. And she certainly looks dandy. And she runs as well as ever, doesn’t she?”

“Better, it seems to me. I suppose she’s getting the stiffness out of her. Well, we’d better hike along to dinner. You’re sure your mother won’t mind having me, Gordon?”

“She expects you. I telephoned I was bringing you. Come on.”

It was long before two o’clock when the crowd began moving toward the field. Stewart, the liveryman, ran carriages from the station to the entrance and did a good business. At a few minutes before two Gordon and Dick and Lanny arrived. Mr. Potter was already on hand, instructing the two boys who were acting as ushers and keeping an eye on the amateur ticket seller at the gate. Tim Turner stood inside and took the tickets, dropping them into a tin box and looking as professional as you please. Dick’s gaze found the automobile the instant he was inside and he stopped short and stared at it. And no wonder, for a blue runabout placed imposingly in the center of a baseball diamond is about as incongruous a sight as one often sees.

“Wh-what the dickens!” gasped Dick.

“Oh, that?” said Gordon. “That’s the car that Morris just sold. Looks pretty well, doesn’t it? Come on in the dressing-room.”

“But what’s it doing there?” asked Dick. “Whose is it?”

“I suppose someone left it there. Gee, Dick, look at the crowd here already! We’ll have to have groundrules if they keep coming!”

“Yes, I guess so. But – that car! It can’t stand there, Gordie!”

“Of course not. It’ll be out of the way by the time we’re ready to practice, I dare say. There’s Tom. Come on. We’d better get changed. It must be almost two.”

Dick followed them into the dressing-room without further remarks, but it was plain to be seen that the incident of the misplaced automobile was occupying his thoughts. Most of the team had arrived and in another moment Dick found enough to attend to and talk about without further bothering his head with the blue runabout. The Point team came in a few minutes later and then there was a fine confusion and noise in there. Everyone was in the best of spirits and there was no sign of animosity between the opponents. One might have thought, were it not for the difference in costumes, that the two dozen or so fellows were team-mates rather than rivals. It was the first time that most of the Clearfield fellows had seen the Rutter’s Point players in their new togs, and they had to acknowledge that the white suits and blue-and-yellow-striped stockings were very attractive.

Of course Harold was there, score-book under arm, following Dick around closely. And Morris, too, in his capacity of honorary member of the visiting nine. Probably he would have been welcome in any case, for to-day was to witness the formal transfer of the field, in Morris’s name, from Mr. Brent to the High School. Mr. Grayson, who had arrived home the day before, was to attend and Morris was to deliver the deed to him, as a sort of added attraction. Morris, however, didn’t appear oppressed by his importance, a fact which his companions were quick to notice and approve.

At five minutes past the two teams went out to the diamond, and as they appeared, the band, massed fourteen strong in front of the grandstand, broke into the triumphal strains of “See the Conquering Hero Comes.” By that time the stand was filled to overflowing, the extra seats were well occupied and the settees sprinkled, while around the diamond what looked to the startled gaze of the players to be a vast assemblage sat or stood.

“Jumpin’ Jupiter!” muttered Fudge, his eyes very big and round. “S-s-s-say, Jack, I won’t b-b-b-be able to c-c-catch a thing!”

“I guess we’ll all have stage-fright,” replied Jack Tappen, with a rather nervous laugh. “Who would have thought all this crowd would have come? And look at the gate! They’re still coming, Fudge!”

“G-g-guess I’ll s-s-s-sneak home,” said Fudge.

Dick was frankly puzzled. Instead of trotting into the field to begin practice, his charges were lounging over toward the plate, and with them went the Point team. Then Dick’s eyes fell on that blue runabout again, and he frowned and followed the players, who by this time had gathered about it. Harold, who never allowed Dick to get more than six feet away from him, went, too.

“Someone will have to get that car out of here,” announced Dick impatiently. “Whose is it, anyway?”

As the band, which had been blaring forth a twostep, stopped suddenly at a signal from Gordon, just in the middle of Dick’s pronouncement, he finished it in a voice which, owing to the silence, was audible halfway to the outfield. A ripple of amusement came from the nearer seats. Dick, embarrassed by events and by an impending something that he sensed, looked blankly about the grinning faces.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” he faltered, appealing to Gordon.

