Kitabı oku: «Four in Camp: A Story of Summer Adventures in the New Hampshire Woods», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XIII
RECALLS THE FACT THAT WHAT’S FAIR FOR ONE IS FAIR FOR ANOTHER, AND RECORDS A DEFEAT AND A VICTORY
A week later Wickasaw came over to the mainland and met Chicora on the diamond. The final score, when the game came to an end at the last of the seventh inning, was 18 to 4, and I had rather not say which side scored the 18. However, defeat is not dishonorable; Chicora had that thought to comfort her. Wells, he of the snub-nose, pitched a magnificent game for five innings, and then went so high into the air that he wasn’t able to get down again while the game lasted. And while he was up there Wickasaw unkindly batted in eight runs and scored seven more on errors, four of them being due to Wells’s wildness. Wickasaw played every last one of her councilors – four in all – and would probably have won by a small margin even if Wells hadn’t gone to pieces. But the result was a disappointment to Bob, and he worried over it a good deal during the ensuing three days. Wickasaw went home in her launch and rowboats audibly pleased with herself, and the next day, beneath her camp-flag on the pole at the landing, floated a square of white sheeting inscribed:
W. 18; C. 4
And every time Bob saw that flag floating in the breeze he ground his teeth. And Dan smiled his widest smile, and drew a sketch of the flag they were going to put up after the next game. And in the meanwhile everybody went to work harder than ever at the batting-net and in the field; for the lesson of defeat is renewed endeavor.
On the following Saturday Chicora played again, this time with the nine from the Chicora Inn, a nine made up of guests and employees of the hotel. It was the finest kind of an August afternoon, warm enough to limber the players’ muscles, and yet not so hot that the spectators were uncomfortable under the shade of the trees. Wells went into the box again for the Camp, while the Inn had her head clerk, a Dartmouth College man, do the pitching for her. For the first three innings the Camp had everything its own way. Nelson started things going with a three-bagger in the second, and after the bases had filled up Bob went to bat and cleared them, himself reaching second. Again, in the third a base on balls to the second man up proved costly, the runner on first reaching second on a passed ball and taking third on a single by Carter. Then Wells got in the way of an in-shoot and limped to base amid the laughing applause of the Camp rooters, and the bags were all occupied. It was Nelson’s chance again, and he made the most of it. With two strikes and three balls called on him he found what he wanted, and hit safely for two bases over short-stop’s head. The Inn had meanwhile scored but one run, and so at the beginning of the fourth inning the score stood 6 to 1, and the spectators who were gallantly flaunting the crimson flags of Chicora Inn were becoming anxious.
When the Inn next went to the bat it was seen that she had substituted a new player for the one who had thus far been holding down second base. The new man was about six feet tall, and fully thirty-five years old, and his face seemed dimly familiar to Bob. And when, having gone to bat, he lined the first ball pitched between first and second for three bases, Bob recognized him as “Monty” Williams, an old Princeton player who had made a reputation for himself while in college as a star ball-player. In that inning the Inn netted three runs, and the score was no longer so one-sided. But Bob was worried, and as the teams changed sides he made his way to the captain of the opposing team.
“Look here,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a fair deal for you fellows to play Williams. He’s an old college player, and we know that he isn’t staying at the Inn. He’s visiting over at Bass Island.”
“Oh, what’s the use in being fussy?” asked the other good-naturedly. “This isn’t a championship game; we’re only here for the fun of playing. Besides, Williams hasn’t played baseball for at least ten years.”
“Well, it isn’t according to the understanding,” answered Bob; “but if you insist on playing him, all right; it’s a bit raw, though. We’re playing fellows on our side some of whom aren’t sixteen years old; and we’re not playing a single one of our councilors.”
“Well, why don’t you? Go ahead and play any one you like. We don’t care who you play; we’re here for the fun of playing, that’s all.”
“All right,” answered Bob; “I don’t intend to be nasty about it. We’ll beat you, anyhow.”
“That’s the stuff,” laughed the other captain. “Go ahead and do it.”
