Ralph Barbour - The Lucky Seventh

“I’m afraid,” she said, “you’ll find him rather difficult. He isn’t exactly what I’d call a nice-dispositioned boy.”

“Come, mother, don’t discourage Lovering at the start,” laughed Caspar. “We all know that the kid’s horribly spoiled, but then Lovering isn’t going to be a governess to him!”

“I don’t want to discourage him, dear, but I thought it only right he should know that – well, if he isn’t very successful, it won’t be altogether his fault. Mrs. Townsend is a dear woman, but I can’t admire the way she has brought up that boy.”

“His brother has already warned me,” replied Dick, with a smile. “I’m prepared for the worst. So far, Harold has behaved very well. He doesn’t like to study much, but he hasn’t – well, lain down in the shafts yet.”

“He will, though,” laughed Caspar. “And if you don’t keep a tight rein he will bust the shafts! That brother of his is a nice chap, though. By the way, he’s going to play first base for us, Lovering.”

“Who is your pitcher?” asked Dick.

“I – we aren’t quite sure. We expect it will be Mason, but he hasn’t come yet. If he doesn’t show up we’ll have to find some one else. You know Morris Brent, don’t you? He’s on the team, too. Then there’s Pink Northrop and Jim House and Gilbert Chase and Charlie Leary and – let’s see; oh, yes, Billy Houghton. And Mason, if he gets here in time. How many’s that? Never mind. I dare say I’ve forgotten one or two. I guess we’ll average a year or so older than you chaps, but you have been playing together, and I guess that will equalize things. That field over behind the hotel isn’t the best in the world, but it’s not bad in the infield.”

“What position do you play?” asked Dick, when they were back on the veranda.

“Third usually. I’m not particular. I’m not much of a player, but I get a lot of fun out of it. I’ve tried two years running for the team at school and haven’t made it yet.”

“What school do you go to?”

“St. George’s. We turn out some pretty fair ball teams there. I’m going to try again next Spring. It’s my last year, and if I don’t make it then I’m a goner.”

“I suppose you’re going to college, though?”

“No; my father doesn’t want me to. Says he needs me with him in the office. I don’t mind – very much. Of course, I’d like to go; ’most every fellow I know at school is going. Maybe father will change his mind before Spring. What about you, Lovering?”

“College?” Dick shook his head. “I’d like it mighty well, too, but it costs too much. Funny how fellows who can go don’t care about it. There’s Morris Brent. His father’s crazy to have him go to college. He tells Morris he can have his pick of them all. Morris doesn’t want to go a bit; and he won’t, I guess, if he doesn’t brace up.”

“Exams, you mean?”

Dick nodded. “Morris is always in trouble with his studies.”

“His father’s a bit of a Tartar, isn’t he?” asked Caspar. “I’ve only met him once or twice, but he seemed sort of cross-grained.”

“I don’t know. I know he and Morris are always at outs about one thing or another. Just now, I hear, it’s an automobile. Morris wants one, and his father says he can’t have it. Do you know him very well?”

“Not very. We’ve seen each other quite a little for several summers, but we aren’t awfully chummy. I don’t quite – ” Caspar paused, with a puzzled frown. “If he’d forget that his father has a lot of money, he’d get on better with fellows here. I like his sister, though. She’s an awfully nice, jolly kid. And his mother’s mighty nice, too.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. I don’t know them. Well, I must get along. We will be over here in time to begin the game at three on Saturday, Billings. I’ll talk to Gordon about the umpire, but I’m pretty sure the chap you speak of will be satisfactory to us. Thanks for being so kind. Will you say good-bye to your mother and sisters, please?”

“That’s all right,” replied Caspar warmly. “Hope you’ll come around often, Lovering. See you Wednesday, anyway.” He watched Dick’s deft manipulation of his crutches anxiously. Finally: “I say, it’s a long walk to the trolley. Let me take you over, won’t you? We have a sort of a horse and cart here, and it won’t take a minute to hitch up.”

“No, thanks; I like to walk,” replied Dick, with a smile. “Maybe you wouldn’t call it walking, though; perhaps I ought to say that I like to ‘crutch.’”

“Call it what you like,” responded Caspar heartily, “you certainly do it mighty well, Lovering!”

Dick reached the trolley station in ample time for the two-forty-five car back to Clearfield, and on the way his thoughts dwelt largely on Master Harold Townsend. Master Harold was a good deal of a problem. So far, as Dick had told Mrs. Billings, the boy had behaved very decently, but Dick knew quite well that it was principally because he was still in some awe of his tutor. That awe would soon wear off, for there wasn’t enough difference in the ages of the two to allow Dick to keep the upper hand very long. Then, as Dick realized, there’d be trouble. Unfortunately, he could not, he felt, count on the boy’s mother to back him up, for that lady was lamentably weak where her youngest son was concerned. Of course, Dick might keep on drawing his wages all summer and nothing would be said, but he didn’t intend to do that unless he was earning them. And it wasn’t going to be an easy matter to earn them as soon as Harold got over his present diffidence and the slight enthusiasm with which Dick had managed to imbue him. The money meant a good deal to Dick, and he hated to think of losing it, but one thing was certain: As soon as he failed to make progress with Harold he would quit. Perhaps he would find another pupil, he reflected more hopefully, although so far only Mrs. Townsend had replied to his application.

Just then, his gaze wandering along the flying landscape, he caught sight of a small blue runabout automobile trying desperately to keep pace with the trolley car. The road was a good three hundred yards away, and it was not possible to make out with any certainty the identity of the lone figure in the blue car, but Dick was pretty sure that the daring driver was Morris Brent. If so, he had, then, overruled his father in the matter, thought Dick. It wasn’t like Mr. Brent to change his mind, either. In any case, and whoever was driving the runabout, that light vehicle was plunging along the none too smooth road at a pace that brought Dick’s heart into his mouth more than once and attracted the concerned attention of all the occupants of the trolley car. Several times, as it seemed, the runabout narrowly avoided collision with the white fence which ran beside the dirt road, and Dick was heartily relieved when, presently, a team approached from the direction of Clearfield, and the driver of the automobile, recognizing the futility of trying to pass at his present reckless speed, slowed down and was lost to sight from the car.

Dick mentioned the incident to Gordon at practice that afternoon, but Gordon was unable to say whether Morris had bought the automobile he had spoken of. “He said he was going to, though, whether his father wanted him to or not. Said he had some money of his own and that Stacey, the agent on Oak Street, would wait for the rest. If his father finds it out, he will be hopping mad, I’ll bet.”

“It won’t take him long to find it out,” replied Dick dryly. “At least two dozen persons saw him to-day. Someone’s pretty sure to speak of it. The idiot was driving as though he wanted to break his silly neck!”

“That’s the way Morris would drive,” said Gordon. “By the way, there’s a meeting of the Athletic Committee called for next Saturday night in Assembly Hall to consider a new field. Will was telling me. He says he doesn’t see how we’re going to get a field without paying for it, and we haven’t any money to do that.”