Bobby Blake on the School Nine: or, The Champions of the Monatook Lake League

But an incident occurred on the Monday following the game with Somerset that gave a new slant to their thoughts, and for a few hours drove even thoughts of the pennant from the minds of Bobby and his friends.

Shiner had been invited to go for an automobile ride by a friend of his family, who was staying for a few days at Rockledge. He came rushing into the dormitory with his eyes bulging.

“Say, fellows!” he gasped, “if you want to catch those tramps of yours, come along with me.”

“What do you mean?” his chums asked in chorus, as they made a wild grab for their hats.

“I’ve seen them,” panted Shiner. “But come along and I’ll tell you. Hustle!”

The boys rushed downstairs to find an automobile waiting. Beside Mr. Wharton, the owner, they recognized the constable.

“Tumble in,” said Mr. Wharton, smiling, and a half dozen boys swarmed into the automobile.

“You see,” explained Shiner, “we passed three tramps about two miles from here, and I saw that two of them were the ones we saw the day we were swimming. I told Mr. Wharton and we put on speed, picked up the constable and hurried up for you, so that you could go along and identify them.”

Mr. Wharton had started the car the moment the boys were inside, and it was skimming along like a bird. It went so fast that the boys had to hold on to their caps, and although they were all chattering with might and main, the wind made it almost impossible for one to hear what the others were saying.

In a very few minutes they saw three figures on the lonely country road ahead. The one in the center had a limp that was familiar.

The tramps heard the coming car, and at first stood aside to let it pass. But as it slowed up on approaching them, they took alarm, climbed over a fence and started across the fields toward a piece of woodland a little way off.

Their pursuers leaped from the car and gave chase. The lithe limbs of the boys gave them an advantage over their heavier companions, and they were soon on the heels of the tramps, who turned snarling and faced them.

“Keep off or I’ll club the life out of you,” shouted one, whom they recognized as the man with the scar.

“No you won’t,” cried Bobby, defiantly.

“We want the things you stole from us,” sang out Fred.

“Jail for yours!” Mouser shouted.

They circled round the men, thus holding them in check, and in another moment Mr. Wharton and the constable had come up and each grabbed one of the men by the collar. At the sight of the constable’s star, the other quickly wilted.

The officer slipped handcuffs on them all and pushed them into the ear, while the boys crowded in as best they could, two of them standing on the running-board. In triumph, they went back to town and the men were placed in jail.

First they were searched, and, greatly to the boys’ delight, pawn tickets were found that accounted for all the articles that had been stolen from them. The money of course was gone, but the boys cared little for that, as long as they were sure that they could get back their cherished personal possessions.

“We’re some demon thief catchers, all right,” chuckled Mouser.

“He would call me red-head, would he?” grinned Fred, referring to the scar-faced tramp.

“It means good luck for us, fellows,” declared Bobby. “Now, I’m sure we’re going to down Belden.”

CHAPTER XXX

WINNING THE PENNANT – CONCLUSION

Belden had its own idea as to who was to be “downed,” and almost the whole school went to Rockledge with colors flying on the great day that was to decide who should carry off the flag of the Monatook Lake League.

As the teams had each played a game on the other’s grounds, it had been left to the toss of a coin as to where the deciding game should take place, and Rockledge had won.

This was a good omen in itself, and the Rockledge boys were chock-full of confidence, as they slipped into their baseball suits in the gymnasium before going on the field.

“We’ve just got to win to-day, Fred,” remarked Bobby. “It would never do to lose with all our folks in the stand looking on.”

“You bet we’ll win,” replied Fred emphatically. “If we don’t, I’ll hunt up some hole, slip in and pull the hole in after me.”

Mr. and Mrs. Blake had come down on this last day. Fred’s father and mother were also present, accompanied by Betty. And to give the boys a pleasant surprise they had brought Scat Monroe and Pat Moriarty along with them.

The weather had been a little threatening in the morning, but about noon it cleared beautifully. A great crowd was present, for all the towns near Monatook Lake had become interested in the pennant fight, and people came in droves to see the deciding game.

Bobby and Fred went up in the stand for a little chat with their friends and families before the game began.

“Oh, I’m so glad it’s such a beautiful day!” exclaimed Betty gleefully. “I was so afraid the rain would come down this morning.”

