Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Part 7

Hodge was a good batter, and he waited stolidly until he got a ball that suited him. Two strikes were called on him, and still he waited. Then the pitcher sent him a long out curve, and Hodge connected with the ball for a safe one-bag hit, while d.i.c.k raced home. It looked bright for the home team now, but the next batter struck out, and although Hodge made a daring slide to second, a splendid throw cut him off.

Sterling was up next, and on the third pitched ball he managed to plant a short drive in left field that got him safely to first base. Then it was Bert's turn at the bat, and a great roar greeted him as he stepped to the plate.

"Win your own game, Wilson," someone shouted, and Bert resolved to do so, if possible.

He tried to figure out what the pitcher would be likely to offer him, and decided that he would probably serve up a swift, straight one at first. He set himself for this, but the pitcher had different ideas, and sent over a slow drop that Bert swung at, a fraction of a second too late. "Strike," called the umpire, and the hostile fans yelled delightedly. The next one Bert drove out for what looked like a good hit, but it turned out to be a foul. "Two strikes," barked the umpire, and some of the people in the grandstand rose as if to leave, evidently thinking that the game was practically over.

Bert watched every motion of the pitcher as he wound up, and so was pretty sure what kind of a ball was coming. The pitcher was noted for his speed, and, almost at the moment the ball left his hand, Bert swung his bat straight from the shoulder, with every ounce of strength he possessed in back of it. There was a sharp crack as the bat met the ball, and the sphere mounted upward and flew like a bullet for the center field fence.

As if by one impulse, every soul in the grandstand and bleachers rose to his or her feet, and a perfect pandemonium of yells broke forth. The fielders sprinted madly after the soaring ball, but they might have saved themselves the trouble. It cleared the fence by a good ten feet, and Bert cantered leisurely around the bases, and came across the home plate with the winning run.

Then a yelling, cheering mob swept down on the field, and enveloped the players. In a moment Bert and some of the others were hoisted up on broad shoulders, and carried around the field by a crowd of temporary maniacs. It was some time before Bert could get away from his enthusiastic admirers, and join the rest of his teammates.

As he entered the dressing rooms, Reddy grasped his hand, and said, "Wilson, you have done some great work to-day, and I want to congratulate you. From now on you are one of the regular team pitchers."

"Thank you, sir," replied Bert, "but I don't deserve any special credit.

We all did the best we could, and that was all anybody could do."

So ended the first important game of the season, and Bert's position in the college was established beyond all question. Winters' friends made a few half-hearted efforts to detract from his popularity, but were met with such a cold reception that they soon gave up the attempt, and Bert was the undisputed star pitcher of the university team.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIRE

"Gee whiz! I'm glad I don't have to do this every day," said Tom, as he stood, ruefully regarding his trunk, whose lid refused to close by several inches.

"I'm jiggered if I see why it should look like that. Even with the fellows' things, it isn't half as full as it was when I came from home, and it didn't cut up like that."

The Easter holidays were approaching, and "the three guardsmen" had received a most cordial invitation from Mr. Hollis to spend them with him at his home.

Feeling the strain of the baseball season, the fellows were only too glad of a short breathing spell and had gratefully accepted the invitation. They were looking forward with eager antic.i.p.ation to the visit.

They would not need very much luggage for just a few days' stay, so, as Tom owned a small steamer trunk, they had decided to make it serve for all three. The fellows had brought their things in the night before and left Tom to pack them.

Tom had heard people say that packing a trunk was a work of time, and had congratulated himself on the quickness and ease with which that particular trunk was packed; but when he encountered the almost human obstinacy with which that lid resisted his utmost efforts, he acknowledged that it wasn't "such a cinch after all."

After one more ineffectual effort to close it, he again eyed it disgustedly.

"I can't do a blamed thing with it," he growled, and then catching the sound of voices in d.i.c.k's room overhead, he shouted:

"Come on in here, fellows, and help me get this apology for a trunk shut."

When d.i.c.k and Bert reached him, Tom was stretched almost full length on the trunk and raining disgusted blows in the region of the lock.

He looked so absurdly funny that the fellows executed a war dance of delight and roared with laughter, and then proceeded to drag Tom bodily off the trunk.

Landing him with scant ceremony on the floor, they proceeded to show the discomfited Freshman that a trunk lid with any spirit could not consent to close over an indiscriminate mixture of underwear, pajamas, suits of clothes, collar boxes, and shoe and military brushes--most of these latter standing upright on end.

With the brushes lying flat, boxes stowed away in corners, and clothing smoothly folded, the balky trunk lid closed, as Tom, grinning sheepishly, declared, "meeker a hundred times than Moses."

