The Lucky Seventh Part 3

"You wa-wait and see! If I co-co-couldn't catch a b-b-ball better th-th-than you--"

"Calm yourself, Fudge! You're off your trolley again! I'll be around to-morrow night, Gordon. Now I'll have to get busy. Watch Fudge as he goes out, will you? Last time he was in he got away with three or four pounds of prunes."

"I took three of the old th-th-th-things," said Fudge bitterly, "and they n-n-nearly killed me!"

They left Harry surrounded by baskets, frowning over the order slips in his hand, and made their way back to the sidewalk and their wheels. As it was almost noon, Gordon decided not to risk his father's displeasure by seeing any more of the fellows before dinner, and he and Fudge pedaled home, Fudge still sputtering about those prunes.

At a little after four that afternoon Gordon was back at d.i.c.k's to report success. All the members of the Clearfield Ball Club had agreed to play and to attend the organization meeting the next evening-all, that is, save Harry Bryan, who was to telephone later.

"Now, d.i.c.k.u.ms, if you'll write to Billings and tell him--"

"If _I'll_ write!"

Gordon laughed. "Of course; you're the manager, aren't you?"

"Humph! So I have to attend to the correspondence too, do I? It seems to me that you ought to write that letter. Bert sent it to you, and you're captain, and--"

"Well, that's what I thought," responded Gordon cheerfully, "until I got to thinking it over. Then I remembered that you were manager, and, of course, managers always attend to arranging contests; and there you are.

Just tell him we'll play his team on Wednesday the sixteenth, d.i.c.k.u.ms, at the Point."

"All right. I might call on him and tell him about it, though, for I'm going over to the Point in the morning."

"You are? What for?"

"To get a job, I hope. You know I got them to put up a notice in the hotel over there for me: 'tutoring in French, Mathematics, and English; references; terms on request.' This afternoon a Mrs. Townsend called me up by telephone, and she wants me to come over in the morning and see about coaching her son. He's going to Rifle Point School in the Fall and is weak on English and Math. He's thirteen, she says. She seemed to think the price was all right, but she wants me to have a look at the youngster first. Sounded as though she was afraid I wouldn't like him.

I'd coach a Bengal tiger if I got paid for it. I need the money, Gordie."

"That's fine! Then why not see Billings instead of writing to him? You could arrange the whole thing in five minutes. Do you know where he lives?"

"No, but they can tell me at the hotel, I guess. By the way, why do you want to play over there? Why not have them come over here?"

"Because I saw Mr. Grayson awhile ago and asked him if it would be all right if we used the school field, and he said it would as far as he was concerned, but that he'd just got notice from Mr. Brent that they are going to cut the field up pretty soon for building lots. I suppose we could use it until they begin to build on it, but I haven't seen Mr.

Brent yet, and I thought it would be safer to say we'd play them at the Point. They'll probably want another game, and then, if it's all right about the field, we could play them here."

"But that will leave us without an athletic field!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, in dismay. "I thought we had a lease or something on it."

"Mr. Grayson says not. Says Mr. Brent just agreed to let us use it as long as it wasn't needed for anything else. Now he wants it put in the market for house lots. Rather tough, isn't it? I guess we can find another field somewhere, though."

"Not in town," said d.i.c.k. "We'll probably have to go across the river somewhere. There are plenty of fields over there, but they're as rough as the d.i.c.kens. What did Mr. Grayson say about that?"

"Nothing much. He seemed to think it was up to the Athletic Committee."

"Perhaps it is, but he's princ.i.p.al, and--"

"Shucks, he wouldn't care a lot if we didn't have a field, I guess!"

"I don't think that, Gordie. Grayson's not very keen about our athletics, I know, but he's been pretty decent, just the same. We'll have to get busy right away and find a new place. The football fellows will want to start practice in something like two months. Does Way know about it?"

"I don't know. I saw Grayson after I left Way. I don't believe he does, for he didn't say anything. He will have to get the committee together and have a meeting, I guess. Who's on it now?"

"Aren't you?"

"No, not this year. There's Way, and Harry, and Bert--"

"Well, Bert can't come. I think Will Scott is on it, isn't he?"

"Maybe; he probably is if Way belongs. Well, it's up to Way. I thought I'd ask Mr. Brent if we could keep on using the field for a while; or have Morris ask him. I dare say he'd be more likely to say yes if Morris asks him. Come to think of it, d.i.c.k.u.ms, as you're manager--"

"No, you don't! I wouldn't beard old man Brent in his den for a hundred dollars! If I've got to do that, I'll resign!"

"All right, then, I'll do it!" laughed Gordon. "Or I'll see Morris about it. I don't see why he needs to cut up that field, though. Seems to me there are enough houses in this town already."

"Wants the money, probably. Bet you Jonathan Brent would cut up the Garden of Eden for house lots if he had it!"

"You don't seem to care a whole lot for Mr. Brent, d.i.c.k.u.ms."

"I don't," responded d.i.c.k emphatically. "We wouldn't be like we are now-as poor as church mice-if father hadn't got mixed up with Mr.

Brent in one of his real-estate schemes. I'm not saying that Mr. Brent was dishonest, Gordie, but he was too sharp for dad, and dad got let in for a pile of money."

"I didn't know that," said Gordon. "You never told me, did you?"

"No. It was a long time ago, when I was just a kid. Dad moved here from Norwalk when I was three years old. He had quite a little money-thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars it was-and Mr. Brent got him to invest it in that South-west Division, as they called it. They got hold of a pile of land down the river toward the Point. You know; where the picnic grove is. They were going to sell it for factory sites and there was a railway coming through to connect with the Sh.o.r.e Line, and everything was fine-on paper. But the bottom fell out of the scheme; the factories didn't come, and the railroad decided not to build; and the mortgages were foreclosed; and after it was all over Mr.

Brent had the whole thing and dad had nothing! And it was all legal and above-board, too! And that's why I've never had much use for Jonathan Brent; nor Morris, either, although Morris has never done anything to me."

"You and he seem to be pretty good friends," said Gordon.

"I know. He-- Well, he seems to like me pretty well, and you can't be anything but decent to a fellow in that case, can you? I suppose if Jonathan Brent wasn't his father I'd like him well enough. Well, I'll stop in and see this Billings chap to-morrow. It's less trouble than writing a letter, I guess. Wednesday the sixteenth, on their own grounds, at-what time?"

"Three o'clock, I suppose," answered Gordon. "That will give us plenty of time to get over on the two-o'clock car and warm up a bit before the game. You might tell him about our field, and say that if they want a return game we'll play it over here if we can get the use of the field.

By the way, that grandstand at the field belongs to the school. We'll have to move that if we get out. I wish Mr. Brent would be satisfied with all the money he's got and not go and take our field away from us."

"So do I. What we want to do, though, is to watch out and be sure he doesn't swipe the grandstand too!"

"Well, you _are_ rabid!" laughed Gordon. "Still, I don't know that I blame you. I never knew that about your father, d.i.c.k.u.ms."

"Well, don't repeat it, please. It's all done with now, and there's no use talking about it. I don't-very often. Only sometimes-- Well, I get sort of hot under the collar when I think of all the money Jonathan Brent has and how awfully hard we have to scrabble to get along.

Good-bye, Mr. Captain."

"Good-bye, Mr. Manager. I'm not captain, though."

"You will be," laughed d.i.c.k. "You always are, you know!"

CHAPTER III

A RICH MAN'S SON