to discover him. They may do him some injury.”
But the next instant both the anxious lads drew a sigh of relief. Instead of taking the by-road, the auto struck off across lots along a barely perceptible and weed-grown track. In a few moments it was out of sight and the coast was clear. Then, and not till then, the two Boy Scouts set out to rejoin Tubby. They found that rotund youth blissfully sleeping, while the old nag cropped grass at the roadside. They awakened their stout comrade and soon took the lees of sleep out of his eyes by relating all that had passed within the last hour. Tubby heartily agreed that the first thing to be done was to put Mr. Mainwaring on his guard.
Naturally there was no more thought of bill posting, and filled with a sense of the duty that lay before them the three Boy Scouts drove rapidly back to Hampton. But there a disappointment awaited them. Mr. Mainwaring had been called away on business. He had gone west and would not be back for a week or more. So for the present the scene in the barn had to be forgotten, while more immediate matters were attended to. During the ensuing week nothing was seen of Jared, but the Saturday afternoon of the game found him “warming up” on the ball field with the orange and black of the Hampton team on his back.
Rob and Merritt fairly boiled over with indignation as they watched him. But they decided not to say anything to him that might put him on his guard.
“We’ll give him all the rope he wants,” declared Rob. Later he was bitterly to regret the adoption of this policy.
The grounds began to fill up early. The game aroused widespread interest in that section of Long Island. As the local paper put it, “red-hot ball” was looked for. Enthusiastic young ladies were there by the score, waving flags from the bunches on sale about the field by hawkers. The grand-stand filled early. Rob’s team-mates noticed his eyes frequently straying in that direction.
“Looking for Lucy Mainwaring,” whispered Tubby to Merritt with a grin on his round and blooming countenance.
Finally the game was called and soon both teams were on the field. Hiram, captain of the Eagles, won the toss and chose to go to bat first. The game was started. Nelson promptly struck out. He could not help making a wry face as he threw down the willow.
A broad grin was on Jared’s face. He went through all sorts of antics, as Andy Bowles came to bat with a look of grim determination on his face.
Jared was good; that was a fact which admitted no blinking, as the Eagles had to acknowledge. Andy was given first base on balls, tried to steal second, was thrown out and retired disgruntled to the bench. The Hampton rooters began to give their war cry. The Eagle supporters replied to it bravely. It was early in the game to be making any predictions. Rob was third batter. He struck out. Jared’s delight was ill-concealed.
“I’ll shut ’em out,” he bragged loudly, not caring who heard. “I’ll show the tin soldiers some pitching.”
The Eagle supporters had to admit that things did not look very roseate, but they consoled themselves by recollecting the fact that practically the game had only begun.
Hampton now went to the bat. Merritt occupied the pitcher’s box. He had injured his arm somewhat in practice, but it was agreed, after a consultation, to put him up as first pitcher, holding Rob in reserve till they got the Hampton’s gait. Merritt showed wonderful form. In one, two, three order he struck out Hampton’s batters, including Jared.
Great was the delight of the Eagles and their friends.
“Good boy, Merritt! Good for you! Kr-e-e-e-ee-ee!” was heard on all sides as the Hamptons came running out to take their positions in the field.
Merritt felt a glow of pleasure as Rob congratulated him.
“I hope I can keep it up,” was all he said.
“I hope so, too; but I’d like to have a chance at Jared,” responded Rob.
The Eagles now came to the bat, Rob leading. Rob was not only a good pitcher but a sure batter. Whiz-z came Jared’s ball. Rob met it and promptly drove a humming liner into right field. It was a safe base hit.
“Oh, you Eagles!” chanted the crowd; those of them who were not lined up for Hampton, that is.
Rob watched his chance and stole second, to the huge delight of his team supporters. An ugly look was on Jared’s face. The next batter, Merritt, received first base on four balls. Cheers and yells greeted this. Jared’s countenance grew blacker and blacker. He bit his lip impatiently.
Suddenly Rob played dangerously off second base. The Hampton second baseman was close to him. It was a daring move. Jared saw it in a flash. The catcher’s signal came. He threw the ball to the Hampton short stop on second base.
But Jared’s chagrin at the way his pitching was being “knocked about” unsteadied his aim. He threw wild. The ball passed above the short stop’s outstretched finger tips. Rob darted off for third base like a jack rabbit.
The right fielder got the ball and shot it to third base, but, although the ball and Rob seemed to arrive simultaneously, Rob was hugging the bag contentedly in the nick of time. This was a quick, stirring bit of play and brought yells from the crowd, among whom criticisms of Jared were freely expressed. He grew pale with rage and chagrin.
Paul Perkins now came to bat. The dreamy lad struck out. His apparent unconcern made the crowd laugh. They laughed even more when Tubby, having struck out also, calmly picked up a bit of pie he had been munching when he came to bat and marched to his seat contentedly chewing it.
At this stage of the game two were out, Merritt was on second and Rob on third.
Now came the turn of Ernest Thompson, a big-eyed, serious-looking lad, one of the first recruits to the Eagle standard and a first-class scout. Jared was now on the broad grin. Thompson looked easy.
“Look out, baby-face,” chuckled Jared, poising himself.
An in-curve shot from his hand. Ernest gazed at it in an uninterested manner and allowed it to go by.
“Strike one!” came the sonorous voice of the umpire, who was Sim Giles, the postmaster.
“Oh-h-h-h-h!” yelled the crowd.
The next ball was of the same character. This time Ernest struck at the ball. He missed and the crowd yelled again. Jared began to regain self-confidence.
“Strike two,” was the cry.
The third ball was high.
“Ball one,” declared Sim.
Then came an out-curve. But it was too far out. Jared was a rather ragged pitcher.
“Ball two,” called Sim.
Suddenly Jared threw to third base. But, quick as he was, he didn’t catch Rob off.
“How’s that?” yelled Higgins, the Hampton third baseman, as he touched Rob.
The umpire merely waved his hand in what he deemed a professional manner.
“A thousand years late,” chuckled Rob to Higgins.
Jared heard him and flashed him an ugly look. Hatred gleamed in his eyes. Rob watched him narrowly and again stole off third.
Bang! – came a swift straight ball at the dreamy Ernest. But he was not in “a trance,” as Jared
