Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Part 12

"You fooled me very neatly, and I have no excuse to offer." Which showed the fellows that Mr. Bennett was a "good sport."

Pretty soon Bert announced himself as ready for the speed test, and Mr.

Bennett led the way over to what looked like an empty hoop, but which, upon closer inspection, was seen to be crossed and recrossed by a web of fine, hairlike wires.

"These wires are so connected," explained Mr. Bennett, "that no matter where the ball goes, provided, of course, that it goes somewhere inside the hoop, it will break a wire, and the exact second will be recorded.

Then, there is another hoop fifty feet away," pointing to a similar contrivance nearer the other end of the testing room, "and all you have to do, Wilson, is to pitch the ball through both hoops. That back hoop is a good deal bigger than any catcher's glove, so you oughtn't to have any difficulty doing it. Do you think you can manage that all right?"

"Why, I guess I can do that," replied Bert, and took up his position about eight or ten feet this side of the front hoop. d.i.c.k tossed him the ball, and Bert fitted it carefully in his hand. Then he drew his arm back as far as possible, and a second later the ball shot from his fingers at a terrific pace. It struck almost the exact center of the first hoop, parting the fragile wires as though they had been so many cobwebs, and shot through the second hoop about a foot from its edge.

"Good shot!" exclaimed Mr. Bennett, and he and the foreman hurried to the recording instruments, and started figuring up the time.

"Gee, Bert," said Tom, "I don't think I ever saw you pitch a faster ball, even when the team has been in a tight place in the ninth inning.

I'd almost swear I saw it smoke as it went through the air."

"Well, fast or slow, it was the best I could do, anyway," said Bert, "so there's no use worrying about it."

In a short time, Mr. Bennett and the foreman had arrived at a result, and hurried over to where the boys were discussing the probable outcome of the test.

"You sent that ball at the rate of 114 feet a second, which is equivalent to about eighty-three or eighty-four miles an hour!" he exclaimed. "In other words, you could throw a ball after the Twentieth Century express traveling at its average speed and overtake it. As you probably know, any object traveling at a speed of a mile a minute traverses eighty-eight feet in one second, and it is on this that we have based our calculations."

"Say, Bert, that certainly was going some," said d.i.c.k, proudly, and the others were not far behind in congratulating our hero on his truly astonis.h.i.+ng performance. It is safe to say that few professional pitchers could better Bert's record.

After the excitement had died down somewhat, John Bennett proposed that they have a shooting contest, and his idea met with instant approval.

John had had unlimited facilities for perfecting himself in this art since a boy, however, and outcla.s.sed any of the others both at long and short-distance shooting.

When they had grown tired of this, it was growing late, and Bert proposed that they return. Needless to say, n.o.body wanted to go, but they had no choice, and so proceeded to take their leave. They all thanked their host heartily, also the good-natured and obliging foreman.

Mr. Bennett shook Bert's hand last of all, and as he ushered them to the door, said, "I'm going to take a holiday and see the next big game in which you pitch, Wilson. I'm quite anxious to see you in action."

"We'll all be glad to see you, I'm sure," returned Bert, "and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to show you over the college after the game."

"Much obliged," replied Mr. Bennett, and watched the laughing, singing group until it was hidden by a turn in the road.

The return journey seemed much longer than it had that morning, but they arrived at last, and voted it one of the best days they had ever known.

The news of Bert's feat soon spread over the campus, and when it reached Reddy's ears, he nodded his head sagely.

"Just make believe I don't know a crack pitcher when I see one," he grinned to himself.

CHAPTER IX

A GALLANT RESCUE

"Say, fellows, what have you got on hand for to-day?" asked Tom, as he burst into the "sanctum-sanctorum," as Bert and d.i.c.k called their room, and sank into an easy chair.

"Nothing," said Bert, turning from a not too promising survey of the surrounding country, "absolutely and emphatically nothing! This promises to be one of the slowest days in my short and brilliant career----"

"Hear, hear!" cried Tom from the depths of his chair. "That's fine for a starter, old top. Keep it up and perhaps you can actually persuade us that you amount to something. It's rather a hopeless task, but it wouldn't do any harm to try."