“You wouldn’t expect the rain to go up, would you?” asked her brother airily.

“Smarty!” said Betty, and she made a little face at him.

“Fred had better behave himself or we’ll say ‘snowball’ to him, won’t we, Betty?” laughed Bobby.

“I’m rooting for you boys to win to-day,” remarked Pat, his freckled face wreathed with smiles.

“We’re going to fight like the mischief to do it,” returned Bobby.

“Put the whitewash brush on them,” said Scat.

“Perhaps that’s asking a little too much,” grinned Fred. “We’ll be satisfied with the big end of the score.”

Their parents smiled on them fondly and urged them to do their best to win for Rockledge, and the boys went down on the field with their hearts full of determination.

But it was evident from the moment the first ball went over the plate that it would be no easy task for either side to win. Each team was screwed to the highest pitch and full of determination and enthusiasm.

Bobby started out like a winner. His arm had never felt better, and he whipped the ball over the plate at a speed that delighted the spectators – always excepting the Belden rooters – but that made Frank Durrock a little anxious.

“Easy there, Bobby,” he counseled from first base, when the first batter had gone out on strikes. “The game’s young yet, and you’ve a long way to go.”

Bobby realized the wisdom of this, and made the next batter pop up an infield fly to Mouser at second. Then he mixed in a slow one that seemed easy enough to hit as it came floating up to the plate, but which resulted in an easy roller to the box which Bobby had plenty of time to throw to first.

“That’s what you call a change of pace, old scout,” congratulated Sparrow, as the nine came in from the field amid a general clapping of hands at the promising beginning.

But Bobby was not to carry off the pitching honors of the game without a struggle. Larry Cronk, the Belden pitcher, was in splendid form, and he had had the benefit of being coached by his brother, who was a student at Yale and a member of the Varsity team. The result of this training was shown in a new “hop” ball that Larry sprung on them for the first time. It came singing over the plate with a jump on it just before it reached the batter that at first puzzled the Rockledge boys completely. Two of them struck out and the third was an easy victim on a foul.

Now it was Belden’s turn to howl. And howl they did.

“Bobby’s got his work cut out for him to-day,” remarked Sparrow to Skeets, as they went out into the field.

“That’s just the time Bobby’s at his best,” returned Skeets confidently.

“Bobby’s got that fadeaway of his when it comes to the pinch,” added Mouser, “and I’ll back that against Larry’s hop any time.”

Bobby was not daunted by this showing on the part of his opponent. But he knew that he must not slow down for a second. He must put brains in his work as well as muscle, must study and outguess the batters and give them just what they did not want.

So he worked with exceeding care, mixing up his curves and his fast and slow balls so skillfully that in the first four innings only two hits were made off him, and one of them a scratch, and no one got as far as second base. And in doing this he nursed his strength, so that he felt almost as strong and fresh as at the beginning.

“Talk about a fox,” chuckled Fred, “he isn’t in it with Bobby.”

Larry, too, had kept any one from denting the home plate, but he was so exultant over the success of his new delivery that he relied upon it almost entirely. And by and by the Rockledge boys began to find him more easily than they did at first. They had not yet made more than one clean hit, but the bat was beginning to meet the ball more solidly and it was only a matter of a little time before they would be lining out base hits, unless Larry changed his style and mixed in his other curves.

“We’ll straighten them out in the next inning, see if we don’t,” remarked Spentz confidently.

And so they did. Spentz himself led off with a crashing three-bagger to right. Fred brought him home with a sizzling single and stole second on the next ball pitched. Larry tightened up then, and although a clever sacrifice bunt put Fred on third, he was left there, as the next two batters went out on strikes.

Belden’s half had been scoreless, so that the end of the fifth inning found Rockledge in the lead by one to none. And in such a close game as this promised to be, that one run looked as big as a mountain.

But by the time Belden’s sixth inning was over, the Rockledge rooters were in a panic.

The trouble began when Frank Durrock, old reliable Frank, muffed an easy fly that ordinarily he would have “eaten up.” Not only did he drop the ball, but he let it get so far away from him that the batter took a chance of making second. Frank, in his haste to catch him, threw the ball over Mouser’s head into left field, and before it could be recovered, the runner had made the circuit of the bases.

