"Ever drive one of the things?"

"No, sir."

"Like to?"

"Yes, sir, I guess so. I think it would be fun to-to have one."

"Why doesn't your father get you one?"

"I don't think he could afford it, and, besides--"

"Yes? Besides?"

"I guess he wouldn't think I was-was old enough to run it."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen, sir."

"Morris is sixteen. Think your father would let you have one if you were a year older and he could afford it?"

Gordon shook his head. "I don't believe so, Mr. Brent."

"I don't, either. Well, help yourself to the field, Merrick. Glad to have met you. Good day."

CHAPTER IV

THE TEAM ELECTS ITS CAPTAIN

There was a full attendance at the organization meeting which a.s.sembled in the Merricks' front parlor that evening. Besides Gordon himself, d.i.c.k Lovering, Fudge Shaw, Harry Bryan, who had won his father's consent, and Tom Haley, all of whom we have met, there was Lansing White, otherwise known as "Lanny," Jack Tappen, Pete Robey, Will Scott, and Curtis Wayland. Curtis and Will were inseparable companions. Damon and Pythias would have been excellent, if hackneyed, nicknames for the pair. d.i.c.k had once remarked in his quiet way, when the two chums had appeared arm in arm on the ball field: "Where there's a Will there's a Way."

Thereafter Curtis was called Way, and d.i.c.k's pun was handed over to an appreciative public in the "Caught-in-the-Corridor" column of _The Purple_, the High School monthly. Way and Will were both of an age, which was sixteen, both of the same height to a fraction of an inch, and, perhaps by reason of having been together ever since they were in kindergarten, were so much alike in general appearance, manners, and speech that they were always mistaken for brothers and not infrequently for twins. Way was a little heavier in build than Will, and had dark brown hair, whereas Will's was light. For the rest they were much the same, with brown eyes, short noses, and round, freckled faces. Good, healthy, jolly, normal boys both.

Pete Robey was fifteen, a lank, dark-eyed fellow, rather diffident and quiet. Jack Tappen was only fourteen, but he was big for his years. He was not at all diffident. In fact, Jack had a pretty good opinion of himself. He was a clever ball player, and, for that matter, did many things about as well as the older fellows with whom he a.s.sociated.

Lansing White, or Lanny, as he was always called, was fifteen. Every one who knew him would have a.s.sured you earnestly that Lansing White was destined for great things. Perhaps they were right. At all events, he had the fine faculty of making friends on the instant and holding them.

There wasn't a kinder-hearted fellow in school, nor one more thoughtful of others. If a ballot had been taken for the most popular student, Lanny would have won, hands-down, over many a fellow far more prominent in school affairs. He caught for the school nine, played a fine game at left halfback on the football team, and regularly won his five points in each of the sprints at the track meetings with Springdale High School.

In appearance he was rather striking by reason of his hair, which was as near the color of ripe flax as hair ever gets, and his eyes which were so dark a brown that they looked black. The contrast between light hair and dark eyes was rather startling. He was always a little too lean, his parents thought, but his leanness was quite healthy and was due, probably, to the fact that he was always in training for something.

The nine members of the Clearfield Ball Club sat around the parlor, occupying every available chair and couch, and discussed the project exhaustively and with enthusiasm. They all agreed that it was the bounden duty of someone to humble the pride of those Rutter's Point chaps, to whom they had long been in the habit of referring as the Silk Stocking Brigade; and they didn't see but what the duty could be performed by them as well as by any others. Jack Tappen thought they could attend to it a little better than any others, and so declared.

That point agreed on, they discussed ways and means. Everyone there except Fudge and Pete Robey had a High School uniform which it would, they decided, be quite permissible to wear. Fudge declared that he would buy a uniform, and Pete was sure he could borrow one. Gordon's announcement that d.i.c.k had been tendered and had accepted the position of manager met with acclaim, and Will and Way, in the same breath, demanded a speech. d.i.c.k declined to address the meeting, contenting himself with reminding the turbulent pair that as manager he had the power to fine them for misconduct. At which Will and Way, pretending to be much alarmed, subsided. It was agreed that every member was to pay his own car-fares when the team journeyed from home, and that the manager's expenses were to be provided for by an a.s.sessment on each of one-ninth of the necessary amount. d.i.c.k claimed the floor, there to state that it would probably not be necessary for the others to provide his expenses, and that in any case he would pay his own way unless the team journeyed a long distance.