Gordon cleared his throat and took a step forward. The rest of the players shuffled into the semblance of a half-circle behind him and about the blue car. The audience, none of them in the secret but all suspecting interesting developments, grew very still.

“Dick,” began Gordon, very red of countenance and nervous of manner, “we – that is – ”

“Go to it, Gordie,” murmured Lanny encouragingly. Gordon took a deep breath and another start:

“The Clearfield Baseball Club, in recognition of your services as manager and – and in token of its esteem and – ”

“Respect and esteem,” prompted Lanny, sotto voce.

– “Respect and esteem,” corrected Gordon, who had prepared his speech with much care and had now pretty well forgotten it, “desires to present to you this automobile, in the hope – er – in the hope – ”

“That it will provide – ”

“ – That it will provide both comfort and pleasure. It is with much – it is with much – ”

Gordon looked imploringly at Lanny, but Lanny’s gaze was fixed blankly on space. He, too, had forgotten the lines! Fudge gave way to his nervousness and giggled. Gordon waved his hand toward the car. “And we hope you’ll like it,” he ended breathlessly.

There was an instant’s silence, and then came a joyous screech from Harold. That was the signal for much hand-clapping and other evidences of applause from the spectators who, although Gordon’s speech had not been audible to them, had by this time gathered that someone was being presented with the natty blue automobile. Dick, rather white of face, smiled.

“I – I – ” he began. Then he faltered. When he went on his voice was husky. “Thank you, fellows,” he said. “I don’t see why you did it, but – but I appreciate it more than I can say. And – I can’t make a speech, so I’ll just say thank you and – you’ll have to understand that it means a lot more than I can put in words!”

Then they cheered quite madly, being heartily glad to be over with the embarrassment, and flocked around him and shook hands just as though they hadn’t seen him for months!

“‘It is with much pride that we offer this small token,’” said Lanny explosively in Gordon’s ear. Gordon laughed derisively.

“What’s the good now?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you say that two minutes ago? You’re a fine one to help a fellow!”

“Why didn’t you remember it yourself?” asked Lanny, in an injured voice. “Gee! You wrote it, didn’t you?”

Morris jumped into the driver’s seat of the car and Dick, impelled by friendly hands, climbed in beside him. Will Scott spun the crank, the engine purred, and, to the cheers and laughter of the fellows and the enthusiastic applause of the spectators, the blue runabout chugged around the field and back into an angle of the grandstand, while the band played loudly.

“I’ll show you how to run it in two days, Dick,” Morris said, as they circled the diamond. “You’ll find it’s as easy as anything you ever did.”

“Did you know about it?” asked Dick curiously.

“Sure. It was Gordon’s scheme; but he told me what he wanted to do and dad and I were strong for it.”

“But – but where’d they get the money?” asked Dick.

“They haven’t got it yet,” chuckled Morris. “You have it!”

“I have – Oh, the baseball money!”

“Surest think you know, Dick!”

“Oh!” Dick gave a sigh of relief. “I was afraid they’d paid for it out of their pockets or – or somehow. I – I knew for two or three weeks that they were up to something, but I never suspected this. Say, doesn’t it just get there!”

“She’s a fine little car,” agreed Morris proudly, as he brought it to a stop behind the extra seats. “And I’ll just bet you’ll be crazy about her, Dick, in a week!”

“I guess I’m sort of crazy about her now,” murmured Dick.

There was still another ceremony to be gone through with; in fact, two. The first was performed a minute later when Morris, taking a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, walked across to the front of the grandstand, accompanied by the players, and with a neat but brief speech formally presented the deed of the athletic field to Mr. Grayson. The principal, however, wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to indulge in eloquence, and his speech of thanks went on for quite five minutes. It was a very good speech, too, but few heard it, for the spectators out of ear-shot were clamoring for the game to begin. When he had finished and bowed and taken his seat again, there was more applause, and the bass drum boomed ecstatically and Gordon led three cheers for Mr. Brent, and at last the home team trotted on to the diamond and the visitors began passing and warming up at one side.

By that time it was nearly the hour set for the game to begin, and almost every available spot on the field was occupied by spectators. Four of Clearfield’s modest police force were on duty in the outfield, patrolling back and forth, restraining the advance of the crowds which stretched along the continuations of the foul lines.

