CHAPTER XXIII

BASES FULL!

“First man!” shouted Hurry.

“First man!” echoed Van. “Let’s get him, gang!”

“No one reaches first!” proclaimed Pat Tyson. “Go after him, Jeff!”

So Jeff nodded, wound up and pitched, and the Wolcott left fielder met the ball with his bat and sent it right back over Jeff’s head and the trouble began. A reddish-haired lad named Quinn, who officiated at third base for the visitors, conferred with the Wolcott coach and advanced to the plate. He was evidently determined to make a sacrifice bunt and so Cobham signaled for low ones. With a strike and a ball scored, Quinn lifted one behind Van Dyke and just inside the foul line. Before the excitement was over there was a runner on second and a runner on first and no one was out!

Mr. Connover signaled along the bench and Erlingby and Frost pulled on their gloves and, followed by Gus Risley, retired behind the stand. The next man hit the ball across the diamond to Hurry, who, finding it too late for a play at second, sped the sphere to Van Dyke for the first out. A third hit followed, though, and the runners from third and second scored the tying runs!

Ogden threw out the next batsman at first, passed the subsequent one and then, while Wolcott still cheered and shouted and waved, made the third man raise an easy fly to Hurry Leland, bringing to an end a painful session!

Wyndham came in and went into conference about the coach. The score was 3 to 3. One run would settle the matter here and now, but whether that one run could be produced, and how, was a subject for thought. Clif was first up, and, after listening intently to words of wisdom from Coach Connover, faced an extremely composed looking Osterman. Steve had told Clif to wait for a pass and this he proceeded to do. But Osterman wasn’t issuing passes yet, and after two strikes had been called against him and only two balls had been wasted by the pitcher Clif knew it was up to him to watch his step. The next delivery might have been intended for a drop, but it held pretty level and Clif got it fairly. The ball shot across the diamond a few feet to the left of the middle bag, and Clif was safe on first.

Tom Kemble, due for a sacrifice, had been told to hit it out, and he proceeded to do so. He let Osterman put the first delivery over for a strike and the second for a ball. Then he selected the next and whanged it down the third base line. There was a good deal of luck in that hit, but it served its purpose, which was to put Clif on second and Tom on first. In fact, Clif might have gone to third on it, and was well on his way when the coacher turned him back.

Talbott tried hard to get his second hit of the day then, but, although he fouled the ball all over the place, escaping being caught out by so many miracles, his final effort was a bounder to third baseman, and his heroic race to the bag failed of success. Van Dyke, who followed, was wildly implored to hit a home-run――although a single would have answered quite as well――and seemed willing to oblige. But Osterman for once failed to find the plate. Perhaps it was time he let down a bit, for he had pitched fine ball for eight innings. Two balls, a strike and two more balls, pitched while the Wyndham stand yelled and jeered in the universal manner of baseball crowds, sent Van to first and the bases were full!

Bases full and only one away! A hit would win the game and the championship! Coach Connover nodded to Sim Jackson and the umpire announced the substitution impressively. Sim looked decidedly nervous as he swung his bat and awaited the first offering, but determination shone through the nervousness, and after Osterman had twice missed the plate he took courage. Osterman worked a pretty drop over for a strike and duplicated the proceeding a moment later. Evidently the booing and shouting from the Wyndham stand were no more than music to his ears! Then Sim hit. The ball rose in a weak infield fly that dropped fairly into the third baseman’s glove, while all three runners hurried back to their bases. Sim went back to the bench looking very woebegone. Two away now!

“Risley batting for Ogden!” shouted the umpire.

Gus could hit, and the Wyndham supporters took hope once more. But Gus could not, it appeared, hit to-day. Osterman fooled him badly on an out-curve, offered him a palpable ball that Gus almost went after in his anxiety and then scored again with a drop. As Gus recovered his balance after whirling around on one foot, Captain Leland, coaching at third, stooped and patted both palms against the sod. Clif took a deep breath, edged another foot from the bag, another――

Osterman was smiling a bit disdainfully as he took a short wind-up for the fourth delivery, but the smile faded abruptly. Along the path from third base a blue-stockinged form was speeding as though shot from a cannon. Cries of shrill warning sounded above the unceasing noise from the stands. Osterman stepped forward and shot the ball toward the plate, every ounce of strength behind it. Bedlam broke loose as runner and ball raced for victory. Bailey dropped despairingly, but the ball hit the dust in front of the rubber, struck his mitt and caromed off it just as Clif hurtled to the plate in a “fallaway” slide, an eager foot reaching for its goal!

