“If we can do that often enough,” said Lanny delightedly, “we’ll have more than enough for——”
“He’s over there talking to Billings. Who is the kid with him?”
“That’s young Townsend, the fellow he’s coaching. It’s about time to start, isn’t it? There come three more, Lanny.”
“Every little quarter helps,” replied Lanny. “I hope Tim Turner doesn’t abscond with the cash! Someone ought to stand over him with a bat! Oh, Fudge!”
“What’s wanted?” asked Fudge, joining them.
“We wanted to tell you that if Tim runs off with the money you will have to make good.”
Fudge grinned. “He’s awfully excited,” he said. “He’s got both pockets full of silver, and sounds like a treasury when he moves. He’s terribly worried because he gave one fellow too much change. He says he knows him, though, and is going to get it back!”
“Come on,” said Gordon. “On the run, fellows. You’re in right field, Shores. Throw out another ball, Jack, will you? Here you are, Harry!”
A minute later Captain Billings faced Tom Haley, and the game began.
The batting list of the visiting team had been changed in two instances, Jensen replacing Morris Brent in left field, and Mason pitching instead of Porter. Melville, or “Mel,” Mason was a big youth of eighteen at least, with a quiet, self-constrained manner that impressed Dick and filled him with forebodings of defeat. Clearfield was minus the services of Jack Tappen, Mr. Daniel Shores making his first appearance in a purple uniform and holding down Jack’s place in right field. The umpire was Mr. Cochran, physical director at the Young Men’s Christian Association, and a great favorite among the boys.
Rutter’s Point failed to do anything in the first inning. Tom Haley allowed only one player to reach first, and he got no farther. When Clearfield came to the bat, with Harry Bryan up, the audience proved its loyalty to the home team by loud and prolonged cheering. It was very soon evidenced that “Mel” Mason was in a different class from Bede Porter as a pitcher. Who he was or where he came from neither Dick nor Gordon had learned; but, to use Fudge’s admiring and slightly resentful expression, he was “some pitchist!” He had plenty of speed when he cared to use it, but his favorite offering was a slow ball that was probably patterned on the “floater” of a famous league pitcher. The Clearfield batters hit under it or over it with discouraging regularity, and Harry, Will, and Gordon went out in order in the last of the first inning, only Will managing to hit into fair territory. Harry and Gordon fanned.