On the “press stand,” a kitchen table and two straight-backed chairs at the end of the home team’s bench, stood the silver trophy on its ebony stand. Around the base was twined the purple silk pennant with the white “C.” At the “press stand” sat Mr. Potter, his straw hat tilted back on his head, a pile of yellow copy paper in front of him and a big cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. Mr. Potter, looking proudly about the crowded field, was happy. Apparently all the pennants had been purchased, for they waved on all sides, and flashes of purple glowed everywhere in the sunlight; everywhere, that is to say, except in one small section of the main stand, where the Rutter’s Point contingent, some fifty strong, waved blue-and-yellow flags and cheered for their heroes.

Dick, leaning on his crutches near first base, allowed his gaze to wander a minute from the work of his charges toward the crowded seats. There were his mother and Grace up there, and, farther along, Mr. and Mrs. Brent and Louise – and Morris just returning to his place beside them. Strangely enough, Louise happened to be looking just as Dick glanced her way, and nodded and waved. Dick took off his hat in answer. A second later he was bowing again, for Mrs. Townsend was waving her blue-and-yellow banner toward him.

Then, presently, the home team yielded the diamond to the visitors, and Dick went back to the bench with them. Harold was sharpening his pencils as Dick took his place beside him.

“Dick,” he said, in a low voice, “I hope you win.”

“Thanks, Harold! That’s treachery, isn’t it, though?”

Harold frowned and shook his head. “Can’t help it,” he muttered. “I do, anyway.”

The umpires were Mr. Cochran, of the Y.M.C.A., chosen by Clearfield, and Mr. Vokes, who had officiated at the first game between the two teams, the Point’s selection. The latter gentleman was on bases and Mr. Cochran umpired at the plate. At twenty minutes to three Clearfield trotted into the field to the cheers of the audience, and Gordon, taking a nice new ball from Mr. Cochran, ascended the stand to where Mr. Brent sat.

“Mr. Brent,” said Gordon, “we’d like very much to have you throw out the ball to us, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“Throw out the ball!” exclaimed Mr. Brent. “How – how do I do it?”

“Just stand up, sir, and toss it to Tom Haley, down there.”

Mr. Brent looked doubtful, but Morris and Louise urged him on, and finally he got to his feet, measured the distance anxiously, clutched the ball with a death-like grip, and hurled it toward Tom. It went a yard over his head, and was fielded by Harry Bryan near second! But that didn’t matter! Everyone cheered just as hard!

CHAPTER XXIV

DICK SMILES

Gordon took his position off first base, thumped fist into glove, and called cheerfully across to Tom Haley:

“First man, Tom! Let’s have him!”

But Gordon wasn’t nearly as cool and collected as he tried to seem. He was conscious of the crowd, and especially of the throng that stretched four and five deep along the base line but a half dozen yards away. The noise, too, was disconcerting. He didn’t mind the bellowing of Jim House back of first, nor the answering shrieks of Pink Northrop behind third; but the steady hum and stir of the crowd gave him what was very much like stage fright. He almost hoped that the first hit would not come into his territory, for he was virtually sure that he would misplay it. But Gordon wasn’t the only one suffering from nervous embarrassment. Tom was as wild as a hawk, and if the batsmen had not been up in the air as well Rutter’s Point might have won the game then and there!

Dick, none too self-possessed himself, in spite of the fact that on the bench he was practically out of the public gaze, saw that in the outfield Way, Jack, and Fudge were each moving restlessly about, and he mentally hoped that there would be no long flies for a few minutes! The only one of the home team who seemed absolutely self-possessed and unconcerned was Lanny. Lanny, behind his mask and protector, gave his signals calmly, and called to Tom coolly and encouragingly, holding his hands over the center of the plate and inviting Tom to “put it right here!” And Tom tried his best to follow signals, and failed lamentably.

Caspar Billings went to base on balls, and Gordon took the bag. Tom tried one throw across, and Gordon, to his relief, caught the ball. While Tom had been in the act of swinging around and stepping out, Gordon had been sure that the ball would get by him. Caspar was playing it safe, however, and after Gordon threw the sphere back to Tom the latter gave his attention to the next batsman, Loring Townsend. Loring, with one strike and two balls against him, reached for a low one and sent it up in the air to Pete Robey. Pete caught it, juggled it, dropped it, and then sped it to second. Caspar, who had stopped halfway down the base line, turned back to the bench.

