Dugan and Sanders had intended to return the "Dauntless" that night. They sailed to the end of the lake, where "Big Bill's" cottage was situated1, and tied up. But the storm coming up prevented them from carrying out their plans.
At daybreak the following morning, they set out, and were startled to see the "Dart2" lying in shoal water. Badly frightened, the boys immediately headed for the hotel wharf4, and lost no time in mooring5 the "Dauntless" to her accustomed place.
When Havens6 was encountered, later in the morning, the members of the Idleman's Club had a falling out. It was a lively affair, and proved very amusing to a group of loungers on the Resort House porch. Mr. Fenton, hearing the rumpus, also took a hand in the proceedings7, to the great discomfiture8 of the two bold pirates.
Of course the encampment on Promontory9 Island came to an abrupt10 close. Dugan and Sanders, disgusted at the outcome, also quarreled and went their separate ways.
One morning, just before breakfast, Bob Somers and Dick Travers were sitting on the porch enjoying the cool air.
"So the ball game's coming off to-morrow, eh, Bob?" remarked the latter, in a tone of satisfaction. "Who's on our team besides Fenton?"
"Phil Levins, Havens, and that little fellow from Boston."
"Old duck, with a bald head, eh?" said Dick, flippantly.
"Plays ball like a streak11, though, they say. Fairly eats up hot liners and all that sort of thing. He played short-stop for Harvard, I'm told."
"Just the kind we need. These chaps out here may know a thing or two about the game. No telling but what Mr. Barton has done a lot of coaching. Hello, Chub!"
The stout12 boy ambled13 slowly out on the porch. "You fellows still talking baseball?" he asked. "Why don't you look at that great effect over there? See that hazy14 light across the mountains?"
"Oh, the dickens with that," grumbled15 Dick. "The game's coming off to-morrow, and you've got to hold down first base."
"By Jove, that's a hard thing to do, though. Still, I'd like to try it."
"What—painting or first base?"
"Why—weren't we talking about painting, Dick Travers?"
"I'll begin on 'camera' pretty soon, unless you quit, Dave Brandon."
"Oh, well, who do we play against, then?" sighed Dave.
"A lot of village chaps, and if we get beaten they'll have a jolly good laugh on us, too."
"I always did like ham and eggs, boys," observed Dave, reflectively. "Hope Sam Bins17 is cooking enough. Yesterday I only had three eggs and——"
But, with a despairing gesture, Dick Travers arose and walked inside.
That afternoon the boys spent in practicing. Havens was on hand, and Phil Levins, a village lad, also took an active part. The visitor from Boston proved to be Mr. George Kimball, a small man, with a fringe of sandy hair around a dome-shaped head, watery18 blue eyes and insignificant19 yellow moustache.
"I see you chaps can play some," he said, in a high-pitched voice; "but several, I won't say who, take a bit too much time in getting set before throwing the ball. Shoot it right over. Here, Somers, let me show you. Bat out a liner."
Mr. Kimball smiled complacently20 and trotted21 out in the field. Then a sharp crack of the bat sounded.
"By Jove, he's a hummer, and no mistake," remarked Sam. "Look how he took that bounder and sent it back."
"Yes! But Dave is what bothers me," whispered Dick. "He reminds me of a freight car, and side-tracked at that."
"Well, boys," said Bob, as, perspiring23 and happy, they walked toward the house, "we ought to put up a pretty good game."
"And I suppose I'll have to hop16 around like a sparrow again to-morrow," said Dave, with a quizzical look at the others, and a wide, very wide smile played for a moment on the face of Mr. George Kimball, of Boston.
The day for the game proved ideal. The sky was flecked with a few white clouds and a slight breeze tempered the rays of the sun.
No one would have dreamed that so many people could be found in the small mountain village and its immediate3 surroundings. They came by twos, threes, and in groups, flocking under the shade of a few big trees, and cheered when the town boys began to practice.
"Little Bill" Dugan was among the players. He glanced coldly toward the Ramblers and their friends, and sniffed24 scornfully at a white board which Dick Travers had nailed to an apple tree. Painted on it in big letters was the following:
Somers, p.
Brandon, 1b.
Randall, c.
Travers, cf.
Clifton, rf.
Havens, ss.
Fenton, 3b.
Levins, 2b.
Kimball, lf.
Mr. Fenton accepted the position of official scorer, while a man from Chicago, Mr. Perkins, was agreed upon as umpire.
The Ramblers won the toss and took their positions upon the field.
"Play ball!"
The spectators sat up, and the game was on.
"Speed 'em over, Bob," yelled Dick. "Make him hit it. Put the lap dazzle shoot on it—yi, yi!"
Bob smiled, and sent in a wide out-curve.
"One ball!" yelled Mr. Perkins.
