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

The boys broke into a chorus of delighted exclamations.

“That would be bully!” cried Bobby.

“It would be a regular see-saw!” exclaimed Fred. “First one team would be in the lead and then the other. It would be a rattling hard fight all the way from the start of the season to the finish.”

“It’s a corker,” agreed Skeets.

“A pippin of a scheme,” declared Sparrow with emphasis.

“I thought you fellows would like it,” said Frank, much pleased at the enthusiastic reception of his plan. “I talked it over with Dr. Raymond, and he said that he saw no objection to it.”

“The doc’s a good old sport,” commented Fred.

“And Dr. Raymond saw the head of the Belden school and he agreed to it too,” continued Frank, “while the captain of the Belden nine is fairly daffy over it.”

“How many clubs are there to be in the league?” asked Bobby.

“We decided that four would be enough,” answered Frank. “You see, we have only Saturdays to play, and if we had too many clubs in the league we couldn’t play enough games to really make the thing go. But with four teams, each can play three games with every other team and that would give us a pretty good line on the strength of each nine.”

“Every team would play nine games altogether, then,” figured Fred.

“Yes, and that would take nine Saturdays. Allowing for some days when it might be too rainy to play that will just about cover the playing season before school closes for the summer.”

“Who are to be the other two nines besides Belden and ourselves?” asked Sparrow.

“We’ve been scouting around and have found two town nines that will be glad to go in with us,” answered Frank. “One is at Somerset and the other at Ridgefield. They’re all within a few miles so that we wouldn’t have to travel far to play them. The fellows are about the same age as we are, from eleven to fourteen.”

“What will be the name of the league?” asked Skeets.

“How does Monatook Lake League strike you?” asked Frank. “Both towns are right on the lake, just as Rockledge and Belden are.”

“Just the thing,” was the verdict of all.

“Some of those town boys are dandy players,” said Skeets. “I saw the Somerset team play once and they certainly put up a fine game.”

“And the Ridgefield boys have a pitcher who is a peach, all right,” said Frank. “But that’s just what we’re looking for. It wouldn’t be any fun defeating a lot of dubs.”

“We’ll have to look out that they don’t ring in some good players from other towns to fill up weak places on their team,” said Fred.

“Of course we’ll have to take a chance on that,” admitted Frank. “But I don’t think we’ll have to worry much. I know some of the boys on both teams and they seem to be pretty square fellows.”

“You’ll have to limber up that pitching arm of yours and get it in good shape, Bobby,” cried Fred jubilantly, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“How do you know I’ll get a chance to pitch?” asked Bobby modestly. “The nine isn’t made up yet and won’t be till we’ve had a chance to practice. Some of the new fellows may be a good deal better than I am at pitching.”

“I don’t believe they will be,” returned Skeets. “Do you remember, Fred, that last game when Bobby pitched and we beat Belden by three to two?”

“You bet I do,” replied Fred. “And I remember that catch that Bobby made in the ninth inning when he rolled over and over and yet held on to the ball. If he had let it get away from him, Belden would have won sure.”

“I wish we could go right out on the field tomorrow!” exclaimed impatient Fred, who was very much worked up over the prospect of sport that the new league opened up.

“That would be rushing things for fair,” laughed Frank.

“It would hardly do to be playing ball in overcoats and mittens,” grinned Skeets.

“Let’s see,” said Sparrow. “This is the twenty-fifth of January. To the twenty-fifth of February is one month and to the twenty-fifth of March is another. The field ought to be in shape for playing by that time. Don’t you think so, Frank?”

“If we have a fairly early spring it ought to,” said Frank. “Still in this climate I’ve seen snow on the ground sometimes in April.”

“February is a short month,” said Fred hopefully. “That will cut the time down some.”

“Anyway we can do a whole lot of practicing indoors,” said Bobby. “The gymnasium is good and warm and we can rig up some kind of a cage for pitching and catching.”

“Just as they do in colleges,” said Sparrow proudly. “I tell you, fellows, we’re some class!”

“I’ll bet the town papers’ll put in reports of the games,” said Fred, who already in imagination saw his name in print.

“Sure they will,” agreed Skeets. “They’ll be glad of a chance to fill up space.”