But it didn’t look very easy during the next two innings. To be sure, the Camp managed to tally two more runs, but the Inn wasn’t idle. The next time Williams came to bat the bases were full, and as a result of the long drive he made into left field three tallies were set down to the Inn’s credit, and a minute or two later Williams made it four by heady base stealing. That tied the score, 8 to 8. Bob didn’t mind a defeat at the hands of Chicora Inn very much, but to be beaten two games running was more than he could relish; and while he was doing a lot of hard thinking Tom came to the rescue:
“Say, Bob,” he whispered, “we’re going to be licked if you keep Wells in there. That fellow Williams can hit him easy.”
“I know it, but they insist on playing Williams. They say I can put in any one I want to, but we haven’t played our councilors, and I don’t want to start it now. And as for Wells, there isn’t any one on our team can do any better.”
“Get Billy Carter to pitch.”
“Billy Carter? Who’s Billy – ? You mean Joe’s brother? Can he pitch? Thought he was a crew man.”
“He is, but he pitched for the Yale freshman nine last spring, and I’ll bet he’s a peach!”
“Good stuff! Will he play, do you think?”
“I don’t know, but he seems a decent chap. Get Joe to ask him.”
“I will. Oh, Joe! Joe Carter!”
The result of this conference was that two or three minutes later when the teams again changed sides Wells retired to the shade of the apple-trees and his place in the pitcher’s box was taken by a stocky, fair-haired, and sun-burned chap of eighteen who, having discarded his coat and cap, picked up the ball and began pitching to Bob in a way that suggested a good deal of experience. He was a fine-looking fellow with a chest that brought murmurs of admiration from the spectators. He had rowed on the winning Yale freshman eight and pitched on the Yale freshman nine, and so his chest development and the muscles that played so prettily along his arms were there of good reason. He had reached camp only that forenoon on a visit of two or three days to his brother, and there hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation on his part when Joe, earnestly seconded by Bob, had asked him to play. He had kept in training since the boat races and had not forgotten his cunning in the box.
And the opponents had occasion to note the fact. For in the next two innings not a man on their team reached first base. Carter’s delivery puzzled them effectually, and when the mighty Williams had three strikes called on him and tossed down his bat with a grim shake of his head the supporters of the blue and gray shouted their delight. But shutting out the Inn wasn’t winning the game, and when at last the ninth inning opened with the score still 8 to 8 Bob had visions of a tie game. But he had reckoned without the new pitcher. That youth didn’t have a chance at bat until with one out in the ninth things were looking their darkest for the Camp. Then he selected a bat and faced the Inn’s pitcher calmly. He allowed two balls to go by him, but the third one he liked. And the way in which he lit on to it was beautiful to behold; at least that’s the way it seemed to Bob and Dan and Nelson and all the other Chicorians. For that ball started off as though it had got tired of being knocked around so much and was going straight home to sit down and rest. That it didn’t get all the way home, but only as far as the woods behind center-fielder, didn’t affect the result of the contest. It went quite far enough. And Billy Carter romped home like a playful giant and subsided under the trees and fanned his face, while about him danced the delighted cohorts from the Camp. After that it was only necessary to keep the Inn from scoring, and with Carter still in the points that was an absurdly easy task. It wasn’t a very decided win, 9 to 8, but it sufficed, and Bob was comforted.
After the game was over the captain of the Inn’s forces sought out Bob.
“Who was the chap that pitched for you?” he asked curiously.
“Oh,” Bob answered, “that’s Carter, pitcher on last year’s Yale freshman team. You told me to play any one I liked, you know; otherwise, of course – ”
“Oh!” said the other.
On the way back to camp Dan alone seemed not entirely happy.
“Oh, yes,” he said in response to inquiries, “the game was all right enough. But did you notice that Wickasaw was over there cheering for the Inn?”
“I didn’t notice who they cheered for,” answered Bob. “What of it?”
“What of it? Lots! Call that sportsmanlike? Huh! You wait, that’s all, my friends. We’ll get even with Wickasaw!”