The umpire, a squat figure in a cloud of yellow dust, held his hands down just as Bailey found that he was sitting on the ball. Clif struggled to his feet to discover himself in a mob of maniacal youths seemingly bent on his destruction. But they only shoved and tugged and boosted at him until he was swaying dizzily, and certainly insecurely, above the rabble. There was a fearsome din and lots of dust, and his captors, red-faced youths with wide-open mouths, seemed content to just mill around in the center of that increasing mob. But Clif was not the only one who was viewing the scene from above, for there was Captain Leland and Van Dyke and Tom, and every moment some other hero was lifted in air. Clif tried to wriggle loose, but his bearers only held him the tighter. Cheering began. Clif relaxed and grinned. It came to him that all this was eminently proper after all. They had won a mighty victory.

* * * * *

Tom had received a letter from his guardian that forenoon, but as it had reached him almost simultaneously with his restoration to the baseball squad he had not even opened it. Now, in Loring’s room after supper, the talk finally veered from the afternoon’s victory and Loring asked: “Your father isn’t coming for you, is he, Clif?”

“No,” was the answer. “He’s in Chicago and doesn’t get back until to-morrow evening. He’s sending the car by a man from the garage. I’m going to drive it back, though!”

“Trust you!” said Tom. “What time do we start along, Loring?”

“Father said they’d get up here by eleven. That’s about as early as they can make it. We’ll stop for lunch somewhere, I suppose.”

“Sure I won’t be in the way?”

“Of course you won’t. The car seats seven, and Wattles will sit in front. There’ll be just the four of us behind. How about your trunk? Want Wattles to look after that in the morning? We’re sending our stuff by express.”

“Suits me. It’s mighty nice of you to take me along, and the best of it is that I’ll be ahead the price of the railway fare, and when you don’t get much coin, anyway――” Tom stopped abruptly and slapped his pockets. “Heck, I almost forgot the old coot’s letter! Came this morning and I stuffed it away―― Here it is. Mind if I see how much he’s made the check for?”

“Go ahead,” said Loring. “Hope he’s been generous.”

“If he has,” murmured Tom, “it’s the first time――” He relapsed into silence, a slip of buff paper dangling from one hand and the accompanying letter in the other. Loring and Clif resumed conversation quietly. Suddenly there was an exclamation of dismay from Tom. “Well, what do you know?” he gasped. “The blamed old fish says I can’t come back!”

“Come back?” echoed Clif. “Do you mean _here_?”

Tom crumpled the letter savagely. “Yes! He’s had my report, and he says―― Oh, what’s it matter what he says? The main thing is I’m through!”

“But――but that’s crazy!” Loring protested. “You passed! He’s just trying to throw a scare into you, I guess. He’s bound to come around before fall, Tom.”

“Is he?” growled Tom. “You don’t know him! It’s the money he’s thinking of, the――the blamed old miser! Says it would be wasting money for me to return, that I’m getting no results for what it’s costing. And it’s my money, too! All right, all _right_! But he needn’t think I’m going to clerk in a store, or something like that, by heck! I’m――I’ll run away first! I don’t care what――”

Tom’s angry voice was stilled by a gentle tap on the door. The breeze had died away and the door had been left well ajar for the admittance of any stray breath of air stirring in the corridor. Before Loring could answer, the tip of a cane came into view, the door opened wider and Mr. Cooper entered. He was in dress clothes, and Clif’s first thought was one of envy. Clif had viewed his own evening regalia in the mirror half an hour since and had been rather well pleased with what he had seen, but now he realized that dress clothes alone were not enough; it was the manner of wearing them that counted most! Even Tom forgot his wrath for a moment in approving appraisal of the newcomer, and Loring spoke his mind frankly.

“Gee, Mr. Cooper, you’re some sheik!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Cooper smiled as he laid hat and stick on the foot of Loring’s bed. “Thanks,” he answered. “Fact is, fellows, I haven’t had these togs on for so long that they feel deuced strange. You chaps look rather sheikish yourselves, it seems to me!” He took his accustomed chair and viewed Tom’s lowering countenance inquiringly. “What’s this about running away, old chap?” he asked.

“I forgot the door was open,” muttered Tom. “It’s Mr. Winslow, sir. He doesn’t like the marks I got and says I can’t come back in the fall.”

Mr. Cooper’s brows raised. “Really! Why, that _is_ bad news, isn’t it?”

“Rotten!” declared Clif. “We had it all fixed to room together, sir.”

“Tom says it’s the expense that’s worrying the guardian,” said Loring. “And it’s Tom’s money, too.”

