Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 14

"Agreement?" he said. "What agreement?"

Hooker choked. "You know; don't pretend that you don't know. I hope you're not going back on your word. If you do----" He stopped, unable to continue.

"Oh, yes," said Herbert slowly, "I think I know what you mean. Of course I'm not going back on my word to a pal."

"Then give me the money I let you have to bet on Barville."

"Why, that money's gone. We lost it."

"Yes, but you pledged yourself to make good any loss I might sustain.

There are reasons why I must have that money back--right away, too."

"I'm sorry," murmured Herbert, regretfully returning the empty cigarette case to his pocket; "but I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while. I went broke myself--haven't got a whole dollar left in the exchequer."

"But I've _got_ to have it," insisted Roy huskily. "I depended on getting it back to-night."

Herbert laughed and snapped his yellow fingers. "When a thing is impossible, it can't be done, old fellow. You don't need money in this dead hole, anyhow. Why, a profligate couldn't spend ten dollars a week here, if he tried. You'll simply have to wait until my old man coughs up another consignment of the needful."

Roy sat down again, his face wearing such a look of dismay that Herbert was both puzzled and amused.

"To see you now," observed the city youth, "any one might fancy you a bank cas.h.i.+er who had speculated disastrously with the funds of the inst.i.tution. Four dollars and sixty-five cents--that was the amount of your loss; and you look as if you had dropped a thousand."

"I want to tell you something," said Hooker suddenly; but again he stopped short and seemed to find it impossible to proceed.

"I'm listening," encouraged Rackliff. "Let it come. Great Scott! I'd like to have a cigarette."

But Roy, after remaining silent a few moments longer, slowly shook his head. "I won't tell you," he muttered; "I can't. But look here, Rack, you've got to get that money for me as soon as you can. I need it--if you only knew how I need it!"

"I'll drop my old pater a line to-night, informing him that I'm financially ruined. Gee! that makes me think of that little runt, Cooper! He certainly irritated me some by his insolent yapping."

"You came pretty near getting into trouble trying to coach Barville.

You certainly had your nerve with you. I'd never had the crust to try that."

Herbert frowned. "It would have been all right, only for that big stiff, Bunk Lander. He threatened to punch me up, and I knew he was just the sort of a brainless fellow to do it. Only for his interference, Barville would have taken the game, and we'd be on Easy Street to-night."

"Eh?" exclaimed Roy, puzzled again. "I don't think I quite get you. I don't see how Lander's interference with you had anything to do with the result of the game."

The city youth coughed and shrugged his shoulders, a singularly crafty smile playing over his face.

"Of course, you don't see," he nodded. "I'll admit that I was somewhat too hasty. I should have waited a while longer before I attempted to put in my oar. That was where _I_ blundered; but I didn't quite reckon on Lander."

"You've got me guessing. I wish you'd explain."

"I will. Did you think I took that journey to Barville on your old motorcycle merely for recreation?"

"Not exactly; I had an idea you went over there to talk with Copley and Roberts for the purpose of finding out how strong the Barville nine really was."

"Well, that was a part of the reason, but not the whole of it. I had something else on my mind. In case I became satisfied that the two teams were pretty evenly matched, I had a little plan through which I felt confident I could make it a dead sure thing for Barville. I was not off my base, either, and it would have worked out charmingly if that big duffer, Lander, hadn't dipped in and messed it for us."

"I'm still in the dark."

"Don't you remember that when I got back I asked you about Eliot's signals to the pitcher?"

"Yes."

"I thought I knew them, but I wanted to be dead sure; for I'd made arrangements with Copley to tip off certain Barville batters who could be trusted to the kind of b.a.l.l.s that would be pitched. This was to be done in case the necessity arose, which it did when Oakdale took the lead and Springer seemed to be going well, with every prospect of holding them down. Then I proceeded to get down close to the ropes back of first base, where, by watching, I could come pretty near catching Eliot's signs. Sometimes I couldn't see them distinctly, but almost always I could. I was tipping off the Barville batters when they proceeded to fall on Springer and pound him beautifully. They did so because they knew just the kind of a ball he was going to pitch."

"Great Caesar!" muttered Roy, who was again standing. "You did that?

How----"

"Oh, I'm surprised at your dullness," laughed Rackliff. "You heard me coaching. You heard me calling out for the batters to 'get into it,'

'hit it out,' 'drop on it,' 'give it a rise,' and so forth."

"Yes."

"Yes; well, there you are. When I said 'get into it,' it meant that Springer would pitch an in-shoot. 'Hit it out,' meant that he would use an outcurve, and----"

"Holy smoke!" gasped Hooker. "It's a wonder n.o.body got on. Do you suppose Lander----"

"Nit. That big bonehead didn't tumble. He was simply sore because I was a student at Oakdale and seemed to be rooting for Barville. All the same, he stuck to me like a leech, and I had to quit or get into a nasty fight with him. I couldn't afford to have my face beaten up, even to win ten dollars. By Jove! I've simply got to have a whiff."

In silence Hooker watched the s.h.i.+fty, scheming, treacherous city youth turn and search on the drive outside the door, recover the cigarette stub he had tossed away, relight it, and inhale the smoke with a relish that told of a habit fixed beyond breaking. Thus watching and thinking of the fellow's qualmless treachery to his own school team, Roy felt the first sensation of revulsion toward Rackliff.

CHAPTER XIV.

JEALOUSY.

At the close of the game there was another boy on the field who was quite as glum and downcast as Hooker himself. This was Phil Springer, who remained seated on the bench while his team-mates and a portion of the enthusiastic crowd swarmed, cheering, around Grant and lifted him to their shoulders.

Presently he realized that this behavior on his part must attract attention the moment the excitement relaxed, and he got up with the intention of hurrying at once to the gymnasium. Barely had he started, however, when something brought him to a halt, and beneath his breath he muttered:

"That won't do. They'd notice that, too, and sus-say I was jealous."

He was jealous--bitterly so; but he forced himself to join the cheering crowd and to make a half-hearted pretense of rejoicing. All the while he was thinking that Grant owed everything to him, and that perhaps he had been foolish in training a fellow to fill his shoes in such an emergency. For Phil had long entertained the ambition of becoming the first pitcher on the academy nine, and this year he had been fully confident until the present hour that the goal he sought was his beyond dispute.

The victors did not forget to cheer courteously for the vanquished, and Barville returned the compliment with a cheer for Oakdale.

So many persons wished to shake hands with Rodney Grant that he laughingly protested, saying they would put his "wing out of commission." Suddenly perceiving Phil, the Texan pushed aside those between them, sprang forward and placed a hand on Springer's shoulder, crying:

"Here's my mentor. Only for him, I'd never been able to do it. I owe what little I know about pitching to Springer. Let's give him a cheer, fellows."

They did so, but that cheer lacked the spontaneous enthusiasm and genuine admiration which had been thrown into the cheering for Grant, something which Springer did not fail to note.

"Oh, thanks," said Phil, weakly returning the warm grasp of Rod's strong hand. "I didn't do anything--except blow up."