CHAPTER XIV
BEGINS A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE WHICH THREATENS TO END IN DISASTER
“I haven’t said anything about it to Bob,” Dan explained. “You see, he’s so kind of – kind of – well, proper, you know.”
They were sitting – Dan and Nelson and Tom – on the edge of the landing. Supper was over and camp-fire was still an hour distant. Behind them the hillside was darkening with the mysterious shadows of night. Before them the lake lay like a sheet of purple glass, streaked here and there with pencilings of steely blue. At the end of the lake and at intervals along the farther shore the lights twinkled in windows or at landings. From the direction of Crescent came the chug – chug – chug of the motor-dory returning with the evening mail. Overhead gleamed the white light of the lantern, pale and wan as yet against the sky. Tom beat a tattoo with his feet against the spile beneath. They had come down here because the camp was infested – to use Dan’s language – with kids and visitors, and they wanted to be alone to plot and conspire. But Tom didn’t relish just sitting here and watching the afterglow fade over Bass Island. He yawned.
“Seems to me,” he said disgustedly, “we’re a mighty slow lot of conspirators. If some one doesn’t get busy pretty quick and conspire I’ll go back and read that book. There’s more conspiracy in that than you can shake your ears at. When I left off the villain was creeping up the lighthouse stairs in his stocking feet with a knife a foot long in his hand.”
“What for?” asked Nelson interestedly.
“To kill the hero and the girl he was shipwrecked with, of course!”
“Of course there’d have to be a girl in it,” sighed Nelson. “That’s the way they spoil all the good stories nowadays, putting a silly girl into it! Wait till I write a story!”
“This girl’s all right,” answered Tom warmly. “Why, she saved the hero’s life; swam with him over half a mile from the wreck to the lighthouse, carried him in her arms to the door, and fell fainting on the threshold!”
“Rot! No girl could do that!”
“Why couldn’t she? I’ll bet you she could!”
“Oh, get out! Swim half a mile and lug a man with her? And then carry him in her arms another half mile – ”
“It was only a little ways, and – ”
“She must have been a – an Amazon!”
“She wasn’t, she was a Spaniard.”
“Maybe she was a Spanish mackerel,” suggested Dan. “They can swim like anything. Now shut up, you chaps, and listen.”
“The chief conspirator has the floor,” murmured Tom.
“You know those Wickasaw dubs came over here to-day to our ball field and had the cheek to cheer for the Inn, don’t you?”
“Sure,” muttered Tom.
“Well, they had no business doing it.”
“That’s so,” Nelson concurred.
“And so we’re going to get square with them.”
“Hooray!” said Tom in a husky whisper.
“How?” questioned Nelson.
“I’m coming to that,” answered Dan importantly.
“You’re a long old time coming,” Tom grumbled. “I’ll bet that fellow has got up-stairs by now and murdered the hero and the girl, and I wasn’t there to – ”
“Cut it out, Tommy!” commanded Dan. “You see that flag over there at Wickasaw’s landing?”
“I see something sort of white that may be a flag, or may be some fellow’s Sunday shirt,” answered Nelson.
“Well, that’s that old white flag with the score on it. They’re too lazy to do anything shipshape, and so instead of tying it onto the lanyards under the camp-flag – ”
“Bending it on, you mean,” said Tom.
“You be blowed,” said Dan. “You know too much, Tommy. Well, instead of fixing it on to the rope they just nailed it on to the pole. That’s the lucky part of it; see?”
The others looked across at the blur of white and then looked at Dan. Then they shook their heads.
“I may be stupid, Dan,” said Nelson apologetically, “but I’m blowed if I do see.”
“I guess the answer’s a bottle of ink,” said Tom flippantly.
“Why,” said Dan impatiently, “if they’d taken it in we couldn’t have got it.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Nelson. “Then we’re going – to – to – ”
“Swipe it!” said Dan.
Tom heaved a sigh of relief.
“Bully! I was afraid it was something to do with blue paint!”
“What’s your scheme?” asked Nelson, beginning to take interest. But Dan had nothing more to say until the motor-dory had come alongside and its occupants had finally taken themselves off up the hill, whooping like an Indian war-party.
