CHAPTER X

“FIGHT! FIGHT!”

The gong warning them of study hour rang and Clif and Tom departed. Somewhat more than an hour later, however, they were back again. Naturally Mr. Cooper was the subject of conversation for awhile. Clif, too, had now fallen victim to the attractions of the gentleman, and he and Loring ventured numerous theories regarding him. “I’ll bet,” Clif declared, “he’s seen a lot. He reminds you of one of those explorer chaps you read about and see pictures of, doesn’t he? Look at the way he’s all tanned up.”

“I don’t believe that’s tan,” said Tom. “I think his liver’s on the fritz. Well, maybe some of it’s tan, but――”

“I guess he must have lived in India,” remarked Loring. “I met a man who lived there for a long time; represented an American oil company; and he had just the same sort of skin.”

“How come he was in the English Army, though, if he’s an American?” asked Clif.

“I don’t believe he’s an American at all,” scoffed Tom.

“I do! Look at the way he talks. Not all the time, but usually. He doesn’t talk a bit like Wattles.”

“I think,” said Loring gravely, “he’s a Cosmopolite.”

Tom was evidently in doubt as to what that was, but before he could ask enlightenment Clif exclaimed: “Well, whatever he is, he’s a mighty nice sort. I like him. I suppose he’s really quite old, but he doesn’t seem so, does he? Do you suppose he’s going to stay here right along, Loring?”

Tom made no objections to the recent guest as a topic of conversation, and even expressed an opinion himself now and then, but it was plain to be seen that he did not share the other boys’ enthusiasm for Mr. Cooper.

The first nine began its mid-week games the following Wednesday, playing High Point School to an eleven-innings tie. Jeff Ogden was at his best that afternoon and went through eight frames without allowing a real hit. He was rather liberal with passes, but those, like Wyndham’s errors, were scattered, and the opponent never got a man past second while he was on the mound. High Point’s twirler was touched up for five hits in the same period, but none of the hits led to runs. There was some poor base running on Wyndham’s part, and that, coupled with smart fielding by the invader, kept the home team scoreless to the tenth. Bud Moore, who succeeded Ogden, was hit more freely, and in the ninth two hits and an error by Captain Leland let in the first tally of the game and seemed to spell disaster for Wyndham. But the latter rallied in the last half of the inning and, through Raiford’s double, Talbott’s out to left fielder and a sacrifice fly by Van Dyke, evened up the score. Moore tightened in the tenth and held the enemy hitless, and after Wyndham had gone out in one, two, three order the game was called so that the visitors could catch a train.

With the first playing two games a week, the second nine met the big team only on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. There was never any game on Monday since Coach Connover devoted that day to furbishing up on the rudiments. On Wednesdays the second was generally released in time to witness the last four or five innings of the first’s game, if played at home. On Saturdays, by the time May was half gone, the second held no practice at all. In consequence, when, three days after the High Point game, the first journeyed to Greenville, twenty miles distant, to meet Greenville Academy, most of the scrubs went along. Of the number were Clif and Tom.

Wyndham started Frosty in the box, and Greenville, by reputation a hard-hitting lot, took to his offerings with much enthusiasm. The visitor’s outfielders nearly ran their legs off during that first inning and by the time the last man had flied out to Greene, in center field, four runs had crossed the plate. The Greenville rooters loudly demanded the removal of Frost and did a good deal of jeering, and Frosty was evidently far from happy during that opening. Nevertheless Steve sent him out again for the second inning, in spite of the fact that Wyndham had failed to even reach first base, and, after passing the first batsman, he settled down somewhat and pitched fairly good ball. With two out a long fly into left field escaped Talbott and the runner went all the way to third. He scored a minute or two later when Wink Coles juggled the ball long enough to let the batter reach first. After that Frosty worked the next man for two strikes on wide curves, pitched him two balls and then fooled him on a slow one.

The game went at 5 to 0 until the fourth. Wyndham was finding the Greenville left-hander a tough proposition, but in the fourth two singles together put Hurry Leland on second with one away and when Raiford was safe on first on a close decision the bags were all occupied. Talbott, however, failed to come through and made the second out, second baseman to first, and it was up to Van Dyke. Van found himself in the hole after three deliveries and then watched the fourth go past for a second ball. He spoiled the next by fouling it into the stand. Then he swung and hit cleanly into short right, scoring Hurry and Pat Tyson. When, however, he started to steal second a moment later the signals went wrong and a quick peg to third caught Raiford flat-footed.

Greenville added two more runs to her score in the fifth, although the one hit she made, a hard liner that Coles allowed to get through him, came with two down. The runner made second without trouble and went to third when Frost pitched his first delivery over Cobham’s head. Frosty cracked badly then and passed the next batsman, who promptly stole to second. When he had tossed three balls and no strikes to the following player he was retired in favor of Erlingby. But Sam couldn’t keep the bases from filling, and when Van Dyke failed to get a liner just inside of first two runs crossed. Sam struck out the Greenville pitcher, and a bad inning was over.

In the seventh Wyndham got two on after Cobham had fouled out and Erlingby had fanned, but they died when Captain Leland proved an easy out at first. Greenville added her eighth and last tally in her half of the inning, and Wyndham tried desperately to stage a rally in the first of the next chapter, and did get one lone run after Raiford had bunted, Talbott had sacrificed and Van Dyke had hit a short fly back of third. In the ninth, although Steve introduced a pinch hitter for Coles, who had had no luck at all against the Greenville left-hand artist, not a man reached first, and the Dark Blue went home tagged with her fourth defeat.

