CHAPTER XXIII
LOST: ONE BASEBALL TEAM
In choice seats of the Belden bleachers, opposite first base, sat twomen and one girl. Anybody with half an eye could see that the girl wasin charge of the party. For instance, every time the gathering fans inthe stands chorused the staccato Belden High School yell, she sprangup, like a cheer leader, with her black eyes snapping, and said: "Rightback at them now! We'll show them! Ready! One--two--three!" And Mr.Sefton and Mr. Hibbs and Molly Sefton roared defiantly:
"U Rah! U Rah! U Rah! Yi! Lakeville! Lakeville! Lakeville High!"
Out on the diamond, the Belden team practiced in a desultory fashion,keeping one eye on the ball and the other on the gate of thepark--which, it may be remarked in passing, was all right so far as thegate was concerned, but not particularly helpful in batting, throwing,or catching. In fact, the nine was displaying a brand of baseball thatwould have shamed a bunch of kindergartners; and the boys knew it andwere consequently irritated. But the fault was not wholly theirs.
The trouble was that even at two-thirty with the stands rapidlyfilling, with the Belden team warming up, and with the umpire waitingpatiently and pretending not to see or hear anything that was goingon (as all good umpires must pretend before they slip on their chestprotectors and fill the pockets of their navy-blue serge coats withballs and go out behind the pitcher and raise their right hands andyell, "Pla-a-ay ba-a-al!")--with everything and everybody apparentlyready for the game that was scheduled to begin half an hour later, theopposing Lakeville players had not yet arrived.
"But they'll come," declared Molly Sefton for the hundredth time."If they don't"--she stamped her foot angrily--"if they don't come,why--why, we'll just go out there and play that Belden team ourselves."Whereat the portly Mr. Sefton and the gray-haired Mr. Hibbs wincedperceptibly.
"I don't understand it," said the Scout Master of the Black EaglePatrol, also for the hundredth time. "The train should have arrivedlong ago."
"Nonsense!" snapped Mr. Sefton, speaking as if it were a lesson he waslearning by heart. "It's late, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Givethem time."
Molly saw the man first. He was shouldering his way up the rowsof seats from the ground toward them, and he was doing it with anofficiousness that marked him as a person of importance. He wore ablack suit, almost ministerial in cut, a stiff white shirt, and a blackbow tie of the sort that is put on by tucking two stiff ends underneaththe flaps of a turn-down collar.
"Gentlemen," he said, halting before the two Lakeville men and ignoringMiss Molly altogether, "where is your baseball team?"
Mr. Sefton held him eye to eye. "It's coming," he announced confidently.
"Are you the Belden coach?" Horace Hibbs asked mildly.
"No, gentlemen, I am not the coach. I am, you might say, the manbehind the team. Throughout the season, I have been its supporter, itsmainstay, its benefactor. Allow me to offer an illustration of what Imean. Do you see that flagstaff?"
"Yes."
"I contributed that. When Belden has won this game, I shall run up thepennant with my own hands, and I shall, at the request of my friends,say--ahem, a few words of congratulation to the team and the assembledcrowd."
"Indeed!" remarked Mr. Sefton, without any great show of enthusiasm.
"But I am digressing," the great one stated. "I came here to warn yougentlemen that if, on the stroke of three o'clock, the Lakeville teamis still missing, I shall instruct the umpire to forfeit the game bythe usual score of nine to nothing. Immediately, I shall award thepennant to Belden and begin--ahem, my speech. I thank you, gentlemen."
"For what?" gasped Mr. Sefton, watching the man push his way to thebottom of the stand. "Look here, Horace, they can't do that, can they?"
Mr. Hibbs shook a worried head. "I don't know," he confessed. "In golfor tennis, of course, if a player does not report, he forfeits hiscontest. And there is a baseball rule to the effect that if a teamrefuses to play--"
A boy stalked along the ground at the foot of the bleachers. He waswaving a paper and shouting: "Horace Hibbs! Message for Horace Hibbs!Horace Hibbs! Message for--"
"Up here, boy!" Molly sprang to her feet, waving wildly. "Right uphere!--Let him pass, _please_! Thank _you_!--This is Mr. Hibbs--Quick!What is it?"