This was not very flattering, and Fred, who saw fame coming his way with giant strides, rather resented it.

“They won’t do it only for that reason,” he said indignantly. “I bet there’ll be some dandy games played and lots of people in the towns will come out to see them.”

“Maybe, especially as they won’t have to pay to get in,” retorted Skeets, who was not averse at times to stirring Fred up just for the fun of seeing him roiled.

“Well, we can always count on big crowds when Rockledge and Belden play anyway,” put in Bobby, before Fred had a chance to throw back at Skeets.

“We ought to get some kind of monogram sewed on our uniforms or caps to show the name of the league,” said Sparrow, who was quite as alive as Fred was to the new dignity that was coming to them.

“The letters M. L. L. would look nifty, sure enough,” agreed Bobby.

“Well there’s plenty of time to think of those things before the season opens,” remarked Frank. “The main thing now is to get up a team that will put it all over the other fellows.”

“Just think how it would feel to be the champions of the league,” said Sparrow.

“And to pull up the pennant on the flagpole just back of center field,” gloated Fred.

“Rockledge wouldn’t be big enough to hold us,” said Bobby.

“That’s all right, fellows,” cautioned Frank. “But remember all the other fellows are feeling the same way. It’s easy enough to win games in our dreams, but the only ones that count are those that are won on the diamond.”

“We’ll win them all right there too,” replied Fred, who already saw himself cracking out a home run with the bases full. “We’ll be there with bells on from the time the season opens.”

“I bet we’ll go all through the season without losing a game,” declared Sparrow, in a wild flight of fancy.

“Come off the perch,” warned Bobby.

“Turn over, turn over, you’re on your back,” said the irreverent Skeets.

“You’ll bring bad luck on us if you talk like that,” cautioned Frank. “It stands to reason that we’ll have to lose some games. The other fellows are no slouches, don’t you forget that, and they’ll be out to win just as we are.”

“The best teams in the big leagues lose lots of games, even to the poorest ones,” said Bobby. “You’ll notice that the nines that win the championships don’t often come through the season with much more than six hundred per cent.”

“Just what does that mean?” asked Skeets, who had never been especially strong in mathematics.

Bobby did a swift sum in mental arithmetic.

“That means they won three games out of five,” he announced. “So you see they had lots of losses before they won the pennant. We’ve got a swell chance of winning every game – I don’t think. If we win six out of the nine, I shall be perfectly satisfied. That will give us a percentage of six hundred and sixty-seven.”

“Bobby’s right,” confirmed Frank. “That would be two out of every three, and the team that wins isn’t likely to do any better than that. The best team in the world will sometimes be whipped by a poor one. That’s what makes baseball such a bully game. Lots of good luck and hard luck come into a game, and it’s never settled until the last man is out in the ninth inning.”

“But in the long run it’s the best team that wins,” protested Fred, still undaunted. “And the best team in the Monatook Lake League this year will be the team of Rockledge School.”

CHAPTER XIV

GLOWING HOPES

The boys all laughed at Fred’s declaration, though they hoped ardently that it would turn out to be true.

“Well,” conceded Frank, “confidence is a good thing, especially if there is good hard work back of it. One thing is certain, and that is if any team beats Rockledge it will know it’s been in a fight.”

“I suppose Larry Cronk will be pitching for Belden,” mused Fred.

“I suppose so, and he’s a corking good pitcher too. But Bobby beat him the last time he faced him and I guess he can do it again.”

“Trust Bobby,” replied Fred loyally.

“Well, I’ll have to go now,” concluded Frank. “I’m glad you boys think the league is going to be a good thing.”

“The best thing that ever happened,” declared Sparrow.

“I’m tickled to death with it,” agreed Fred.

“Hits me awful hard,” said Bobby.

“Monatook Lake League sounds mighty good to me,” added Skeets.

“There’s a lot of work to be done yet in getting it fairly started,” observed Frank. “We’ll have to work out a schedule of dates and decide on the kind of pennant we’re going to have and a bunch of things like that. But we’ll have plenty of time for that, and everything will be running slick as grease by the time the season begins. And remember what I said, Fred, about cutting out all hard feelings,” he concluded.

“I’ll do it all right,” answered Fred. “I don’t like the fellow and I never will, but I’ll forget all about that when it comes to working for the good of the team.”