“When it’s good and dark,” he continued then, “we’ll swim over there and get the old rag; that’s all.”
“But why not take a boat?” asked Tom.
“Because somebody would be sure to hear us.”
“Then what’s the matter with a canoe?”
“Well, that might do,” answered Dan thoughtfully. “But we don’t want to have any trouble about it; Clint’s got his eye on us, I’ll bet, and if we get caught swiping Wickasaw’s flag we’ll get what for!”
“But there won’t be any fun in it if they don’t know who’s taken it,” Nelson objected.
“Oh, they’ll know all right,” said Dan; “only they won’t be able to prove anything.”
“I tell you what,” Tom exclaimed. “We’ll tear it up and tie it around that stake off the end of the island, the one that marks the sand-bar.”
“That’s so,” said Nelson. “And look, Dan, we can take a canoe and paddle down the shore until we’re opposite the landing and then swim across. That way we won’t have to swim over a half mile in all.”
“All right,” agreed Dan. “I don’t care whether we paddle or swim; but that flag’s got to come down from there.”
“They’ll probably put another one up,” said Tom.
“Let ’em! We’ll have had our fun,” said Nelson. “What time had we better go, Dan?”
“About eleven, I guess. We want to wait until Verder and Smith are asleep so that they won’t hear us sneak out.”
“You don’t think Bob will be hurt at being left out, do you?” asked Nelson.
“I don’t believe so; anyway, I don’t think he’d go. And if any row comes up he won’t get into it because he won’t know anything about it. Come on; let’s go up.”
So the plotting ended and they went back to camp-fire looking beautifully innocent, and were so sleepy, all three of them, that no one would have suspected for an instant that they intended to stay awake until midnight. After camp-fire the launch took the visitors back to the Inn, but none of the Four went along; they didn’t know what time they would get back and they wanted the senior dormitory to be wrapped in slumber as early as possible; for, after all, the day had been a busy one and it might prove to be no easy task to keep eyes open until even eleven. The lights went out promptly at half past nine, and Dan and Tom and Nelson stretched themselves out between the blankets with the other occupants of the hall. It was hard work to keep awake during the next hour and a half. Nelson, despite his best endeavors, dozed once or twice, but was sufficiently wide awake to hear Dan’s bed creak and Dan’s bare feet creeping up the aisle.
“Awake, Nel?”
“Yes,” Nelson whispered.
“All right; come on. I’ll get Tommy.”
Nelson slipped noiselessly out of his bunk and as noiselessly out of his pajamas and crept along to Tom’s bed. That youth was fast asleep, breathing like a sawmill, and Dan’s gentle shakes and whispers were having no effect.
“Oh, come on and let him stay here,” said Dan finally. “We can’t wake up the whole place on his account. The silly dub ought to have kept awake.”
“Wait, let me try him,” whispered Nelson. Some one had told him that the best way to awake a person so that he wouldn’t make any noise was to take hold of his nose with the fingers and press it. So Nelson got a firm hold on that organ and gave a vigorous pull. The effect was instantaneous.
“Lemme ’lone!” said Tom drowsily but sufficiently loud to be heard all over the dormitory. Dan slapped his hand over the slumberer’s mouth, and Nelson whispered “Hush!” as loudly as he dared. Luckily, save for a sleepy murmur from the next bunk, there was no notice taken of Tom’s remonstrance. By this time Tom had gained his senses and a realization of what was up, and in a moment the three conspirators were stealing down the aisle and out of the dormitory, naked and shivering.
Once on the path they could talk, and Dan called Tom to task for going to sleep and nearly spoiling everything. “It would have served you bloody well right if we had left you behind,” he ended severely.
“Wish you had,” muttered Tom. “I’m as sleepy as a cat.”
“Did any one hear the launch come back?” asked Dan presently.
“I didn’t,” said Nelson; “but I dropped off to sleep a couple of times.”
“So did I,” said Tom truthfully but unnecessarily.
“Well, I was awake all the time,” Dan said, “and I’ll swear I didn’t hear a sound from it. But they must be back by this; it’s ten minutes to eleven.”
