Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 6
"Well, don't be gone long," said Roy. "I guess I'll get enough of this in ten or fifteen minutes more, and I want to ride some myself to-night."
Trundling out the machine, Rackliff heard the ball thudding again against the back of the stable.
Friday afternoon Herbert did not appear at school. Hooker looked for him in vain and wondered why he had remained away. Alone he watched the boys practice a while when school was over, Grant doing his full share of pitching to the batters. Despite prejudice and envy, Roy could see that Springer's pupil was gaining confidence and beginning to carry himself with the air of a real pitcher.
"But he hasn't had any experience," muttered the jealous and unfortunate lad. "Wait till he gets into a game and they begin to b.u.mp him. That temper of his will make him lose his head." Which was evidence enough that Roy little understood Rodney Grant, who invariably became all the more resolute and determined by opposition, and stood in no danger of giving way to his fiery temper, except when met by buffets of physical force in the form of personal violence.
Reaching home, Hooker went out behind the stable and plugged away at the white shingle until supper time, fancying he was gaining some skill in accuracy, although it seemed almost impossible to score a hit or come near it when he used a curve.
Supper over, he looked for Rackliff to appear. "He'll be around pretty soon, so I'll just take a short ride and come back."
In the carriage house he stopped, his undershot jaw drooping; for the motorcycle was missing from the stand on which it was always kept, when not in use. "What the d.i.c.kens----" he cried, and stopped short.
After looking all around to make sure the machine was not there, he rushed into the house and questioned his mother.
"It _must_ be there, Roy," she said. "I'm sure n.o.body has touched it.
I would have heard them."
"But it isn't there," he shouted. "Somebody has stolen it." Then he caught his breath, struck by a sudden thought. "Has Herbert Rackliff been around here to-day?" he asked.
"I haven't seen him, but I hope you don't think your friend would take your motorcycle without----"
He did not wait to hear any more. Rushing out of the house, he had reached the sidewalk when, to his unspeakable relief, round the corner from Willow Street came Rackliff, somewhat dust-covered and perspiring, trundling the motorcycle. Hooker glared at him.
"What do you mean by taking my machine without asking?" he rasped.
"Where have you been with it?"
"My dear old pal," said Herbert soothingly, "do give me time to get my breath, and then I'll seek to conciliate you with a full explanation.
I've had to push this confounded thing for at least five miles, and I'm pretty near pegged out. It stopped on me on my way home."
"Five miles?" snapped Roy, taking the machine from the limp and weary city boy. "Where in blazes have you been with it?"
But not until he had seated himself to rest in the carriage house, and lighted a cigarette, did Rackliff offer any further explanation.
Finally, with a little cough and a tired sigh, he smiled on the still frowning and outraged owner of the machine.
"You didn't see me around school this afternoon, did you?" he asked.
"No. I wondered where you were."
"I was out laying my pipes."
"Doing what?"
"Making sure that you and I could form a little pool and seek a few wagers on the game to-morrow, with the dead certainty of winning. I've been over to Barville to see Newt Copley."
"Oh!" muttered Hooker. "And you put my machine on the blink!"
"It simply quit on me, that's all. I didn't do a thing to it--on my word, I didn't. There's nothing broken, old man. I'm certain you'll be able to tinker it up again all right. You can bet your life I'd never made that trip if I'd dreamed it would be necessary for me to push the old thing so far. Still, I'm mighty glad I went. Say, Roy, Copley is dead sure Barville will have more than an even show with Oakdale to-morrow, and you know what I think of his judgment. Now, if you've got any money, or can raise any, just bet it on Barville and make a killing."
"But I wouldn't want to be seen betting against my own school team."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Herbert derisively. "Then let me have your cash, and I'll place it for you. I haven't any scruples."
"But you may be mistaken. Even Copley may be, for he hasn't seen Oakdale play."
"He says Sanger is a wiz. Look here, Roy, do you know Eliot's finger signals to the pitcher?"
"Why, yes."
"Uses the old finger system, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
"One finger held straight, a straight ball. Two fingers close together, an outcurve; spread apart, one on the inside corner. One finger crooked like a fish-hook, a drop."
"You've got 'em correct, but what's that got to do with----"
"Oh, I just wanted to know," chuckled Rackliff. "Get your loose change together and let me handle it. If I don't double it for you to-morrow I'll agree to stand any loss you may sustain. You won't be even taking a chance. What do you say?"
"Well, if you're as confident as that," answered Roy, "I'm certainly going to raise a little money somehow to bet on that game."
CHAPTER VII.
RACKLIFF FISHES FOR SUCKERS.
Sat.u.r.day came, warm and balmy with springtime odors. Roy Hooker, standing at the street corner near his home, seemed to be listening to a robin calling joyously from the topmost branches of the elm that rose above his head; but, truth to tell, the boy's ears were deaf to the notes of the bird, and his eyes were being turned alternately along Middle Street or down Willow. He was waiting for some one, and presently that person appeared, leisurely approaching, with now and then a thin wisp of smoke drifting over his shoulder. It was Rackliff, dressed with his usual care, but looking, if possible, a little paler and more languid than ever.
"I thought it was about time for you to show up," said Roy a trifle fretfully. "You said you'd be around by nine; it's twenty minutes after by the clock in the Methodist steeple."
"It is said," returned Herbert, "that the early bird catches the worm; and, as we're all worms of the earth, I don't believe in taking any chances with the bird. Didn't sleep very well last night. Fancy that jaunt to Barville was too much for me; though, to tell the truth, I'm a rotten poor sleeper anyhow. I wake up at the slightest noise in the night, and, having some nerves of my own, usually get a case of heart palpitation, which is deucedly unpleasant. Then perhaps I won't go to sleep again for two hours or more. I envy any fellow who snoozes like a log." He concluded with a short, hollow laugh.
"The trouble with you is," said Roy, "that you smoke too much."
"Tell it to Johnson," scoffed Herbert. "I've always been that way; smoking doesn't have anything to do with it. Besides, if it did I couldn't leave off. I've got the habit for fair."
"I wouldn't like to say that; I'd hate to own up to it."
"Oh, it's nothing. Cigarettes never killed any one yet, old women and moralizers to the contrary, notwithstanding. Well, chum, how are you fixed? Did you make a raise so that you can bet a little cold cash on the great contest to-day? You said you thought you'd have some money this----"
"'Sh!" hissed Roy, glancing around apprehensively toward the house.
"Don't talk about that here."
"Eh? Why not?"
"I don't want my folks to find out anything about it," whispered Hooker. "Come on, let's walk up the street."