This disposed of, and dressed and ready at last, their thoughts and conversation turned with one accord to the delightful fact that Mr.

Hollis was to send the old "Red Scout" to take them to his home.

The very mention of the name "Red Scout" was sufficient to set all three tongues going at once, as, during the half-hour before they could expect the car, they recalled incidents of that most glorious and exciting summer at the camp, when the "Red Scout" had been their unending source of delight.

"Do you remember," said Tom, "the first time we went out in her, when we were so crazy with the delight of it that we forgot everything else, and gave her the speed limit, and came near to having a once-for-all smash-up?"

They certainly did. "And," said d.i.c.k, "the day we gave poor old Biddy Harrigan her first 'artymobile' ride. Didn't she look funny when the wind spread out that gorgeous red feather?"

They all laughed heartily at this recollection, but their faces grew grave again as they recalled the time when, the brake failing to work, they rushed over the bridge with only a few inches between them and disaster.

"That certainly was a close call," said Bert, "but not so close as the race we had with the locomotive. I sure did think then that our time had come."

"But," Tom broke in, "'all's well that ends well,' and say, fellows, _did_ it end well with us? Will you ever forget that wonderful race with the 'Gray Ghost'? Great Scott! I can feel my heart thump again as it did that final lap. And that last minute when the blessed old 'Red Scout'

poked her nose over the line--_ahead_!" and in his excitement Tom began forging around the room at great speed, but made a rush for the window at the sound of a familiar "toot, to-oo-t."

"There she is," he announced joyfully, and, taking the stairs three steps at a time, and crossing the campus in about as many seconds, they gave three cheers for the old "Red Scout," which bore them away from college scenes with its old-time lightning speed.

Easter was late that year and spring had come early. There had been a number of warm days, and already the springing gra.s.s had clothed the earth in its Easter dress of soft, tender green. Tree buds were bursting into leaf, and in many of the gardens that they pa.s.sed crocuses were lifting their little white heads above the ground. Robins flashed their red and filled the air with music. Spring was everywhere! And, as the warm, fragrant air swept their faces they thrilled with the very joy of living, and almost wished the ride might last forever.

At last, "There is Mr. Hollis' house, the large white one just before us," said the chauffeur, and, so swiftly sped the "Red Scout" that almost before the last word was spoken, they stopped and were cordially welcomed by Mr. Hollis.

As they entered the hall they stood still, looked, rubbed their eyes and looked again. Then Tom said in a dazed way, "Pinch me, Bert, I'm dreaming." For there in a row on either side of the hall stood every last one of the fellows who had camped with them that never-to-be-forgotten summer. Bob and Frank and Jim Dawson, Ben Cooper and Dave and Charlie Adams, and--yes--peeping mischievously from behind the door, Shorty, little Shorty! who now broke the spell with:

"h.e.l.lo, fellows. What's the matter? Hypnotized?"

Then--well it was fortunate for Mr. Hollis that he was used to boys, and so used also to noise; for such a shouting of greetings and babel of questions rose, that n.o.body could hear anybody else speak. Little they cared. They were all together once more, with days of pure pleasure in prospect. Nothing else mattered; and Mr. Hollis, himself as much a boy at heart as any one of them, enjoyed it all immensely.

Glancing at the clock, he suddenly remembered that dinner would soon be served, and drove the three latest arrivals off to their room to prepare.

Short as the ride had seemed to the happy automobilists, it had lasted several hours. Though they had eaten some sandwiches on the way, they were all in sympathy with Tom who, while they prepared for dinner confided to his chums that he was a "regular wolf!"

It goes without saying that they all did ample justice to that first dinner, and that there never was a jollier or more care-free company.

None of the boys ever forgot the wonderful evening with Mr. Hollis.

A man of large wealth and cultivated tastes, his home was filled with objects of interest. He spared no pains to make his young guests feel at home and gave them a delightful evening.

The pleasant hours sped so rapidly that all were amazed when the silvery chimes from the grandfather's clock in the living room rang out eleven o'clock, and Mr. Hollis bade them all "good-night."

They had not realized that they were tired until they reached their rooms. Once there, however, they were glad to tumble into their comfortable beds, and, after a unanimous vote that Mr. Hollis was a brick, quiet reigned at last.

To Bert in those quiet hours came a very vivid dream. He thought he was wandering alone across a vast plain in perfect darkness at first, in which he stumbled blindly forward.

Suddenly there came a great flash of lightning which gleamed for a moment and was gone. Instantly there came another and another, one so closely following the other that there was an almost constant blinding glare, while all the while the dreamer was conscious of a feeling of apprehension, of impending danger.