The name of the team was decided on-the Clearfield Baseball Club. Harry Bryan was in favor of something with more "snap" to it, something like the Clearfield Pirates or the Clearfield Giants, but he was defeated.

d.i.c.k, who had taken the proceedings in hand, then announced that the election of a captain was in order, and Tom Haley, Fudge, and Jack Tappen nominated Gordon in unison. The others signified approval noisily. Gordon, however, insisted on being heard.

"You fellows don't have to make me captain," he protested, "just because I started the thing going. It wasn't my idea, anyhow; it was Bert Cable's. I'll be captain if you really want me, but I think some of the rest of you would be better, and I nominate Tom."

"Nominate all you like," grunted Tom Haley. "I decline."

"I nominate Lanny," said Will Scott.

"Second the nomination!" piped up Way.

"Much obliged, fellows," said Lanny, "but I'd rather not. Let's make Gordon captain and not be scared out of it. All in favor make a lot of noise!"

There was a lot of noise, a very great deal of noise, and d.i.c.k laughingly declared Gordon elected. "Speech! Speech!" shouted the irrepressible Fudge, beating a tattoo on the hardwood floor with his heels.

"Shut up, Fudge! And stop denting the floor with those hob-nailed shoes of yours. I saw Mr. Brent this morning, and asked him if we could use the field as long as it wasn't wanted for anything else, and he said we could. So I propose that if the Point plays us a return game we play on our own grounds. Now, about practice. You fellows know we've got to get together and have a good lot of real work before we run up against those Point fellows. So I say let's have practice every afternoon next week at four-thirty. Maybe after next week every other day will do, but we don't want to let those silk-sox chaps beat us, and so we've got to practice hard. Will all you fellows agree to come to practice every afternoon?

That doesn't mean Tom, because he's got a lot of work to do, and, besides, we don't need him so much. He will come as often as he can. But the rest of us ought to get out every day."

"That's right," agreed Jack Tappen. "If we're going into this thing, let's go into it with both feet. There's no reason I can see why we shouldn't have as good a baseball team as there is in this part of the state. We all know the game pretty well--"

"Oh, you right-fielder!" exclaimed Fudge.

"--And most of us have played together this Spring. And with Gordon for captain we ought to just everlastingly wipe up the county!"

Loud applause greeted this enthusiastic statement, and Fudge began his tattoo again, but was cautioned by a well-aimed pillow which, narrowly avoiding a vase on a side table, eclipsed his joyous countenance for an instant.

"I guess," said Lanny, "that we can all get out and practice; can't we, fellows? In fact, Gordie, it might be a good plan to have it understood that any fellow not turning up, without a real, genuine excuse, is to pay a fine."

"How much?" demanded Fudge anxiously.

"Half a dollar," suggested Will.

"A quarter," said Jack.

"A quarter's enough, I guess," said d.i.c.k. "How about it? Everyone agree?"

"Who's going to decide whether the excuse is a good one?" inquired Fudge.

"d.i.c.k," said Gordon.

Fudge sighed with relief. "All right. d.i.c.k's a friend of mine."

"Then Wednesday at four-thirty, fellows," said Gordon, "and bring your bats. By the way, there's one thing we've forgotten: We'll have to buy b.a.l.l.s. Suppose we all chip in a half to start with?"

That was agreed to, and the meeting was served with lemonade and cakes and adjourned, everyone departing save d.i.c.k, Lanny, and Fudge. These, with Gordon, went out to the porch and took possession of the front steps. There was a fine big moon riding in the sky, and, since Clearfield was economical and did not illuminate the streets in the residence districts when the moon was on duty, it had no compet.i.tion.

The leafy shadows of the big elm fell across the porch, blue-black, trembling as a tiny breeze moved the branches above. d.i.c.k leaned against a pillar and laid his crutches between his knees, and the others grouped about him. Perhaps the refreshments had worked a somnolent effect on them, or perhaps the great lopsided moon stared them into silence. At all events, nothing was said for a minute or two, even Fudge, usually an extremely chatty youth, having for once no observations to offer. It was Gordon who finally broke the stillness.

"Some moon," he said dreamily.

"Great!" agreed Lanny. "You can see the man in it plainly to-night."

"Supposing," said Fudge thoughtfully, "supposing you were terribly big, miles and miles high, and you had a frightfully huge bat, couldn't you get a d-d-dandy swipe at it!"