“That’s the way I like to hear you talk,” returned Frank with a smile, as he went away.

“What did Frank mean by that?” asked Skeets curiously.

“Oh, it’s about that Tom Hicksley,” Fred replied. “Frank has heard that he’s a good ball player, and if he is, he wants him on the nine. He heard Bobby and me talking of the scrap we had with him this morning, and he doesn’t want trouble in the team.”

“Maybe Frank’s right, at that,” conceded Skeets. “But I don’t know that it’s good dope to have a fellow like that on the nine, no matter how good a player he is. He’ll be wanting to run things and perhaps break up the whole team.”

“We’ll hope not,” said Bobby. “At any rate, there’s no use worrying about it yet. He may not be so good a player as Frank has heard he is, and may not play on the team at all.”

“We’ll have to look over our baseball togs and see if they’re in good shape,” said Fred. “I know the spikes on my shoes need sharpening.”

“And I’ll have to pound that new baseball glove of mine until it’s good and soft and has a big hollow in the middle,” added Bobby. “We mustn’t overlook the least thing that’s going to help us to win.”

“Won’t the Clinton boys open their eyes if we can tell them when we go home for the summer vacation that we’re the champions of the Monatook Lake League?” gloated Fred.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Sparrow. “It’s a long time yet before the end of the season.”

“It’s all over but the shouting, the way I look at it,” persisted Fred defiantly.

“Don’t wake him up, he is dreaming,” mocked Skeets.

“The pennant bee is buzzing in his bonnet,” laughed Sparrow.

For that matter, they all heard the buzzing of the same bee, and it was a very pleasant sound to them. To these four eleven-year-old boys the words “league” and “pennant” conveyed a sense of dignity and importance that they had never felt before.

From that time on, baseball took up a large part of their thoughts, even though the ground was covered with snow and the lake held fast in icy fetters.

The gymnasium was warm and comfortable, and though they had no regular cage and the limited space did not give much chance for batting practice the boys got in quite a lot of pitching and catching. And this was quickened by the news that came to them that Belden had taken up the idea of the league with as much enthusiasm as they had, and were already predicting that they would be the victors in the coming struggle. It was said that two of the new Belden boys were hard hitters and could “send the ball a mile.”

“But we heard something like that before the last game, and we licked them just the same,” remarked Fred, who expected to play short stop, the same position he had held the previous season.

“Belden’s bark is worse than its bite,” confirmed Bobby. “But because they didn’t come through the last time doesn’t say they won’t now. We’ll have to be right up on our toes all the time. It isn’t going to be a walkover for anybody.”

The study hours at Rockledge were not excessive, and had been arranged with a view of giving the growing boys all the time they needed for wholesome exercise and recreation. Dr. Raymond knew that a well trained mind and strong body must go together in order to get the best results. And on the occasions of the big baseball and football games he was always sure to be present as a keenly interested spectator.

Mr. Carrier, too, the second assistant on the teaching staff, had himself been an athlete in his college days, and his advice and coaching on the diamond and the gridiron were very valuable to the Rockledge boys.

With the lake so near at hand, there were plenty of winter sports. The smooth level of the ice, stretching away for miles in every direction, made skating a delight and offered a splendid field for hockey games. On all fine afternoons and every Saturday from morning till night, the ice was alive with darting figures, and rang with the music of steel against the frozen surface and the merry laughter of the skaters as they cracked the whip or flew by in impromptu races.

There was plenty of snow on the ground this year and this gave a chance for some good coasting. Most of the boys had sleds, and Bobby had brought along the splendid one that he had received as a Christmas present.

He had had considerable trouble in settling on a name. Billy Barry’s suggestion that it be called “Lightning” and Betty Martin’s laughing idea that it ought to be called “Oyster,” because it “slipped down so easily,” had received due consideration, but Bobby had finally settled on “Red Arrow.” This seemed to him to cover both its color and its speed. And that speed could not be questioned. It certainly shot down hill like an arrow from a how. None of the other sleds at the school could do such fetching.

Naturally Bobby took great pride in his sled, and the runners were rubbed with emery and oil until they were as smooth as silk and shone like silver.