“And so you’re going to run away,” mused Mr. Cooper.

“I’m going in the Navy,” declared Tom defiantly.

“Well, now look here, Tom. Just put the matter out of your mind. Perhaps I don’t rate very high with you chaps as a prophet, but I’m really quite a remarkable one, and I prophesy, Tom, that you’ll be back here in September. And the September after that again.”

Tom stared doubtfully. Then he grinned. “I’d like to know where you get your dope,” he muttered.

Mr. Cooper waved a thin brown hand. “We prophets don’t give ourselves away, old chap. But――” and he spoke so gravely that even Tom was impressed――“I give you my word that I know what I’m talking about and that it’ll be just as I say. How about it?”

Tom laughed doubtfully. “I don’t see how―― But, heck, sir, you make it sound real!”

“It is real. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Mr. Winslow is――er――Mr. Winslow is mistaken.”

“I hope he finds it out!” said Tom.

“I’m quite certain he will. You may count on――”

“I beg pardon!” The interruption came from the doorway where a tall, heavily-built gentleman stood half revealed. “I see that I’m wrong. But you will kindly tell me where I can find Mr. Clendennin? I was directed, I thought, to this room, but――” The intruder’s gaze traveled from one to the other of the four occupants and came to rest on Mr. Cooper. It was then that his apologetic explanation ceased abruptly and a look of great surprise came into his face. He pushed the door wider and took a step into the room. “By the Great Horn Spoon!” he shouted. “Jack Kemble!”

Mr. Cooper arose and stepped forward with outstretched hand. “Hello, Dick,” he replied quietly but with evident pleasure. “No idea you were about.” Very gently he urged the other back to the threshold.

“But what the dickens,” went on the visitor, still pumping the hand he held, “are you doing here? I say, Ellen, you’ve heard me speak of Captain Kemble a hundred times. Jack, shake hands with my wife.” To the bewildered trio in the room a momentary vision of a blue-gowned figure showed behind the men. “The last I heard of you――”

The door swung slowly shut and only a murmur of voices came from the corridor. The three boys stared at each other in puzzlement. Then Clif sank back into his chair, and Tom followed suit more slowly. The silence lasted a full minute. Then Loring said: “What did he call him, Clif? I thought he said――”

“He did!” burst out Tom. “‘Jack Kemble’! What’s it mean? Did he get our names mixed, do you suppose? But I never saw him before!”

“I have,” said Clif. “I saw him this morning. His name’s Murdock. He’s got a boy in the Junior School, a sort of fat kid――”

“But he called Mr. Cooper ‘Jack Kemble’!” persisted Tom. “I――I don’t like it! It’s spooky! That was my――my――”

The door opened again and Mr. Cooper reëntered. He was smiling faintly, but the smile was different, and he avoided Tom’s troubled eyes as he went back to his chair. “Dick Murdock,” he explained apologetically. “We were together for a time during the War. I hadn’t seen him for a number of years. Hope we didn’t――er――startle you.”

“No, sir, not a bit,” murmured Loring.

“What did he call you?” demanded Tom a trifle shrilly.

“Oh, that!” Mr. Cooper laughed lightly. “That _was_ startling, wasn’t it? Murdock was always a perfect ass when it came to remembering names. By the way, just what did he call me?”

“Kemble, sir,” answered Clif.

“I thought it sounded like that, too. Odd, eh? I mean, a bit of a coincidence, wasn’t it?”

Tom was leaning forward in his chair, staring frowningly. “I don’t believe that!” he broke forth harshly. “What _is_ your name? You’ve got to tell us!”

The half smile left the man’s face. For a long moment he stared at the floor. Then he lifted his gaze to Tom’s, met it squarely and answered.

“John Middenwill Cooper-Kemble,” he said.

There was another moment of silence in the room, broken at last by Tom’s voice, low and trembling.

“What――what are you to――me?” he faltered.

The half smile returned to the man’s face, but it held no suggestion of amusement. It seemed, rather, the smile of one ruefully contemplating his own perplexities. But his eyes never left Tom’s as he replied.

“I regret that this has had to happen just now,” he said quietly. “I hadn’t meant it to. But you’ve a right to know.” His voice fell to a gentler tone and he added deprecatingly, “I am your father.”

* * * * *

“Of course,” said Loring a few minutes later, when he and Clif were alone, “we ought to have guessed it long ago. After all, they’re ridiculously alike, Clif.”

