Comrades on River and Lake Part 8

"Then don't look at them," advised Chot.

"I believe I feel a poem coming on."

"Well, put on the safety valve. h.e.l.lo! Who's that? As I live, it's Bert Creighton!"

Sure enough, there was Bert, standing at the end of a little wharf that jutted out into the lake. He was yelling and waving his hat at them.

Stretching behind him was a pretty meadow, and farther on a hill on which sat a farmhouse-Bert's home, the Comrades felt.

It was with thankful hearts that they turned their canoes in toward the wharf and grasped the hand of their old chum again.

"Gee! but I'm glad to see you fellows up here," said Bert. "Been looking for you since yesterday," and he led the way up a broad path toward the house.

CHAPTER VI-GETTING READY FOR THE GAME

The welcome extended the Comrades and Pod by Bert's parents was cordial in every sense of the word. The big farm was placed at their disposal, and Mrs. Creighton exerted herself to the utmost to provide delicacies that would tempt them, and in this she succeeded beyond her fondest expectations.

It pleased her to see these healthy young fellows eat, and Fleet, especially, was an unending source of delight to her, for when he was not praising her cooking, he was smacking his lips in the keenest enjoyment. By that, it is not meant that Fleet's table manners were bad; on the contrary, no boy ever paid more attention to the conventions of eating than he, except when camping in the woods, or on some other informal occasion, with only his chums to see him.

The boys slept soundly the first night and arose in the morning to plunge with Bert into the waters of Lake George. Then, after a rub-down that set the blood tingling all through their bodies, they sat down to wheat cakes, maple syrup and coffee, with generous dishes of strawberries and cream on the side.

"You fellows may as well limber up your arms," said Bert when breakfast was over, and the boys had spent half an hour talking over old times.

"That's so; Bert promised us a game of baseball," said Chot. "How about it, Bert?"

"It's all arranged. Cleverdale has a mighty good team for a country village, and they have agreed to come down to-morrow for a game in our big pasture."

"Well, isn't that clever of Cleverdale?" said Pod.

"Here! Don't spring any more of those," warned Bert. "I don't believe I could stand the pressure."

"Oh, Pod's been misbehaving all the way up," said Tom.

"Well, I had plenty of company," responded the little fellow. "Fleet Kenby fairly disgraced us all, and I failed to observe where any of the other members of our party earned any special bouquets for deportment."

"Listen at the language!" cried Fleet, as he put his hands on Pod's head and began an examination, much after the fas.h.i.+on of a phrenologist.

"Yes; here's where it came from. This, gentlemen, is the b.u.mp of knowledge, considerably enlarged though colliding with its neighbor, the b.u.mp of conceit. The latter b.u.mp, which, you will observe, lies right above the ear, is bounded on the north by a wisp of hair, on the south by--"

But Pod had stood all he intended to stand, and diving suddenly between Fleet's legs, he toppled the fleshy one over on the gra.s.s, he, himself, escaping a fall by an agile spring.

Fleet sat where he had fallen, grinning. He enjoyed his innocent battles with Pod and was not at all angry when, occasionally, his little chum got the better of him.

Bert brought forth a ball and bat, as well as several gloves and mitts.

"I have a collection," said he, by way of explanation.

"We don't need the gloves; we brought our own, and nothing feels so comfortable on your hand as your own glove," said Chot. Then the boys proceeded to get their gloves out of the canoes. Fleet fished out his big first baseman's mitt, and began to limber himself by striking with his bare fist in the hollow spot, which was deep from the constant pounding of the b.a.l.l.s.

"But, I say, Bert," Fleet asked, "you say we are to play Cleverdale to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"How? There are only five of us. Have they a full nine?"

"Yes, and we will have our full nine players also. There will be five young fellows here in the morning to stay all day with us-boys who live in the neighborhood of Kattskill Bay, and who are anxious to acquire Cleverdale's scalp. You see, there's not enough of us here to make a team, so we are availing ourselves of the opportunity to secure some real college talent, and expect to win from Cleverdale very handily."

"Oh, you flatterer!" cried Pod. "Real college talent! Is that us?" he demanded turning on Fleet.

"Well, it's me, anyway," was Fleet's reply. "You don't think I play first base for Winton for nothing, do you, youngster? And don't forget that you are Terrible Podsy, king of the shortstops."

"And you are Flippant Fleetsy, the b.u.m first baseman," Pod replied, dodging behind Chot, as Fleet made a move toward him.

The boys went out into the big pasture where they found a fine diamond, with the gra.s.s close-cropped by the constant feeding of the cows, perfectly level and worn smooth on the base lines. The boys uttered exclamations of delight.

"There's nothing like a good ground, free from rough spots," said Tom.

"But I had no idea we'd find a ground up here as smooth as this."

"Well, I'm beginning to find lots of wonderful things around here," said Fleet. "Take those pancakes Mrs. Creighton made this morning, for instance."

The other boys laughed as Fleet smacked his lips.

"What I am figuring on now," Fleet continued, "is how to get word to her to have another batch to-morrow morning."

"I'll tell her," said Bert, amused at Fleet's perpetual desire for food.

"Thought maybe you would if I mentioned it," said Fleet.

The boys took turns batting flies and grounders, Chot taking most of the burden because he was to pitch, and needed very little practice on the diamond. So he batted to Pod and Bert, who threw the ball to Fleet at first. Fleet, in turn, threw to Tom who stood at the plate, his big catcher's mitt on his hand. Tom caught the b.a.l.l.s and tossed them to Chot, who would then bat them out again.

Every now and then Pod would dash swiftly to second, when Fleet was throwing the ball home, and Tom would seize it and shoot it down to the second cus.h.i.+on with all his old-time speed. Pod would then seize the sphere and put it on an imaginary runner, and throw to Fleet again to catch an imaginary runner at that bag.

"This seems like old times," said Fleet. "There are many outdoor games, but after all there is only one."

"There are many, and yet there's only one. There's a riddle for you-figure it out!" cried Pod.

After a while, breathing heavily from their exertions, for the morning was warm, Pod, Bert and Fleet decided to stop. Then Chot took the ball and threw for fifteen minutes to Tom, speeding them in as his arm grew more limber, until the ball became but a mere flash in the atmosphere as it pa.s.sed from one chum to the other.

Then, practice over, the boys stretched themselves out in the shade of a big oak tree for an hour of solid comfort.

"If Dan, Randy and Wilkes were here, I'd be perfectly happy," said Bert.

"But I suppose it's impossible for all of us to be together the whole year round."

"And I wouldn't mind in the least if Truem Wright were here," said Chot, which remark occasioned some surprise among his comrades.

"Well, I've forgotten the mean things he did," said Tom. "But I haven't taken him to my heart sufficiently to wish he was here at this moment."