There were several good hills in the vicinity of the school, but most of them were dangerous; one because it crossed the railroad at its base and others because cross streets, along which there was much travel, offered chances for collisions. These were therefore forbidden to the boys.

On one hill, however, they were permitted to coast whenever they wanted to do so. This stretched away from the town, and there were no cross streets throughout its entire length. It was absolutely safe, and as it was very long and reasonably steep, the boys felt no special regret at not being allowed to use the other hills.

For several days before Lincoln’s Birthday the weather had been mild and there was a considerable thaw. The snow on the hill had become soft and mushy and coasting had been impossible.

This interfered with the plans of the boys in Bobby’s dormitory, who had expected to have a big coasting carnival on the night of the holiday, when there would be a full moon. Now it looked as if the ground might be bare.

But on the eleventh of February there came a sudden change in the weather that gladdened the hearts of the would-be coasters. The thermometer fell rapidly until it was ten degrees below zero. The hill froze solid and was even better than it had been before, because the water from the melting snow now formed a glare of ice over the whole surface.

Bobby and his chums were jubilant over the change as they got together in the gymnasium after breakfast on the morning of the holiday.

“Isn’t it just bully?” cried Fred, doing a handspring.

“The hill will be like glass,” gloated Mouser.

“I’ll bet we fetch further than we ever did before,” exulted Bobby, who could see himself scudding like the wind on his trusty Red Arrow.

“But, gee! won’t it be tough climbing up to the top again,” put in Pee Wee, who liked well enough to ride down but hated the task of walking back.

“Don’t worry, Pee Wee,” chaffed Fred. “We wouldn’t let a hard-working fellow like you walk back. We’ll take turns drawing you up on our sleds.”

“Sure we will,” added Sparrow. “We’ll just fight for the privilege.”

“I’d hate to have Pee Wee bark his shins again,” laughed Bobby.

The boys were so engrossed in the lively give and take that none of them noticed that Tom Hicksley, who had been practicing on the rings and had been near enough to hear their conversation, had quietly slipped out of the gymnasium.

There had been no open trouble between him and Bobby and his friends since that morning when the coming of Mr. Carrier had stopped the quarrel. None of the boys took any special pains to avoid him but had simply left him alone. Hicksley had cast sullen and angry glances at them as they passed him on the campus or in the halls, but they cared nothing for that. They did not doubt that he was nursing his grudge and would lose no chance to get back at them if he could, but they felt able to take care of themselves.

As a matter of fact, Hicksley had only two friends in the school. These were Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, the two most detested boys at Rockledge. They were of the same type as Hicksley, mean and tyrannical. They were two of the largest pupils and took advantage of their size to make themselves thoroughly disliked by the other boys.

They had “cottoned” to Hicksley at once, recognizing him as a kindred spirit, and the three were almost constantly together.

Bronson and Jinks belonged to neither of the dormitories, but occupied one of the smaller rooms together.

To this room Hicksley went straight from the gymnasium and rapped on the door.

CHAPTER XV

SPOILING THE FUN

There was a scurrying within the room and Hicksley heard the sound of a window being hastily thrown up. Then after a long pause the door was slowly opened.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Bronson in a tone of relief.

“Sure it is,” replied Hicksley tersely. “Who did you think it was? What’s the matter with you fellows anyway. Any one might think I was a cop, from the time you took to open the door.”

“Worse than that,” grinned Bronson. “I thought you might be Dr. Raymond or one of the teachers. We were smoking. Now you’ve made us throw away two perfectly good cigarettes and freeze ourselves by opening the window to get the smoke out of the room. Shut the window again, Jack. It’s only Tom.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell on you,” replied Hicksley. “That is,” he added with a grin, “if you’ve got another cigarette left for me.”

It was strictly against the rules to smoke, but in the opinion of these worthless fellows rules were made only to be broken, and all three were soon puffing away, after making sure that the door was securely locked.

Bronson was a tall, thin boy, with straw-colored hair. Jinks was shorter, but very stocky. A squint that made his small eyes look smaller still gave him a most unprepossessing appearance.

“Well, what’s up?” asked Bronson, seeing from Hicksley’s manner that he had something to propose.

“I’ve just heard something that gave me an idea of how to get even with that Bobby Blake and the bunch of boobs he goes with,” replied Hicksley.