“Well, just as long as we don’t meet them at the landing it’s all right,” said Nelson cheerfully. “Hush! What’s that?”
They stopped short at the foot of the hill and listened breathlessly.
“What?” whispered Dan.
“I thought I heard voices,” answered Nelson.
But after a moment, as no sounds reached them, they went on, and found the landing dark, save for the little glare of the lantern, and quite deserted. It was but a moment’s work to put one of the canoes into the water, and soon they were paddling stealthily along the shore toward the foot of the lake. The stars were bright overhead, but for all of that the night was pretty dark and here under the trees it was difficult to see their course and to keep from running aground. As a result they made slow progress. Bear Island was a darker blotch against the dark water. Wickasaw never displayed a lantern at night, but the boys thought they could make out a dim light where the landing ought to be. When they had reached a point along the shore about opposite the farther end of the island they drew the canoe half onto the shore and waded out into the darkness.
“Swim for the landing,” instructed Dan, “and don’t make any noise. We’ll see what that light is before we get very near.”
Then they struck out, swimming slowly and silently, Dan and Tom abreast and Nelson a length behind. The water was warm and felt grateful to their chilled bodies; although the days were warm the nights were getting cool. It was very good fun, this stealthy progress through the dark water with only the white stars to see. Nelson experienced an exhilarating sensation of excitement as they drew near the shadowy island; he felt like a conspirator, indeed, and one on a desperate mission. To be sure, the danger of being caught was very slight, he supposed, but there was enough of it to lend spice to the venture. The distance from shore to island was well under a quarter of a mile, but at the slow speed they went it was almost ten minutes before Dan called a halt a hundred feet from the landing. Nelson swam up to the other two boys, and they remained quiet for a moment, looking and listening. There was no sound to be heard, but an orange glow slightly above the level of the float puzzled them. Finally Tom was sent forward to reconnoiter. Presently he was back again.
“It’s the Chi-chi-chi – ” he sputtered excitedly.
“Cut it out,” whispered Dan. “Say it quick without thinking.”
“It’s the Chi-chi-chi-chi-chi – ”
“Steam-engine,” suggested Nelson sotto voce.
“Chi-chi-Chicora!” blurted Tom finally in a hoarse whisper.
“What?” asked Dan. “The Chicora? Then, Clint’s there visiting Doctor Powers. Wonder who’s with him?”
“I think Thorpe went along in the launch,” said Nelson.
“Lu-lu-let’s go back,” suggested Tom uneasily.
“What for? It’s better to have Clint here than at camp, I think,” said Dan. “Come on. Did you hear any one, Tommy?”
“No, but I could see a light in the main house.”
“That’s it, then; Clint and Thorpe are paying a call on Powers, probably about the water sports. Shall we go on? What do you say?”
“Yes,” answered Nelson. “Let’s do what we started to do.”
“I don’t care,” said Tom.
So ahead they went, and in a minute were pulling themselves up onto the float. Beside it lay the steam-launch, her engine sizzling gently. The light they had seen came from the lantern which hung by the steam-gage. Softly they crept up the gangway to the pier above and there listened. The main building of Camp Wickasaw, a rather elaborate cottage, stood about two hundred feet away. Light shone from the door and from the window to the right of it. Both were open, and the boys thought at times they could hear the hum of voices. But they couldn’t be certain, for Tom’s teeth were chattering loudly and they were all shivering so they could scarcely keep still. But no one was in sight, and so they hurried to the end of the pier and Dan mounted the railing. The flagpole, a small affair, was secured to the floor of the pier and to a post of the railing, and on it, barely visible in the darkness, hung the obnoxious white flag. Unfortunately, it was two feet out of Dan’s reach.
“I’ve got to shin up a ways,” he whispered. Then he wound his legs about the slender pole and started up. And then – well, then there was a sharp sound of breaking wood, an involuntary cry from Dan, and an instant later a mighty splash as boy and pole and a section of railing went down into the water six feet below. And at that moment voices came from the house and footsteps crunched the gravel of the path!
