Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball Part 11

Bennett has brains. We know this is so, because he himself admits it.

Well, well, who would have suspected it?"

This sally was greeted with laughter, but, seeing that Bennett was becoming a little angry, Bert changed the subject, and they were soon deep in details of the forthcoming trip. d.i.c.k was delegated to buy the tickets, and when all had paid in their money it was seen that twenty-four were going.

"That will just be a good crowd," said Bert. "We'll leave here on the 9:21 train, and that will take us to W---- at a little after ten. We can look over the factory in the morning, and tell Mr. Bennett how to run it,"--with a mischievous glance at Bennett, "and in the afternoon, gentlemen, I will make my world renowned attempt to pitch a baseball against time. Do you think that will suit your father, John?"

"Sure, that will be all right," answered Bennett, and so the matter was settled.

The following Sat.u.r.day turned out to be ideal, and everybody was in high spirits when they gathered at the station. They had to wait ten or fifteen minutes for the train, which had been delayed, but they found plenty to do in the meantime. They sang, played leap frog, and in a dozen other ways gave vent to their high spirits. Some of the pa.s.sengers envied their light hearts, and remembered the days when they, too, had been full of life and fun, and the world had just been a place to be merry in.

The waiting pa.s.sed like a flash, and before they knew it the train came into sight around a curve. When it drew up they all made a rush to get on, and before the train was finally started again had almost driven the conductor frantic.

"Byes will be byes, though," he grinned to himself, later on, "and be the same token, Oi don't begrudge the youngsters any of their fun, even if it did hold the thrain back a full three minutes. Have a good time while yer living, says Oi, for yez'll be a long time dead."

The train fairly flew along, as the engineer was making up for lost time, and it was not long before the conductor sang out, "W----!" and they had arrived. They all tumbled off, and Tom, to save time, went through the car window.

"Be gorry, yez are a wild bunch of youngsters," said the old conductor to Bert. "But Oi remember when Oi was a lad Oi was the same way, so Oi fergives yez the delays and worriments yez have caused me this day. Have a good toime, and luck be wid yez."

"Thanks," laughed Bert; "won't you come along?"

"Thank ye kindly, but Oi guess Oi'll have to deny meself the pleasure, me bye," grinned the conductor, and the train drew out of the station.

"Gee," said Tom, as he gazed around, "I don't think we'll have much trouble locating the factory, Bennett. It seems to be a rather conspicuous part of the landscape."

It was, indeed. The whole town was founded on the factory industry, and practically every able-bodied man in the place worked there. The factory was an immense six-story affair, with acres and acres of floor s.p.a.ce. All around it were streets lined with comfortable-looking cottages, in which the workmen lived. Everything had a prosperous and neat appearance, and the boys were agreeably surprised. Most of them had expected to see a grimy manufacturing town, and were quite unprepared for the clean community they saw spread out before them.

Bennett headed them straight toward the factory, but as they went along pointed out features of the town.

"You see," he explained, "the whole town is practically part of the factory. When that was established a few houses were built around it, and as the factory grew, the town grew along with it, until now it is what you see it. We have one of the biggest gun manufacturing plants in the world here," he added, proudly.

"It certainly is some cla.s.s, John," admitted Bert; "it's bigger and cleaner than I ever expected it would be."

Soon they had reached the factory itself, and Bennett ushered them into the office. There they were presented to a gray-haired man whom John proudly introduced as his father, and they were made perfectly at home.

After a little talk, Mr. Bennett pressed a b.u.t.ton, and a capable looking man appeared.

"Sawkins," said Mr. Bennett, "here are the young men for whom we've been turning the factory upside down the last few days. Just show them around, will you, and explain things to them a little."

"Certainly," acquiesced Sawkins, who was the foreman. "Step right this way, gentlemen."

The following two hours were probably among the most interesting any of the boys had ever known. The foreman started at the beginning, showing them the glowing molten metal in immense cauldrons. He was a man of considerable education, and great mechanical ability. He explained every process in words as free as possible of technicalities, and the young fellows felt that they understood everything that he undertook to explain. He showed them how the metal was cast, how the guns were bored out, the delicate rifling cut in, and a thousand other details. His listeners paid close attention to everything he said, and seeing this, he took extra pains to make everything clear to them. As he said to Mr.

Bennett afterward, "It was a pleasure to talk to a bunch of men that understood what was told them."

Finally they came to the testing room, and this proved, if possible, even more interesting than what had gone before. The foreman showed them the various ranges, and some of the penetrating feats of which the rifles were capable. It was almost unbelievable.

"See this little toy?" he said, picking out a beautifully made gun from a rack on the wall. "The projectile discharged from this arm will penetrate over forty-five planks, each one seven-eighths of an inch thick. And then, look at this,"--holding up an ax-head with three clean holes bored through it--"here's what it can do to tempered steel. I don't think it would be very healthy to stand in its way."

"No, I guess it wouldn't," said d.i.c.k. "I'd prefer to be somewhere else when one of those bullets was wandering around loose."