With one out, Tom settled down a little. Loring Townsend stole on the second delivery and beat out the throw. The Point clamored for a hit, but the best Gil Chase could do was to trickle a slow bunt to Tom, who threw out the runner at first.

“Two gone!” called Gordon. “Let him hit, Tom!”

But Tom did the hitting himself, bumping Jim House on the elbow with his first ball. Jim trotted to first, and Leary came to bat. Leary ought to have been easy, but he landed on the very first offering and sent a fly into short left field. Way started with the ball and got it after a hard run, and the inning was over.

“We got out of that mighty luckily,” muttered Gordon, as he took his seat beside Dick. “I guess we’ve all got nerves.”

“Well, so have the others,” replied Dick. “Try to get rid of yours first, Gordie.”

Harry Bryan waited and got his base. Will Scott, instructed to bunt and sacrifice, fouled two attempts, and finally went out on strikes. Gordon brought the stands to their feet by a bunt along first-base line which started well but eventually rolled into foul territory under the anxious gaze of Mason and Townsend. Then came a swipe that missed the ball by inches, then two balls, and last, with two and two, a straight one that Gordon liked the looks of. He found it, all right, but it dropped into center-fielder’s hands, and, with two down, Bryan was still anchored on first. A minute later he tried a steal, and was caught a yard away.

In the second Tom pitched better, and Northrop and Jensen fanned. Houghton, the Point catcher, got a scratch hit, and reached the first bag but died there when Mason struck out.

Clearfield did no better in her half, Wayland, Tappen, and Lanny White going out in order, and only Jack getting a rap at the ball.

It was not until the fourth inning that things began to happen. Leary started the Point’s half with a sharp tap between Pete and Harry that put him safely on first. Then, with the Point coachers yelling like mad and dancing like a couple of dervishes, Tom passed Pink Northrop. With the three tail-enders coming up there seemed no cause for alarm. But Jensen laid down a nice bunt right in front of the plate, and Lanny, tossing aside his mask, picked it up and hurled it to third. Unfortunately, Will Scott had started in toward the plate, and the ball got to third ahead of him. By the time Way had recovered it, Leary had scored, Northrop was on second, and Jensen on first. The Pointers went wild with delight, and the blue-and-yellow flags waved in the grandstand. Houghton, aching for a hit, was over-anxious, and fell a victim to the wiles of Lanny and Tom, and there was one out. Pitcher Mason was no more of a batsman than the average twirler, and yet he managed to make it two and three before he finally put an end to the suspense and the inning by hitting to Harry Bryan, who tagged Jensen as he went past and then threw to Gordon, completing the double.

For the next two innings it looked very much as though that one run would be enough to win the game, for Mason settled down and pitched air-tight ball and added four more strike-outs to his credit. Tom Haley was less spectacular, and yet got by without yielding a hit. He passed two batters and in the sixth Jensen got as far as third when Pete Robey fumbled Houghton’s liner. But there were no runs scored, and at the beginning of the seventh the score still stood 1 to 0 in the visitors’ favor, and Clearfield already tasted defeat. But the audience shouted that here was the “lucky seventh,” and those fortunate to have seats stood up and stretched cramped limbs, and everyone shouted.

In the first half of the seventh the clouds began to gather again over Clearfield’s head. Caspar Billings, first man up, beat out a weak hit and took second when Townsend sacrificed, Scott to Merrick. A moment later he reached third when Chase flied out to right field. Then House provided a half dozen attacks of heart disease when, with three balls and two strikes on him, he knocked fouls to nearly every point of the compass in his endeavor to secure a safe hit and score Caspar. But in the end Tom tricked him into a high fly that settled comfortably into Pete Robey’s glove, and again the sky cleared.

“If those boys don’t win a run this time,” said Mr. Brent, almost crossly, “I’ll be sorry I gave them the field.”

“You mean, dad, you’ll be sorry I gave them the field,” corrected Morris, with a grin. Mr. Brent grunted.

“Why don’t they bat the ball?” he demanded. “Every time one of them gets on a base, the others leave him there. What they ought to do is to take a good bang at it and send it out there beyond those fellows.”

