be a ball game next week, I guess,” came from Bart. “You may get a chance to play.”
“All right,” and Frank was off down the road.
“I’d like to see the inside of that hut,” observed Ned as he and the other two boys walked on.
“Still harping on that, eh?” asked Fenn. “I want to forget it.”
“Think we’d better mention anything about the queer men we saw?” asked Bart, as he and Fenn strolled through the shopping district, which was always a lively place on Saturday nights.
“Who to?”
“The police, of course.”
“I don’t see as it’s any of their affair. The men are harmless.”
“But they’re lunatics at large.”
“I guess it’s as Frank says, one is the other’s keeper. We’d better mind our own affairs. Besides Frank promised, for us, that we’d keep quiet.”
“Then I suppose we’d better. But maybe something will happen.”
“What, for instance?”
“They might murder some one.”
“Say, have you been reading any five-cent libraries lately?”
“No, but – ”
“Forget it,” counseled Fenn. “Ah, good evening,” he added, bowing to a pretty girl who passed them. “Excuse me, Bart. I want to speak to Jennie,” and Fenn left his chum.
“That’s the way,” growled Bart. “A fellow’s no good once he gets girls on the brain,” and he walked on alone, and quite disgusted with Stumpy.
“Oh, Fenn!” exclaimed Jennie Smith, as the boy joined her. “Isn’t it just like a play to see all the lights and the people hurrying back and forth? ‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.’ I think that’s just grand! Oh I wish I could thrill large audiences!” she added, for her secret desire was to become an actress. “What is this I see before me! Is it a dagger, the handle – !”
But just then Jennie collided with a fat man in front of her. He turned, good-naturedly and remarked:
“No, young lady, I’m not a dagger, though I’d like to get thin enough to be taken for one.”
Jennie blushed, and Fenn was a little embarrassed. Soon after that Fenn bade Jennie goodnight.
Monday morning when the chums reached school there was a buzz of excitement among those gathered on the campus waiting for the nine o’clock gong to ring.
“Here they come now,” called some one. “We’ll see what they say.”
“What’s up?” asked Bart, as he saw the crowd of boys hurrying toward him and his chums.
“We’ve got a challenge!” exclaimed Lem Gordon, pitcher of the school nine, of which Bart was catcher.
“Who from?” asked Bart.
“The Lakeville Prep. school. It’s for Thursday. Dare we take ’em on?”
“We dare do all that may become our school,” paraphrased Frank. “Why not?” He did not play on the regular nine.
“They’re out of our class,” said Lem. “Haven’t lost a game this year, and they’re way ahead of us. Have better grounds and more time to practice.”
“Well, we don’t want to show the white feather,” said Fenn. “Maybe we’ll have a chance.”
“We sure will if Lem pitches as he did in the game two weeks ago,” spoke Bart. “That certainly won the game for us if anything did.”
“Your catching had a lot to do with it,” put in Lem, “and so did Ned’s fielding.”
“To say nothing of Stumpy’s work at short,” added Bart. “I say let’s give ’em a game. They can’t any more than wallop us!”
“Hurrah!” yelled the crowd of boys. “Three cheers for Bart!”
“Cut it out!” said Bart. “Think I’m a political candidate? We’ll go in with the idea of winning!”
CHAPTER VI
A GREAT GAME OF BALL
Word soon went around that Bart, who was captain of the nine, had decided to accept the challenge which had come to Harry Mathews as manager of the team. The challenge had only arrived that morning and there were few of the high school boys who believed their nine stood any chance of winning.
The Lakeville Preparatory School was a private institution located about three miles from Darewell. It was attended by youths who were fitted for college there, and the pupils were, on the average, older and larger than the Darewell High School lads. Their nine had an enviable reputation in local sporting circles.
The high school boys were so worked up over the prospect of the game, with rivals they had never yet ventured to play, that there was less attention to lessons than usual among the members of the nine, and their supporters, that morning.
Fenn must have been thinking quite seriously of the pending contest for, when answering in the ancient history class the question: “Who was Cæsar’s greatest rival?” he replied solemnly:
“The Lakeville Prep. School!”
There was a burst of laughter in which even the instructor had to join.
“We’ll have to practice for the next three days,” said Bart at noon recess. “I’ll have to get my new glove limbered up, and, Lem, you’ll have to think up some new curves.”
“Yes, I need practice all right,” responded the pitcher. “Suppose we have a scrub game this afternoon?”
“That suits me,” replied Bart.
When school was over a picked nine prepared to give battle to the regular one in order to bring out the weak points.
“Don’t you think we ought to have a substitute pitcher?” asked Lem, as he prepared to go into the box.
“You aren’t afraid of breaking down, are you?” asked Bart anxiously.
“No, only you never can tell what is going to happen.”
“Here you go, Stumpy!” called Bart as his chum was tossing the ball to the right-fielder in the warming-up practice.
Fenn sent the leather spheroid toward the catcher with all the strength of his arm. Bart caught it on his heavy glove. As he did so he called in a low voice to Lem, and the two held a whispered conversation.
“Do you think he can do it?” Lem asked.
“Yes, if we spring it on him suddenly and don’t give him a chance to get nervous. That’s Stumpy’s main fault. But I’m hoping there’ll be no need for it.”
“Well, I’ll