With nervous haste, Horace Hibbs unfolded the paper. The message wasscrawled in a free, running hand, with several erasures, as if it hadbeen taken over a telephone. He read it to the other two:
Tell Horace Hibbs, Belden High School baseball park, that Lakeville team has been delayed by bad freight wreck on railroad ahead. May be very late in arriving. Hold game.--Leland.
"Oh!" gasped Molly. It was as if somebody had struck her a stingingblow on the cheek. She felt the pain, the mental despair, and then, asthe numbness passed, a tingling anger and unreasoning spleen againstthe world in general. "Oh!" she said again, crimsoning. "They are introuble. It isn't fair. Why don't you men do something? Dad, how canyou sit quietly when the boys need help?"
Mr. Sefton took the message from Horace Hibbs and smoothed it upon hisknee. "H'm! No time mentioned; no name of the place where they arestranded. But they will know at the Belden station. I will get in touchwith the team by telephone; then we will see what can be done." Andwith a final admonition not to worry, he was gone.
With troubled eyes, Molly Sefton and Horace Hibbs followed his courseacross the park. Once, near the ball players on the diamond, he seemedto hesitate, as if to offer them some explanation; then, with a shrugof his shoulders, he marched on without stopping. Again, near homeplate, he turned his head at the call of the pompous man who meant toaward the pennant to Belden. Even from where they sat, the girl andthe Scout Master could see Mr. Sefton smile and nod confidently. Hebelieved the Lakeville team would yet arrive safely, and he meant tomake the important person believe it, too.
"Good old Dad!" beamed Molly. She squirmed sideways on her seat. "Talkto me, Horace Hibbs. Tell me the team will come. Tell me it will behere in time. It must, you know; it just must!"
"Of course," said Horace Hibbs simply, "it will come." There wassomething so earnest in the boyish way he said it, and in the plausiblereasons he gave later for expecting the missing team, that Molly felther courage warming again. The twin worried lines from the top of hernose to the middle of her forehead ironed out; the corners of her mouthquirked into the forerunner of an honest smile.
In the meantime, though, the minutes had been ticking away. It wasa quarter of three now. Up and down the stands, impatient fans, whocould not understand why the Lakeville nine did not take the field forpractice, were shuffling their feet uneasily, and calling, "Play ball!Play ball!"
The messenger came a second time. He knew now where to find HoraceHibbs, and he was holding out the scribbled paper before either Mollyor the Scout Master saw him. It read:
We are leaving to walk around wreck to Elkana, where conductor tells us they may start another train for Belden, to take place of one held up by blocked track.--Leland.
"Wait!" Molly called to the boy as he was turning away. "Where did youget this?"
"Long-distance telephone to the grand-stand over there."
Molly dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Then Dad won't knowwhere to reach the team," she said, puckering her mouth as she thoughtrapidly. "You must find him here at the station, Horace Hibbs, and tellhim to call up Elkana. Run along. Don't waste a minute. If they arereally coming, I will keep this game from starting till they get here."
Obediently, the man rose. Whatever doubts he may have entertained as toher ability to handle the situation at the ball park vanished beforethe determination expressed by her pursed lips and clenched fists. Shewas competent, Horace told himself; yes, as competent as any Scout inthe Black Eagle Patrol.
With both her father and Horace Hibbs gone, Molly realized that she wasnow the single Lakeville representative in all that crowd. The thoughtsent little prickles down her rigid back, and she caught herselfplucking nervously at her skirt. The
discovery wounded her pride.
"Now, Molly Sefton," she admonished herself severely, clasping theerrant hands in her lap, "don't be a good-for-nothing, sniveling littlecoward!"
More time passed. More fans stamped their feet and yelled, "Play ball!"The important person who was going to have the umpire forfeit the gamestrutted to the bottom of the rows of seats. There, watch in hand, helooked up near-sightedly, without discovering that two thirds of hisformer audience had disappeared, and said, in a voice like fate, "Fiveminutes more, gentlemen; five minutes!"
Molly was having a good deal of trouble keeping herself in leash.She wavered between a desire to shriek at the top of her voice andanother to get out the little lace-fringed handkerchief Aunt Ella hadgiven her, and have a good cry. It took courage to fight back bothtemptations. Instead, she plucked at the sleeve of the high-school boyat her side.