“That’s what they’re trying to do, papa,” replied Louise, “but the Point pitcher won’t let them. He’s a wonderful pitcher, isn’t he, Morris?”

“Pretty fair. He’ll get his before the game’s over, though. See if he doesn’t.”

“Get his what?” asked his father curiously.

“Get what’s coming to him,” laughed Morris. “I mean the Clearfield chaps will bat him. He can’t keep this pace up much longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got after him this inning.”

“Oh, I wish we might!” sighed Louise. “I wish they’d just – just slam him!”

“My dear!” murmured Mrs. Brent. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“It’s all right, mama; it’s just baseball talk.”

“Even so, dear, I’m not certain,” replied her mother, “that – ”

But Louise didn’t hear the rest, for she was waving her purple pennant wildly and shrieking in a manner that Mrs. Brent must have disapproved of thoroughly. But she had a good excuse. Even Mr. Jonathan Brent was tapping his cane and breathing hard, while Morris was frankly on his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Jack, the first Clearfield batsman, had landed on the second ball pitched, and now it was rolling along the grass between right fielder and center, and Jack was traveling fast for second base. He drew up there, breathless but happy. From the stands and from the crowds along the edges of the diamond came shouts and cheers. At last, Clearfield was to tie the score!

And yet even with a runner on second and only a hit necessary to bring in a tally, it began to look as if once more the hopes of Clearfield’s supporters were doomed. Lanny, determined and cool, after waiting until he had three balls to his credit and no strikes, tried to drop out of the way of a close one, only to have it hit his bat and roll fair! Mason fielded it to first, and there was one out. The incessant shouting from the spectators died away and Gordon, coaching at first, swung on his heel and kicked viciously at a pebble to relieve his feelings. Then, with Pete Robey up, there came an exchange of signals, and Jack started for third as the ball left Mason’s hand for the second time. It was an unexpected play, and it succeeded. Pete swung and missed and Houghton side-stepped and hurled to third. But Jack, who was a fast youth on his feet, was diving head-first for the bag when the ball arrived, and Mr. Vokes, trotting past, spread his hands. Clearfield applauded wildly.

With a man on third, Rutter’s Point considered discretion the better part of valor, and Mason pitched out three times to Pete and Pete walked to first, while the home team’s supporters jeered and shouted disparaging remarks to Mason. A minute later Pete went to second unchallenged. Tom Haley was up, and Houghton had argued that Tom could be easily disposed of. And it seemed that he could. Tom made desperate swings at the first two deliveries, and you could have heard the sighs of despair that came from the anxious watchers on the seats. Then, heeding the coachers’ voices at last, Tom got his eye on the ball and watched idly while Mason sped two wide ones past him. Then he tried again and a foul resulted, Houghton getting his hands on it at the edge of the stand but dropping it. A third ball narrowly escaped being a strike, and Gordon cried: “That’s waiting, Tom! Let him walk you; he’ll do it in a minute!”

And he would have, for the next delivery was inches wide of the outer corner of the plate, but Tom reached out eagerly, got that ball on the tip of his bat and sent it arching up in a low fly that fell three feet inside the first-base foul line and just out of the reach of the three fielders who raced after it! In trotted Jack, scoring the tying run, and in sped Pete Robey, close on his heels, while Clearfield went mad with delight and the purple pennants waved on high. Pete beat the throw to the plate by inches, but Tom, trying to reach second on the throw-in, was less fortunate and fell victim to a fine heave from Houghton to Leary.

Dick motioned Fudge to him. “We want another run, Fudge,” he said softly. “Mason will be up in the air now. Make him think you’re anxious to hit. Move up in the box and swing your bat; try to look nervous – ”

“I don’t have t-t-t-to try,” muttered Fudge.

“Never mind. Make him think you’ll offer at anything, but don’t swing but once. Pick out a wide one and swing at it, Fudge, but be careful not to hit it. If you work it right, he will pass you sure as shooting! Now, go ahead.”

Harold Townsend, so excited that he hadn’t scored a thing since Jack’s two-bagger, looked at Dick in open admiration. “I guess that’s what they call ‘inside baseball,’ isn’t it, Dick?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “It’s what I’d call horse-sense. I hope it works, anyhow!”