Clif and Tom had not found the game much to their liking and were rather disgruntled when they left the stand with some three score of their schoolmates. So, when a loud-mouthed youth carrying a green megaphone and wearing a funny green-and-white skullcap forced himself on Tom’s attention, Tom edged out of the throng and sought adventure. Although the Greenville partisan was a hunk of a boy and was well surrounded by friends, Tom displayed no hesitation. He walked up to the youth, seized the inadequate visor of his funny cap and pulled it down on his nose, stepped on his toe and said: “Is that _so_?” in a truly insulting manner. Clif and Jack Cooper reached their compatriot the next instant and strove to lead him back into the crowd, but Tom wouldn’t budge. Greenville congregated rapidly. Innocent non-partisans were shoved and elbowed. In a moment Tom, Clif and Jack were hemmed in very solidly. Acrimonious debate began. The youth in the skullcap was outraged and said so loudly. Clif and Jack ingratiatingly apologized for Tom’s hasty behavior, and Tom promptly declined to be apologized for. The enemy said something extremely uncomplimentary to Tom and accompanied it with a quick blow which, intended for Tom’s head, landed on his neck.

After that events were very confusing. Clif found himself wedged against a painfully sharp plank, connected in some minor capacity with the grandstand, while a large, burly youth threatened him with a vague but awful fate if he didn’t keep still. “You keep out of it,” advised the big fellow. “Let your friend get what’s coming to him.” He grinned widely and appeared to bear no malice. Between the heads and over the shoulders of boys in front of him Clif could catch momentary glimpses of Tom and his adversary exchanging earnest blows. A few feet away Jack Cooper was trying hard to plow through the ring of observers, whether to take part in the fight or merely to secure an unimpeded view Clif couldn’t tell. Farther away Clif saw the crowd become denser every moment. Cries of “Fight! Fight!” arose, and the efforts of those on the outside to get nearer were now seriously incommoding the battlers. “Keep back!” shouted the fortunate possessors of ring-side positions. “Don’t crowd! Give ’em room!” Clif had a brief vision of Tom, smiling grimly, taking a wallop on one ear. Then, quite as if by magic, Tom disappeared and a roar of applause told the story. Clif struggled forward, now but half-heartedly restrained by the burly youth, and found himself able to see over a shoulder. Tom was getting up from the ground very slowly, very cautiously, his head guarded, and Clif sighed vastly with relief. The Greenville champion showed wear, but was evidently all for seeing it through. Tom was on his feet again, had rushed. There were sounds of blows. Clif couldn’t see for a moment. Then he did see. The two were clinched, both raining ineffectual blows. A man, doubtless a self-constituted referee, forced them apart. Tom retreated. His opponent followed, feinting. Close to Clif’s ear a voice bellowed: “Bore into him, Tom! Don’t let him swing that right on you!”

The voice was Jack Cooper’s. Maybe, above the many other voices, Tom heard it. At all events, he sprang forward, took a blow on his head and landed once, twice on the body. Green gave back and Blue followed. Tom ducked a wide swing and darted a straight right to the chin. It was short and they clinched again. Once more the referee parted them. Tom didn’t retreat this time. He took punishment and gave it. Green left a wide opening and Blue shot a short jab to the face, ducked and planted a hard one on Green’s ribs. Green faltered, looked worried, dropped his right for an instant and then it was all over. Tom swung up with his left, there was a sound like “_Ugh!_” and the referee jumped forward, an outstretched arm motioning Tom back. But Tom knew that his job was finished, and, while the audience still retained its attitude of neutrality, still shouted applause for the victor, he dived into the line where Clif and Jack were.

“Come on,” he panted. “Let’s beat it before they get sore!”

“I’ll say so!” agreed Jack, put his shoulder against a neighbor and led the way. No one tried to detain them, although many stared and some applauded, and a moment later they were outside the crowd and the village street lay before them. Behind them the crowd was dissolving, still ahum with excitement. Small boys, surmising the identity of the hatless youth with the red, contused countenance, proclaimed their discovery loudly. Disapproving looks from scandalized but lingering citizens marked their hasty retreat. The bodyguard of urchins increased embarrassingly, and Jack threatened the leaders with dire things if they didn’t “beat it.” But that didn’t prevail against the youthful hero-worshipers. They went ahead and behind and alongside, noisily discussing the event and the hero’s personal appearance, the latter not always flatteringly. The trio walked as fast as they could, but the spectators of the recent fray had sighted them and set forth in pursuit. Clif looked back.

“There’s a bunch of them,” he announced uneasily. “They’re running now. Gosh, we can’t fight them all!”

“I guess they won’t trouble us,” said Jack. But his tone lacked conviction.

Tom drew a swollen hand from a pocket, turned and viewed the situation appraisingly. “If they don’t make trouble they’ll razz us like the dickens. How far’s the station, Clif?”

“About four or five blocks, I think. Let’s run, Tom.”

“Aw, what for?” Jack protested. “I’m not afraid of that gang.”

“You,” replied Tom, “stay here and tell ’em about it. I’m off!” And so was Clif, and, after an instant, so, too, was Jack!