Mr. Sawkins then showed them some photographs of bullets taken while in flight. At first sight this seems an impossibility, but nevertheless it is an accomplished fact. The method used is much the same as John Bennett has described in the early part of this chapter. As the bullet leaves the gun it cuts a wire, which in turn snaps the shutter of a very high-speed camera. The lenses on a camera of this kind are very expensive, a single lens sometimes costing five hundred dollars.

Then the foreman showed them the apparatus that they had rigged up to test the speed of Bert's pitching. After examining the ingenious arrangement the boys were lavish in their praise. Mr. Sawkins made light of this, but it was easy to see that he was pleased.

"Oh, it's nothing much," he said. "I just fooled around a little bit, and soon had this planned out. It was easy for me, because when I was a little younger I used to do a little myself in the pitching line on our local team, so I knew about what would be required."

While they were discussing this, Mr. Bennett strolled in, and asked the enthusiastic group what they thought of what they had seen so far.

"Gee," said Tom, impulsively, "it certainly is the greatest ever, Mr.

Bennett. I never had any idea there was such an awful lot to know about gun-making. On thinking it over," he added, laughing, "I don't think of a single way that we could improve matters; do you, fellows?"

"You are more modest than my son, then," said Mr. Bennett, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. "Every time John comes here he has a lot of ideas that he is sure will better anything we have here at present. However, I have just been in this line for the last thirty years or so, and so, of course, have lots to learn."

"Aw, cut it out, Dad," grumbled the younger Bennett. "As far as I can find out, you've never tried any of the things I've proposed, and so how do you know how good or bad they are?"

"Well, the only objection to your plans was that they would generally have meant building a new factory to carry them out. Otherwise I have no fault to find with them," returned Mr. Bennett.

After a little further talk, Mr. Bennett insisted that the boys come home to his house for luncheon. Needless to say, they had no very strong objections to this, and were easily persuaded.

The proprietor's home was a large, comfortable mansion, and the good cheer offered within carried out the impression received without. There was an abundance of good fare, and the young fellows rose from the table at last with a satisfied air.

Mr. Bennett had quite a long talk with Bert during the progress of the meal, and seemed very much interested in him. It turned out that Mr.

Bennett was quite a baseball enthusiast himself, so he entered heartily into Bert's enthusiasm over the game.

"I used to be quite some player myself when I was your age," he told Bert, "only I used to play a different position. I usually played catcher, and was on my team at H----. In those days we never bothered with catcher's mitts, however, and we catchers worked with bare hands.

Once I was catching in this manner, and a ball caught my thumb and half tore it off. I was so excited at the time, though, that I never noticed it, until one of my teammates noticed blood on the ball and called my attention to it. After that, when my thumb healed, you may be sure I caught with a glove. You can see the scar still," and he showed the boys the scar of what had evidently been a nasty wound.

"Well, boys," he said, at the conclusion of this narrative, "what do you say if we go on back to the factory and make that test of young Wilson's speed. I am very much interested, I a.s.sure you."

Of course there were no objections raised to this, and after a pleasant walk they arrived again at the factory. They proceeded directly to the testing room, and Bert shed his coat and vest.

"Come ahead, d.i.c.k; you catch for me until I warm up, will you?" he said, and d.i.c.k ran to the requisite distance and donned a catcher's mitt that he had brought along for the purpose. Bert pitched him a few easy b.a.l.l.s, and then began to work up a little speed. As he shot them to d.i.c.k with ever-increasing pace, Mr. Bennett's face lighted up with interest, and finally he said, "Say, just let me try catching a few, will you, Trent?

It's a long time since I've had a catcher's mitt on, but I'd like to take a try at it just for the fun of the thing."

"Certainly," responded d.i.c.k, promptly, and handed his glove to Mr.

Bennett. The latter donned it quickly, and punched it a few resounding blows to "put a hole in it." "All right, my boy," he said, when the glove was prepared to his satisfaction. "Shoot 'em over, and don't be afraid to put some speed into 'em. You can't send them too fast to suit me."

Bert sent over a few easy ones at first, just to see how Mr. Bennett would handle them. The latter caught the offerings in a practised manner, and said, "Come on, young man, put some whiskers on the ball.

That wasn't the best you could do, was it?"

Bert made no answer to this, but on his next pitch his arm swung around like a flail, and the ball left his hand as though propelled by a catapult. The factory owner managed to catch the ball, but he wrung his hand. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, "that ball stung my hand pretty hard right through the glove."

Young Bennett laughed in unholy glee, and danced about first on one foot and then on the other. "That's one on you, dad," he crowed; "but you ought to feel lucky that you even caught the ball. If Bert wanted to, he could pitch a ball that you couldn't even touch. Give him a fadeaway, Bert."

"Fadeaway, you say," grunted his father. "There never was a pitcher yet that could pitch a ball that I couldn't even touch. Give me a sample of this wonderful ball, Wilson."

"All right, sir," said Bert, and grinned. He wound up in the old familiar way that the boys knew so well, and shot over a ball that Mr.

Bennett figured was a "cinch." He held his glove in what he thought was the proper place, but at the last moment the ball dropped abruptly and swung under the glove, missing it by several inches.

"Well, I'll be hanged," muttered Mr. Bennett, gazing stupidly at his glove. He soon recovered himself, however, and handed the glove back to d.i.c.k. "You've certainly got a wonderful ball there, Wilson," he said.