The error seemed to demoralize the whole team. Sparrow booted a grounder, and by the time he had got through fumbling, it was too late to throw to first. Spentz, in right, dropped a high fly and then threw wildly to head off the runner, who was legging it for third. The ball went ten feet over Sparrow’s head and both boys scored, making the count three to one in favor of the visitors. Rockledge had a bad case of “rattles.”

Bobby walked down to first as though he wanted to talk to Frank, but really to give his mates time to recover.

“Play ball!” shouted the Belden rooters.

Bobby took his time in returning, and even when he was back in the box found a shoe lace that needed tying. Not until he was fully ready did he straighten up.

He put on all speed now and disposed of the next batters in order, two on high fouls and one on strikes. He did not want to let any balls go far out, in the present nervous conditions of his mates.

As for them, they were full of rage and self-reproach.

“Three runs without a single hit!” groaned Frank.

“Never mind, fellows!” cried Bobby cheerily. “Go right in now and get them back again. Knock the cover off the ball.”

But this was more easily said than done. Once in that inning and again in the seventh and eighth, they got men on the bases, but they could not bring them in. In the eighth inning a rattling double play brought groans from the Rockledge rooters, as they saw a promising rally nipped in the bud.

Bobby had been mowing the Belden boys down almost as fast as they came to the plate. He had brought out his fadeaway now and mixed it in so well with the others that the batters never had a chance. His mates had recovered their nerve and were backing him up splendidly. Nevertheless the fact still faced them that their rivals were two runs ahead.

In the ninth inning, after disposing of Belden, Rockledge went in to do or die. Yells of encouragement came from their partisans as they made their last stand.

“Go to it, boys!”

“You can beat them yet!”

“Never say die!”

“Rockledge! Rockledge! Rockledge!”

But the shouts turned to groans, when Willis, who was playing center field in place of Bronson, put up a skyscraper which Cronk gobbled up without moving in his tracks. Barry sent a hot grounder to short which was fielded cleverly and sent to first ahead of the batter. There was a movement in the stand, as the spectators got ready to leave.

But they stopped short when Spentz sent a screaming hit to center for a clean single. Frank followed with a grasser between short and second that gave him first and sent Spentz to third. Larry faltered and gave Fred his base on balls. The bases were full when Bobby came to the bat.

Larry eyed him narrowly and wound a fast one about his neck, at which Bobby refused to bite. The next was right in the groove, and Bobby caught it square on the end of his bat and sent it whistling over the head of the first baseman. It rolled clear to the right field fence, and before it could be recovered, the Rockledge runners had gone round the bases like so many jack rabbits, and had jumped on the home plate, while Bobby pulled up at second.

The game was over, the game was won and the Rockledge boys were the champions of the Monatook Lake League!

Bobby’s comrades rushed upon him, mauling and pounding him; the shouting crowd swooped out from the stand and surrounded him.

“Champions!” “Champions!” “Champions!” they yelled, until their throats were husky and their lungs were sore.

It was a long time before Bobby could get through the crowd to where his visitors awaited him. There Betty cried one minute and laughed the next, in her happy excitement. Mrs. Blake’s eyes, too, were moist as she hugged her boy, and Mr. Blake cleared his throat as he put his hand on Bobby and told him he was proud of him.

Fred, too, came in for his share of well-earned praise and the boys were happy beyond words. And Scat and Pat were almost as delighted as though they had won the game themselves.

Finally, when matters were somewhat quieted down, some one asked the boys about their plans for the summer vacation. How full that summer proved to be of stirring and exciting adventure will be told in the next volume of this series.

But just now all their thoughts were of the present. Their school term was over. There had been some unpleasant features, but in the main their experiences had been happy ones.

“We did it, Bobby!” exclaimed Fred joyfully, for perhaps the twentieth time.

“We got there,” agreed Bobby; “but it was a mighty hard fight.”

“That’s what makes it all the more worth winning,” Fred declared.

“Yes,” said Bobby, “I guess the things that come easy aren’t worth much. That’s what makes us feel so good about being champions. For there wasn’t anything easy about winning the pennant of the Monatook Lake League.”

THE END