The Lucky Seventh Part 38

"Say, what time do you think it is?" he demanded laughingly.

"It's time you were through breakfast, anyway," responded d.i.c.k. "Get a hustle on. _Eli_ hates to stand." (d.i.c.k had named the car _Eli Yale_ because of its color, but generally referred to it as _Eli_.)

"I'll bring a lump of sugar for him," said Gordon. "Keep a tight rein on him, d.i.c.k, and I'll be with you in five minutes. Maybe he will stand long enough for you to come in and have a cup of coffee."

"I wouldn't dare risk it," replied d.i.c.k gravely. "Besides, I never take coffee in the middle of the forenoon."

"Middle of the forenoon!" grunted the other. "It isn't half-past eight yet! Since you got that car, you never go to bed at all, I guess!"

Gordon vanished with that, and d.i.c.k leaned comfortably back in the runabout to wait. But an instant later a speck of tarnish on the dash clock-a gift from Louise Brent-caught his eye, and he whisked a piece of cheesecloth from a pocket on the inside of the door and attacked it indignantly. Before he had conquered it, returned the cloth and b.u.t.toned the flap again, Gordon appeared once more, capped and ready for the ride.

"All set?"

d.i.c.k looked carefully at levers and switch. "All set," he said.

Gordon turned the handle half over, and _Eli_ broke into a frantic chugging that could be heard six blocks away. d.i.c.k pushed back the throttle and pulled down the spark, however, and _Eli_ moderated his transports. Gordon, who had clapped his hands to his ears, grinned as he climbed in beside d.i.c.k and slammed the door. "Gee," he said, "but he's some noisy!"

"Not at all," denied d.i.c.k indignantly. "He naturally chortles a little at times."

"Oh, was he chortling? I thought he was champing his bit. h.e.l.lo, see who's here!" added Gordon, as the car swayed across B Street. A l.u.s.ty shouting was heard, and Fudge came racing along the sidewalk. d.i.c.k stopped.

"W-w-where you going?" panted Fudge. "Take me, too, d.i.c.k. You haven't given me a ride yet!"

"All right," laughed d.i.c.k. "Open the door and sit on the edge there, Fudge. But don't drag your big feet and stop the car."

"Go get your cap," advised Gordon.

"Don't need a cap. Where are you going?"

"Oh, just for a ride," replied d.i.c.k, throwing in his clutch again after a calculating survey of the empty street.

"The Springdale road's pretty good," suggested Gordon, with a wink at Fudge.

"I thought I'd run out toward the Point," said d.i.c.k carelessly. "You don't meet many teams that way."

"By the way," asked Gordon, "when do they move in?"

"Who?" d.i.c.k inquired.

"The Brents, of course." Fudge giggled.

d.i.c.k laughed. "Who said anything about the Brents, you idiot?"

"No one; only you spoke of going to the Point. You can drop Fudge and me at the hotel. We don't want to be in the way."

"Oh, you run along and play!" said d.i.c.k good-naturedly. "If you really want to know when they're coming back to town, I'll tell you. They're going to move in next Wednesday. Morris says it's too hard to get to school on time. And since football practice has begun--" d.i.c.k broke off to negotiate a corner.

"Morris is crazy to think he can play this Fall," said Fudge. "He will bust his leg again. You'll see."

"He's going to try, anyway," said Gordon. "They're going to mark out the gridiron this morning, d.i.c.k."

"That so? Oh, by the way, I heard from Harold. I've got his letter here somewhere. Steady the wheel a minute, Gordie, will you?" d.i.c.k drew forth an envelope from his pocket and handed it across. "Read it aloud."

"'Dear d.i.c.k,'" read Gordon, "'I pa.s.sed all right. Only I have got to do some extra Math this term. I was sort of rotten on Math. Old Penny (he's the princ.i.p.al) says I did better than lots of fellows who come here. Loring said I was to thank you, and I do awfully, d.i.c.k. You were fine and dandy to me, and I am sorry I was such a rotter at first. And I am very sorry about the Math. It wasn't your fault, d.i.c.k. Please remember me to the fellows, and tell them I am coming back next year. I am going out for the junior baseball team next week and maybe next summer I can play for you, d.i.c.k, if you want me. Loring says remember him to you, and so no more at present from your firm friend, Harold.'"

"'Firm friend' is pretty good," commented Gordon, as he folded the letter up and returned it to its envelope. "But I'm glad the kid pa.s.sed, if only on your account, d.i.c.k."

"Yes; if he had failed, I'd have felt sort of mean about taking the money. Speaking of money, fellows," he continued, as the runabout slid across the trolley tracks and headed toward Rutter's Point, "Mr. Potter sent me the statement this morning. I didn't bring it, though."

"How did we come out?" asked Gordon. "About the way we figured?"

"Nearly forty dollars better. There were six hundred and thirty-three paid admissions to the game, amounting to four hundred and three dollars. The total expenses were, I think, sixty-one dollars; or maybe they were sixty-three. Anyway, the net profits amount to three hundred and forty-two dollars. That includes four dollars and something made on the pennants sold."

"Peanuts?" exclaimed Fudge. "I didn't know we--"

"Pennants, stupid!" corrected Gordon. "Well, that's doing pretty well, d.i.c.k. Then, after paying for the car, we have money left?"

"Over fifty dollars," was the reply. "What shall we do with it?"

"G-g-give it to me," suggested Fudge.

"I think you ought to have it for gasoline and tires," laughed Gordon.

"This thing will keep you poor, I'm afraid, d.i.c.k."

"No, sir," replied the owner of the car seriously. "I'm studying up on autos, and I'm going to make my own repairs. And I've sent for a vulcanizing outfit that only costs three dollars and a half. When I get that I can fix my own tires. As for gasoline, why, _Eli_ only drinks a gallon every twenty miles! And I don't run that far in three days! I think it would be a good plan to hand over what we have left to the Athletic Committee, Gordie. They'll need a lot of money now that we own the field. We'll have to pay the taxes and for water and other things."

"That's right. As far as I'm concerned--"

"Remember this place?" interrupted d.i.c.k.

Gordon nodded. "Yes; that's where Morris steered the car into the fence and me into the bushes."

"It's where you became a blooming hero," said Fudge.

"Hero, nothing! What I did didn't amount to a row of pins!"

"Well, it amounted to the gift of an athletic field to the school," said d.i.c.k, with a smile. "That's something, you know!"

"And it amounted to something else, t-t-too," added Fudge. "It made Morris a respectable member of s-s-s-society!"

"What beautiful expressions you do use, Fudge!" laughed Gordon.

"Fudge is right, though," agreed d.i.c.k, when he had carefully steered the car around a wagon. "Morris is a heap more-more likable than he was last year. Whether it was the accident--"

"It jarred some of the nonsense out of him, perhaps," said Gordon.

"Although, for that matter, d.i.c.k, maybe you like him better for other reasons."

"Humph!" said d.i.c.k, with a suspicious sidelong glance. Fudge chuckled.