"You're such a bonehead that you don't recognize real worth when you see it," Bert retorted, good-naturedly. "There's another one," he added, pointing to d.i.c.k, who was trying to figure out a calculus problem. "He prefers grinding in calculus to listening to an interesting tale of my trials and tribulations."

"It isn't a question of preference, it's a case of dire necessity," d.i.c.k sighed, despondently. "If only I hadn't cut cla.s.s the other day I would be all right, but as it is I'll have to cram to make up for it. Oh, if I only had the fellow who invented calculus here, I'd----" and in the absence of anything better d.i.c.k pulled his own mop of tangled hair and applied himself furiously to the solving of what he called "an unsolvable problem."

"Poor old chap, never mind," consoled Tom. "When I come back to-night with old Pete under my arm I'll tell you just how I caught him."

"Do you mean to say that you are going fis.h.i.+ng for old Pete to-day?"

d.i.c.k asked, forgetting all about calculus in his excitement.

"Sure," Tom replied, placidly. "Didn't we agree that the first clear Sat.u.r.day we had off we'd take for our fis.h.i.+ng trip?"

"So we did, but that was so long ago that I'd clean forgotten it. Why didn't you remind us of it sooner, Tom? You would have spared me a lot of useless worry as to how I was going to spend a baseball-less day."

"I didn't think of it myself until I came into the room," Tom admitted, "but I suppose d.i.c.k can't go with us now. It's too bad he cut the other day," he added, with a sly glance at the discarded calculus.

"Don't let it worry you," d.i.c.k retorted. "Do you suppose that anything in earth could keep me from hunting Old Pete to-day, now that you have brought him so forcibly to my mind? Go on down and get your tackle, Tom.

Bert and I will join you in no time."

"But, really, d.i.c.k," Tom protested, with mock severity, "don't you realize that duty----"

"Get out before I put you out," roared d.i.c.k, making a dash for Tom, who promptly disappeared through the door.

"Since you insist," laughed the fugitive through the keyhole, "meet me on the campus in half an hour."

"We'll be there with bells on," said Bert and d.i.c.k with one voice, and at once began their preparations for the trip.

As d.i.c.k put the calculus back on the shelf, he said, half apologetically, "I'll see you to-night, old fellow."

Half an hour later, the trio were swinging rapidly down the road, carrying their fis.h.i.+ng poles and tackle. This was an outing that they had planned for early in the season, but up to this time they had had no opportunity to carry it out. Nearly every Sat.u.r.day they had had extra baseball practice, or something unexpected had come up, but now at last they had their chance and were only too anxious to take advantage of it. Besides them was Pete.

Old Pete was a huge pickerel who was sly and wary beyond the general run of fishes. Many a confident angler had come to the lake, absolutely certain of his ability to land the big fellow, only to return, sheepish and crestfallen, to acknowledge his defeat.

So it was no wonder that our fellows were excited at the prospect of a game of hide-and-seek with the biggest and most cunning of the pickerel family.

"Just think," Bert was saying, "what it will mean if we land him. Almost all the other fellows in college have tried it without success, and if we could manage to bring back Old Pete we would be popular heroes."

"I know, but there's not much chance of that," Tom sighed. "If old Si Perkins couldn't catch him napping, I'm afraid we can't."

"Never say die, Tom," d.i.c.k said, gaily. "A day like this makes you feel equal to anything."

"So say I," Bert added, heartily. "Say, do you see that mill in front of us? Well, that belongs to Herr Hoffmeyer, and it's one of the cla.s.siest little mills I ever saw."

"It sure is working some, but where do they get the power?" d.i.c.k asked.

"Why, there's a dam right back of the mill. You can't see it from here, but when we get a little nearer I'll point it out to you. See," he added, as they neared the mill, "isn't that a great arrangement.