“Hope it’s a good idea,” said Bronson. “Anything that will down those fellows you can count me in on.”

“Same here!” ejaculated Jinks. “I never had any use for any of that crowd.”

“Let’s have it, Tom,” broke in Bronson impatiently. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

“They’re planning to have a big coasting time to-night,” explained Hicksley. “I heard them talking about it when I was down in the gymnasium just now. And while I was listening I thought of a way to queer the whole thing.”

This sounded promising, and the interest on the faces of the others grew intense.

“What is it?” they asked in the same breath, leaning forward eagerly.

Hicksley lowered his voice a trifle and rapidly outlined the plan that had come to him.

He was fully satisfied with its reception, for both of his hearers roared with delight.

“It’s just bully!” cried Bronson.

“Best thing I’ve heard since Hector was a pup!” ejaculated Jinks.

“That’ll put a spoke in their wheel all right,” gloated Hicksley.

“Won’t they feel sore?”

“They’ll be frothing at the mouth.”

“We’ll have to be hiding somewhere near by where we can see the whole thing,” said Bronson.

“I wouldn’t miss it for a hundred dollars,” chuckled Jinks.

“They’ll sing small for a long time after that,” grinned Hicksley. “But now if you think the plan is all right, we’ll have to figure out just how to go about it. It’ll be a lot of hard work, and I don’t want to do it myself. I don’t suppose you fellows want to muss yourselves up either.”

“I’ll tell you what!” exclaimed Bronson. “Do you know who Dago Joe is?”

“He’s that Italian fellow down town who goes about doing odd jobs, isn’t he?” queried Hicksley.

“That’s the one,” Bronson assented.

“Well, what about him?” asked Hicksley.

“Just this,” Bronson answered. “He’s just the fellow for this job. He’s got a hand cart, and that will make it easy for him. Then, too, a dollar will look as big to him as a meeting house. But even if he charges more than that we can all chip in and it won’t make very much for any of us.”

“I wouldn’t care if it cost us a dollar apiece,” said Jinks. “It would be worth it.”

They talked for a few minutes longer, and then decided that rather than let Hicksley do it alone they would all go down together to see Dago Joe.

But to their surprise, Joe was at first inclined to balk at the proposition. He was poor and had a large family to support and he needed every dollar he could get, but he seemed to fear that the plan that the bullies suggested might get him into trouble.

“I donta know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and extending the palms of his hands. “Perhaps people nota like it. Maybe I be arrest.”

“Nonsense, Joe,” said Bronson. “There isn’t a chance in the world that anybody will get on to who did it. It will be after dark anyway. Be a sport and take a chance.”

“We’ll make it two dollars,” said Jinks. “It’s easy money and you’d be a fool not to take it.”

Joe still had some qualms, but when the boys raised the price to three dollars his scruples vanished.

“You can get the stuff down near the roundhouse,” suggested Jinks. “There’s always plenty of it there.”

Joe wanted his three dollars at once, but they compromised by paying him half down with a promise of the other half when the work was done.

“Now for the big blowout,” chuckled Jinks, as they wended their way back to the school.

“It’ll be a scream,” gloated Bronson.

“A perfect riot,” added Hicksley, who was in high feather, now that his scheme seemed in a fair way of going through.

As for Dago Joe, he was a busy man for the rest of the day and for some time after darkness fell.

There was an unusually good supper that night in honor of the holiday, and the boys did it full justice. But they would have lingered still longer at the table, if they had not been impatient to get out on the hill for their carnival of coasting.

The wind had died down, but the air was keen and brought a frosty glow to their eyes and cheeks as they made their way to the hill, drawing their sleds behind them by ropes that hung over their shoulders.

“We’ll make a new record to-night,” said Bobby jubilantly. “I shouldn’t wonder if we fetched as far as the bridge; and we’ve never done that yet.”

“If we don’t do it to-night we never shall,” replied Fred, as they came to the hill.

“It doesn’t seem as if the sleds could ever stop when they get started on ice like this,” exulted Mouser.

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” suggested Sparrow. “The hill’s wide enough to hold six sleds going down at the same time. There’s just about seventeen or eighteen of us here. Let’s start out in a bunch of six at a time and go the whole length. Then, after that, we can have the separate races.”