The Rushton Boys at Rally Hall Part 31

"A story from Slim," went up the chorus, as all that could crowded around.

But Slim a.s.sumed an air of profoundest gloom.

"Nothing doing," he said, shaking his head with a decision that the twinkle in his eyes belied. "You fellows wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Look at the last one I told you," he went on, with an aggrieved air, "about the fellows that used to catch crabs with their toes as they sat on the end of the dock. Didn't you fellows as much as call me a--er--fabricator? Even when I explained that they had hardened their toes by soaking them in alum, so that they wouldn't feel the bites? Even when I offered to show you one of the crabs that they caught?"

He wagged his head sadly, as one who was deeply pained by the appalling amount of unbelief to be met with in the world.

"Perhaps we did you a great injustice, Slim," said Fred with a mock air of penitence.

"I'm willing to apologize and never do it again," chimed in Melvin.

"And I'll go still further and agree to believe your next story before you tell it," promised Tom.

"Now that sounds more like it," said Slim, throwing off his gloom. "I'm always ready to add to the slight store of knowledge that you lowbrows have in stock, but you must admit that it's rather discouraging to see that cold, hard look in your eyes when I'm doing my best to give you the exact facts."

"We'll admit anything, Ananias," chirped up Billy; "only go ahead with the story."

Slim shot a scathing glance at Billy, but seeing that all were waiting breathlessly, he gave an impressive cough and started in.

"There was a farmer down our way," he began, "who was strictly up to date. He wasn't satisfied to go along like the majority of old mossbacks, year in and year out, doing the same old thing in the same old way as it had been done for a hundred years. He tried all the new wrinkles, subscribed to the leading farm papers, and studied the market reports.

"He was looking over these one night when he saw that there was an unusual demand for beef tongues and that they were bringing the biggest price in the market that they had brought for a good many years past.

This set him thinking.

"You know how fond cattle are of salt. Well, this farmer set aside about a dozen of his cows, to try an experiment with them. He kept them without salt during the day so that they got crazy for it. Then at night he tied them up in stalls, and hung a lump of rock salt by a string just a little out of their reach. They'd stick out their tongues to get at it but couldn't quite make it. At last, by straining hard they'd maybe touch it. Of course, as they stretched, the effort gradually made their tongues grow bigger, and--"

Here, Slim looked around rather dubiously to see if his hearers were preparing to spring upon him, but they seemed as if held in the spell of an awful fascination. So he took courage and went on:

"You know how it is with a blacksmith. The more he exercises his arm the bigger the muscles get. You know that our dear Dr. Rally has often impressed on our youthful minds that the more we use our brains the more brains we'll have to use. Well, that's just the way it was with these cows. Each day the farmer would put the salt a little further ahead of them, and they'd keep stretching more and more, until finally their tongues were three times the ordinary size. I tell you that farmer cleared up a pile of money when he sent his cattle to market that fall, and--"

"I should think," interrupted Fred, in a voice that he tried to keep steady, "that their tongues would get in the way and choke them."

"You would think so," admitted Slim, easily, "but as I said, this farmer was up to date and he had figured that out. He got a lot of rubber tubes and taught the cows to curl their tongues around in those and keep them out of the way. He--"

But just then, the overtaxed patience of his auditors gave way and they rushed in a body on Slim.

"I told you it would be that way," he complained, as he extricated himself from the laughing mob. "It's casting pearls before swine to try to tell you fellows the truth. You wouldn't want the truth, if I handed it to you on a gold platter."

The rest of the pa.s.sengers in the train, other than the Rally Hall boys, looked on and listened with varied emotions. One or two had a sour expression and muttered more or less about "those pesky boys," but by far the greater number were smiling and showed a frank pleasure in the picture of bubbling, joyous youth that they presented. It came as a welcome interlude in the cares of life.

Fred had found a seat alongside a rather elderly man whose face radiated good nature. When the train had gone ten miles or so, the stranger entered into conversation.

"A jolly crowd you have here," he said, beaming. "I take it you're going somewhere special. What's on for to-day?"

"We're going to play a game of ball with the Mount Vernon team, a little way up the line," Fred smiled in return.

"Baseball, eh?" said the other with an evident quickening of interest.

"That's the king of sports with me. I used to play a lot in my time and I've never got over my liking for it. I'd rather see a game than eat."

"It's a dandy sport, all right," a.s.sented Fred, with enthusiasm. "There isn't anything in the world to equal it in my opinion, except perhaps football."

"I don't know much about football," admitted the other. "I see a game once in a while, but it always seems to me rather confusing. That's because I don't know the rules, I guess. But I know baseball from start to finish and from the time the umpire says 'Play ball!' until the last man's out in the ninth inning, I don't take my eyes off the diamond."

"I suppose you have some great memories of the old days," remarked Fred.

"You're just right," said the stranger with emphasis. "I guess I've seen almost all the great players who made the game at one time or another.

There were the old Red Stockings of Cincinnati, the Mutuals of New York, the Haymakers of Troy, the Forest Cities of Rockford, that we boys used to read and talk about all the time. We had our special heroes, too, just as you have to-day.

"Of course," he went on, "the game has improved a great deal, like everything else. The pitching is better now. My, how those old timers used to bat the pitchers all over the lot! You don't see any scores of two hundred runs in a game these days."

"Two hundred runs!" exclaimed Fred. "You don't mean to say that any team ever made as many as that?"

"Not often, I'll admit," smiled the other. "Still, the Niagaras of Buffalo won a game once by 201 to 11."

"Whew!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom, who had been sitting on the arm of the seat, listening to the talk. "There must have been some tired outfielders when that game was over."

"I'd have hated to be the scorer," laughed Fred.

"Of course that was unusual," said the other, "but big scores were a common thing. The first game between college teams was won by 66 to 32.

"There was a time," he continued, "when a man could make two or three home runs on a single hit. The diamonds were only vacant lots as a rule and the ball would get lost in the high gra.s.s. Then the runner, after reaching the plate, could start round the bases again and keep on running until the ball was found or until he was too tired out to run any longer. Of course that was in the very early days of the game. We used to put a man out then by throwing the ball at him and hitting him with it."

"I'd hate to have one of them catch me between the shoulders nowadays!"

exclaimed Tom.

"The ball was soft then and didn't hurt much," explained the other. "Oh, the game is better now in every way. We didn't know anything about 'inside stuff' as you call it, 'the squeeze play,' 'the delayed steal'

and all that."

"I'll bet you got just as much fun out of it though as we do now," said Fred.

"I suppose we did," a.s.sented the other. "You can trust boys to get fun out of anything. But in those days it was mainly sport. Now it's sport and skill combined."

The lads were to get off at the next station, and there was a general stir as they got their things together.

"I'm very glad I met you," said Fred, as he shook hands with his chance acquaintance. "I've learned a lot about the game that I didn't know before."

"It does me good to brush up against you young fellows," the man replied warmly, returning the handshake. "I hope you wax the other team this afternoon. I'll be rooting for you to win."

"We'll do our best," promised Fred. "Thanks for the good wishes. It would be jolly if you could stop off and see the game."

"I'd like nothing better, but business won't let me. Good-bye and good luck."

"Who's your friend that you were talking to so long?" asked Ned, as the crowd got off the train.

"I never saw him before," answered Fred. "But he's a good old scout, whoever he is. He sure is fond of baseball and he knows the game. I'd like to have him in the stands this afternoon. I'll bet he'd be a mascot for us."

The nine was in fine fettle, and felt that they would have no excuses to offer if they failed to win.