“Alike? Gosh, I can’t see that! And I don’t see how any one could have guessed――”

“I don’t mean in looks, but in――in ways. Think, Clif. Forget their looks. Shucks, put another twenty years on Tom, and give him four of them in the War, and he’d be Mr. Cooper――I mean Mr. Kemble――Mr. Cooper-Kemble――all over again.”

“Do you think so?” asked Clif thoughtfully. “Yes, they are alike some ways. But I’d never have guessed they were father and son. And Tom told me about his dad, too, months ago. Gosh, I wonder――” Clif looked slightly alarmed.

“What?”

“He said he was going to tell his father what he thought about him if he ever found him, Loring! Do you suppose he will?”

Loring laughed. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Tom’s crazy about him, Clif. Has been for a month!”

Wattles entered, bearing a huge kit-bag from the storeroom.

“Look here,” announced Loring, fearsomely, “you’re not going to do any more packing to-night, Wattles. You’re going over to the gym and see the show and have a good time. By the way, what time is it? We’ve got to be―― Oh, I say, Wattles, here’s a stunner! Who do you suppose Mr. Cooper is?”

“Mr. Cooper, sir?” Wattles set the bag down, dusted his hands carefully and allowed himself something that was almost a smile. “Mr. Cooper is Mr. Tom’s father, Mr. Loring.”

“_Wha-at!_ How the dickens did _you_ ever hear it?”

“I didn’t exactly hear it, sir. I――er――I came to the conclusion by observation. Perhaps, sir, you’ll recall Mr. Cooper leaving a leather cigar case behind him one afternoon.”

“No, I don’t, but what about it?”

“I took the liberty, sir, of examining it. Not from any desire to――er――pry into the gentleman’s affairs, sir, but merely because I have a――a weakness, as you might say, for leather articles――”

“That’s all right! Get on, Wattles, for Pete’s sake!”

“Yes, sir. Well, Mr. Loring, there was a name printed under the flap; in gold letters, sir: ‘J. M. Cooper-Kemble’ it was.”

“For the love of lemons!” sighed Loring. “How long ago was this, Wattles?”

“Perhaps a fortnight, sir.”

“And you never said a word!”

Wattles drew himself up slightly. “I am not the sort, Mr. Loring, to violate a gentleman’s confidence,” he replied with dignity.

Loring threw up his hands. “You’ll do, Wattles! Here, get me over to the gym. It’s eight o’clock already!”

* * * * *

It was nearly three hours later when Clif found Tom again. He might not have found him then if he had not withdrawn from the gymnasium for a breath of air. Tom was sitting alone on a step at the bottom of the flight. Clif called to him and he turned and answered dreamily: “Oh, that you, Clif? Great night, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Clif went down and seated himself at Tom’s side. After a moment, during which Tom seemed to have forgotten his chum’s presence in silent contemplation of a shining half moon Clif asked diffidently: “Is everything all right, Tom?”

“Eh? What did you―― Oh, you bet! Listen, I’m to come back next fall, Clif, and right along until I’m finished, no matter if it takes ten years! He said so. And I’m to go to college, too! And next summer―― Say, it wasn’t bunk at all, about us getting together in Switzerland! It’s real! We’re going to do it, Clif! I’m going abroad with him; for all summer; France, Germany, Switzerland――hundreds of places! Gosh, isn’t that wonderful? Why, this morning I never expected to see anything all my life but just New Jersey!”

“Gee, that’s simply corking!” cried Clif, thrilled. “And, I say, Tom, you didn’t――didn’t talk to him like you said you were going to, did you?”

Tom shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I don’t know just how it was when I was a kid and he went away, but he told me a little. You see, his father died――I forgot to tell you we’re pretty well off, he and I, Clif!――and he had to go across; back to England; and mother――well, she didn’t want to go; anyway, she wouldn’t. And father sent for her and――and she still wouldn’t go to him――I suppose folks don’t all get along very well together, even if they are married, Clif. Anyway, father didn’t see her again. He meant to. He meant to come back, but he went to Africa, and then the War broke out. Oh, I guess he was to blame, all right, but――well, a fellow doesn’t want to say anything against his mother, especially when she’s dead, Clif. And she was a mighty fine mother to me; and he says she was fine, too. Only――well, they didn’t seem to get along. He didn’t know she had died until a whole year after. And when he tried to find me he couldn’t for a long time. He wasn’t going to tell me about being my father yet, he says. He wanted to――to make sure that――that I wanted him, you see. He said to-night that it needn’t make any difference. That if I wasn’t ready to have him for a father he’d leave me alone until I was.”