"Will you do me a favor, _please_?"
The high-school boy would.
"Run down there to the diamond, then," Molly commanded, "and ask thecaptain of the Belden team to come here a minute, _please_!"
She liked the boy in uniform who responded to her call. He had roundblue eyes, lots of freckles, and a smile that came without coaxing. Itwas easy to tell him the troubles Lakeville's team was encountering.
"So they are coming, you understand," she finished breathlessly. "Ifyou will just hold the game a few minutes, till they get here--"
"Why sure!" The boy fumbled with his cap and spoke awkwardly, but therewas no doubting his sincerity. "We meant to postpone the start tillyour team came, of course."
"But that--that man--" Molly halted until she had spied the importantperson and pointed him out to the Belden captain. "That man said hewould tell the umpire to forfeit the game at three o'clock if our boysweren't here."
"So he could make a speech, huh?" The boy's smile revealed two rowsof gleaming white teeth. "That's old Senator Cannon, who used to bein the State legislature; he'd rather make a speech, I guess, thaneat. Regular talking machine, that man. But he isn't running our ballteam. Why, he wanted to award the pennant last week, after we lickedElkana--so's he could make a speech, you see."
"The idea!" sniffed Miss Sefton in her most grown-up manner.
"But we fellows voted 'no' on his little scheme. Said we had Lakevilleto trim for a clear title to the State championship. That's why we areso keen to play to-day, even if we start a bit late. You know, it'sthis afternoon or never, because school ended yesterday, and we can'tvery well postpone the game."
"Oh, you won't have to worry that way," Molly assured the Beldencaptain. "Our team is surely coming. It--it--" She faltered at sight ofthe messenger, on his third trip that day. Some inkling of impendingdisaster gripped her. Before she spoke again, she moistened her lips."Well, what is it now?"
"Message for Horace Hibbs."
Molly reached for the paper. She had meant to ask for it, but the wordswould not come. All at once, she was afraid of what those scrawledwords might reveal. The Belden captain watched her curiously.
But she was no coward. She would prove that much. So, calling uponevery ounce of her will power to steady her fingers, she calmlyunfolded the paper and read the message. There was not even the flickerof an eyebrow to suggest its import. When she had deciphered the finalblur that stood for "Leland", she looked up at the boy.
"I am sorry," she said in a low, hurt voice, "but I am afraid we can'tplay the game, after all. The team is--is not coming."
For the message read:
Tell Horace Hibbs, baseball park, that no train will leave Elkana for Belden before night. Too far and too late to use automobile. We are getting ready to start back home.--Leland.
If the Belden boy spoke to her, Molly did not hear him. For a time,indeed, the measured _pound-pound-pound_ of her heart tolled so loudlythat it deafened her to all else. Not till her quickening ears countedthe three strokes of some belled clock in town did she become consciousof the babel about her.
It was time for the game to begin. To the rhythm of thousands ofstamping feet, the fans were dinning, "Start the game! Start the game!"Off down the road, outside the park, a muffled roar grew and doubled involume, like distant thunder coming closer and closer. It rumbled tothe very gate; it died to a faint putter. As the great swinging doorsflung wide, it belched forth once more, nerve-racking, ear-rending.
Then Molly gasped and stared.
Into the ball park rolled the queerest contrivance she had everseen--a great engine, running on broad, endless belts instead ofwheels, and towing behind it a half-loaded hayrack.
"It's a farm tractor!" said a startled voice below her.
"It's the Lakeville baseball team!" screamed Molly watching BunnyPayton and Bi Jones jump from the hayrack, with at least seven otherboys ready to spill over the sides.
She experienced a sudden absurd pity for the man who wanted to forfeitthe game, that he might make a speech, and for the blue-eyed, freckledBelden captain who was about to lead his team to defeat, and for allthose fans who counted confidently on a Belden victory.
They were very still now, very apprehensive. In a little while, sheguessed, they would be sorry the Lakeville nine had ever come. Shelaughed hysterically and sprang to her feet. With a Lakeville Highbanner streaming in the wind, she shrieked at the top of her voice:
"Play ball!"
Boy Scouts of Lakeville High Page 24