Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 27

"Sleuthy's right," said Chipper Cooper, swiftly stowing away a handful of the peanuts which he had skillfully removed from Piper's coat pocket while the latter was speaking; "there are villyuns among us. Anyhow, there's liable to be one in a minute, unless we move." Apparently this concluding remark was caused by the appearance of Rackliff, who came strolling into the light of the window and paused.

Herbert looked them over. "Several prominent members of the great Oakdale baseball team, I observe," he said. "Been talking of the coming game, I presume."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Several prominent members of the great Oakdale baseball team, I observe," said Rackliff.]

"You're presuming, as usual," returned Cooper.

"That remark is very stale; I think I've heard you use it before. Your efforts at wit are painful. I suppose you're pretty confident, after beating both Barville and Clearport? Now I'm confident myself; I have confidence----"

"You look like a confidence man," interrupted Chipper.

"I have confidence," pursued Herbert, trying to ignore the little chap, "that Wyndham will win; and I'm ready to back my conviction with real money."

"Dinged if I didn't think yeou'd got abaout enough of it bating against Oakdale!" exclaimed Crane.

"Wonder where he gets so much money?" said Fred Sage.

"He's bluffing," was the opinion of Jack Nelson. "He's dead broke, but he wants to make believe that he's a dead game sport, and so----"

"If you think I'm dead broke," said Herbert, "and you can raise five or ten bones to wager on Oakdale, just produce the currency and watch me cover it. I have about twenty-five dollars I'd like to put up on Wyndham."

"Twenty-five dollars!" spluttered Tuttle. "That's some wealth for one fellow to be packing around."

"Go on," advised Crane, waving his long arm at Herbert; "don't bother us. We're tired takin' your spondulicks away from ye; it's too easy."

"You're quitters," declared Herbert with a cutting sneer. "There isn't one of you who has a real drop of sporting blood in his veins, that's what's the matter. You've won my money, and now, being pikers and quitters, you don't propose to give me a chance to win it back. You know Wyndham's going to put it all over you Sat.u.r.day, and you're shivering in your shoes. I don't blame you for being frightened, as you haven't one chance in a hundred to take that game. It wouldn't surprise me if you were beaten about twenty or thirty to nothing; I sincerely hope it won't be worse than that."

Crane rose to his feet in the midst of this speech, which was far more provoking and insulting than cold type can convey.

"Looker here, yeou," cried Sile; "I've got some money I won batin' with you, and, by thut-ter! you'll find I ain't afraid to give ye all the chance you want on that Wyndham game. If you've really got twenty-five dollars, mebbe we can raise a pool, same as we done before, and cover the whole of it. I'll put in my share anyhaow. Who's the next feller?"

"I am!"

"Count me in!"

"I'm another!"

"Same here!"

"Me, too!"

It seemed that they were all eager to contribute to the pool, and Herbert, smiling with self-complaisant satisfaction, felt that he had cleverly accomplished his purpose.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE WYNDHAM PITCHER.

Shortly before nine o'clock on Sat.u.r.day morning a touring car, containing three youths, not one of whom was over eighteen years of age, whirled up before the door of Mrs. Conway's boarding house in Oakdale and stopped.

The occupants of the car did not belong in Oakdale; they came from Wyndham, and the machine was the property of the father of the oldest one, who was at the wheel. This was Orville Foxhall, second baseman of the Wyndham nine. At Foxhall's side sat a husky, raw-boned, long-armed chap, Dade Newbert, the pitcher on which Wyndham placed great dependence. The chap in the tonneau was Joe Snead, too fat and indolent to take part in any game of an athletic nature.

"This is the house, Dade," said Foxhall; "this is where your friend boards, all right."

"Humph!" grinned Newbert. "It doesn't look swell enough to suit Herb's style. He's the real warm article, as you'll realize when you see him.

When it comes to cutting a dash--well, Rack can cut it, you bet. I'll see if he's around."

Springing out, Newbert strode to the door and rang. After a time, as he was growing impatient and had prepared to ring again, the door opened a foot or so, and a tall, thin, hopeless-looking woman surveyed him inquiringly.

Newbert asked for Rackliff.

"Yes, he boards here," answered the woman in a mechanical tone of voice; "but he isn't up yet."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Newbert. "Isn't up? Well, that's like him; won't pull himself away from the mattress until he has to. He's a luxurious brat."

"I'm afraid Mr. Rackliff may not be feeling very well this morning,"

said the woman. "He has a very bad cold and coughs terribly. I told him last night that he should consult a doctor, and I heard him coughing the greater part of the night."

"Well, well! Sorry to hear it. I'm an old friend of his, and I've come over by appointment to take him back to Wyndham with me. You tell him that----"

A harsh cough came echoing down the stairs and a voice called:

"That you, Dade? Come right up. It's all right, Mrs. Conway; let him come, please."

Herbert, in silk pajamas, was standing at the head of the stairs, looking ill indeed. He put out a limp hand, which Newbert grasped, crying:

"By Jove! you are sick. Now, that's tough."

"Come into my room," invited Herbert, leading the way. "It's a pretty b.u.m joint, but it's the best in the house--the best I could find in this wretched hole of a town. I'm mighty glad to see you, old pal, though I may not appear to be. Oh, blazes! but I have got a headache!"

"What have you been doing?" asked the visitor, as Herbert keeled over, with a groan, on the bed. "Been hitting the pace? Been attending too many hot suppers? Oh, but you're sure to sport wherever you go!"

"Hitting the pace around this graveyard!" mumbled Herbert dismally.

"What are you talking about, old fel? Why, everybody dies here nights at nine o'clock; there's not a thing doing after that. It's the most forsaken, dismal place imaginable after that hour. I'm dying of dry rot, that's what's the matter." He finished with a cough that seemed to wrack him from head to feet.

"You're sick," said Newbert, with a show of sympathy. "You've got a cold, and it has settled on your lungs. You're none too strong, Herb, and you'd better look out. I guess you won't be able to take in the game to-day."

"Yes, I will!" cried Rackliff suddenly. "I wouldn't miss it for a fortune. Oh, I've got money bet on that game, Dade."

"Well, Orv Foxhall is outside with old man Foxhall's bubble. Great car, that. And you should see Orv drive her. Oh, he does cut it out some! He had 'em staring when he ripped up through the center of this old town. We nearly ran a team down back on the road; was going better than fifty when we came round a curve and grazed the old jay's wheel-hubs. I'll bet that Reuben's hair stood on its hind legs. Ho!

ho! ho!"

Herbert sat up. "It won't take me long to dress," he said. "I'll go back to Wyndham with you."

"You haven't had any breakfast."