Tom paused and the music from the dance floor came out in a sudden flood of melody. The white moon, momentarily hidden by a fleecy purple cloud, sailed forth again.

“What did you tell him, Tom?” asked Clif anxiously.

Tom, staring up at the moon, grinned almost embarrassedly.

“I told him,” he answered, “that he’d better stick around!”

THE END

BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

_North Bank Series_

Three Base Benson

How an ungainly youth outlived the jeering of his school mates and won their respect with his presence of mind, and how he made the nine and gained a nickname by his prowess at bat.

Kick Formation

Jerry Benson, after establishing himself as a baseball player, turns to football. Once more he uses his head, and it is his resourcefulness more than any other quality which makes him a hero.

Coxswain of the Eight

The trials of a young fellow who is too small for the athletic teams, but who longs to put his school spirit in action. He finds his opportunity in trying out for coxswain.

_Some Books Not in Series_

For the Good of the Team

A prep school football story, telling of a brilliant player who proved a failure as captain, but who finally pocketed his pride and worked heartily for the good of the team.

The Fighting Scrub

Gives proper credit, at last, to the hard-used scrubs. Describes a season in which the fighting spirit of the scrub team and the part played by a crippled onlooker were the features.

Follow the Ball

Describes a boy’s full year, telling of athletics and other activities and of the events of the vacation season as well.

_Each $1.75_

_The Grafton Series_

_These are stories of life at Grafton School. They are full of sport and games, and will interest any boy who likes the rivalry of contests._

Rivals for the Team

Hugh Ordway comes to America from England. His room-mate, star half-back of the team, gets him started in football, and on the eve of the great contest they find themselves rivals for the same position.

Winning His Game

The day of the game between Grafton and Mount Morris arrives and Bud Baker and Jimmy Logan, two important players, are missing. A search reveals that they have missed the train. And then――well, read the story.

Hitting the Line

Monty Grail comes East from Wyoming to enter Mount Morris School. At the Grand Central Terminal he meets two prominent students of Grafton who induce him to enter their school instead. In the end he is not sorry he changed his mind.

_The Purple Pennant Series_

_In these books Mr. Barbour tells of life in the overage high school. Each book is a thriller._

The Lucky Seventh

Gordon Merrick, with Dick Lovering, forms a ball team of the remnants of the High School nine and challenges the boys of the summer colony.

The Secret Play

Clearfield High School loses her football coach, and against much criticism, Dick Lovering, a cripple, coaches the team. When the day of the big match comes, some unexpected things happen.

The Purple Pennant

An athletic meet in which the boys have running races, hurdling, pole-vaulting and hammer throwing, is the climax of this story. The book tells the story of the purple pennant and how it came into being.

_Hilton Series_

The Half Back

The young hero of this story is carried through preparatory school and the freshman year at Harvard. The story closes with an account of a Yale-Harvard game.

For the Honor of the School

The excitement of a cross country run, training for track athletics, with a glimpse of football are all to be found in this school story. The hero is both an athlete and a scholar.

Captain of the Crew

“Captain of the Crew” follows “For the Honor of the School” but is in every sense a complete story. The author is concerned both with school athletics and with the influences that build character.

_Erskine Series_

Behind the Line

A story of life at a preparatory school with the chief interest centering around football. The author gives an intimate view of the preparation and training necessary for a big game.

Weatherby’s Inning

A story of a young man’s struggle against untoward circumstances in a small New England college. Baseball furnishes the chief athletic interest.

On Your Mark

Track work furnishes the athletic interest in this story of school life.

_Yardley Hall Series_

Forward Pass

The boy who likes football will find a good technical description of the game in this book as well as a fine story showing how the newest tactics work out in practice.

Double Play

A story to follow “Forward Pass,” relating new adventures in the life of the hero. Baseball has a large place in the story, but other school events are entertainingly described.

Winning His “Y”

“Money-bags” and “Miss Nancy” are two nicknames given Gerald Pennimore when he arrives at Yardley, due to his father’s millions. How he lives them both down and wins his “Y” make an exciting story.

For Yardley

Another Yardley story with Gerald Pennimore well to the fore among the characters. Why Gerald was put on probation and how he bore his punishment are the chief matters of interest.

Change Signals

Kendall Burtis comes from the country and this is the story of how he develops into a star kicker and the hero of the big game of the season.

Around the End

Kendall Burtis has developed into a star player, when suddenly it is discovered that someone has turned traitor and sold the team’s signals to Broadwood. Kendall is accused, and the outcome is a surprise to everyone.

These Are Appleton Books

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.