Crack. Grimshaw, of the mountain team, swung, smashing the ball squarely, and sped for first.
Then came a loud shout, when Kimball in left field jumped in the air and pulled down the fly.
The next man also solved Bob's delivery, but Havens managed to get the ball over to Dave an instant ahead of the runner.
"It wasn't out!" yelled Dugan.
The next man struck out, and, with a sigh of satisfaction, Bob walked in and picked up a bat.
"Take it easy, Somers," advised Dave. "Don't slam at the first. There—that's the way."
"Ball!" cried Mr. Perkins.
"Two balls!"
"Three!"
"One strike!"
Crack. A hot liner burned the short-stop's hand. He let it drop, and Bob, smiling good-naturedly, was safe on first.
Dave Brandon slowly ambled up to the plate.
"Chuck me an easy one, Grimshaw," he said.
The pitcher grinned. One strike—two strikes—the smile broadened, but the stout boy did not seem in the least disturbed.
Hurrah29! Dave's sturdy arms swung the bat with telling force. Gleefully the Ramblers saw the ball flying far beyond the right-fielder's reach, and the "freight car" getting over the ground at astonishing speed.
Bob, with a desperate slide, managed to reach home, while Dave, puffing30 and blowing, stopped on third.
But the boys' high hopes, at this auspicious31 beginning, were dashed when Randall and Travers were thrown out at first and Clifton fanned the air three times.
"Never mind," laughed Bob, as the shrill32 yells of the mountain adherents33 were still echoing; "keep up your good work, Dave. We have them beaten by a mile."
But the next inning proved disastrous34. Their rivals earned three runs, and the shouting redoubled.
"Hi, hi! Did they ever see a ball before?" yelled "Little Bill."
"Ah—ah! Look at that hit—yi, yi, yi!" came from others.
Mr. Kimball looked worried. "Not working quite enough together, boys," he said. "Take it easy—don't let the noise rattle35 you. Who's up? You, Havens? Now give us a line drive like Dave's, and we won't find any fault with you."
Havens prided himself upon being a heavy hitter. He swung his bat far around and after missing two good balls landed on the third. Grimshaw dodged36. Dugan, at second base, made a wild grab for the sphere, tripped and tumbled head foremost into the grass. Then, as it neared the limits of the grounds, two fielders came together with a crash. Havens ran for all he was worth, did not stop to look around and was home long before the ball had been recovered.
"Good work, old man," cried the delighted Sam Randall. "Only one more, and the score is tied."
The head of the batting order was again up. Bob had his eye on the ball and another line drive resulted from his efforts, but it went straight into the hands of the waiting second baseman, who easily threw him out.
"How's that for style?" called "Little Bill," a moment after the first baseman's gloves closed on his throw.
"Worst play I ever saw," returned Dave Brandon, who was already at the plate; "you had lots of time to touch second and make a double play."
Dave swung fiercely at the first ball pitched, only to miss it by a very scant38 margin39, and the fielders all played out as far as possible. A tantalizing40 slow one he failed to aim at, and strike two was called on him.
The instant Grimshaw received the return throw, he whipped in the speediest inshoot of which he was capable. Brandon was not caught napping. He met it by the merest tip, and a little pop fly dropped safely in the territory usually covered by short-stop.
Fenton raced home, and the score was tied.
"Hi, hi! Did we ever see a ball before!" cried Dick. "Oh—wow! It'll be about ten to three."
But the end of the seventh told a different story. Mr. Fenton's card showed the score to be seven to six in favor of the Ramblers.
"Put it over, Grimmy," yelled Dugan. "He can't hit anything—never could."
The captain smiled, then bunted, and the ball rolled slowly toward the pitcher. Grimshaw made a frantic43 dash, fumbled44 it, and Bob, on a close decision, was declared safe at first.
"Oh, yi, yi, he calls that safe!" yelled Dugan. "The feller was out by a mile. We won't stand for anything like that."
He came in from second, followed by several of the others, and the home plate was immediately surrounded. Then the crowd began to shout.
"Yes, skip back, Dugan," added Dave. "That hit was easily safe."
"I ain't a-talkin' to you," cried "Little Bill," angrily. "I say it wasn't safe."
"I will not! An'——"
"The man was safe, and my decision stands," exclaimed Mr. Perkins in an authoritative46 tone.
"You don't know the game, then," blustered47 Dugan, excitedly. "Look out! Don't you bump into me, fat feller."
Dave laughed good-naturedly.
"You make an awful lot of noise for a little chap," he said.
"A little chap, eh?" Bill clenched48 his fists, his eyes blazed with passion. Dave had touched him on a tender point.
"I'll show you how little I am," he yelled. "Here's where trouble begins."
His right fist shot out in the direction of Dave's nose.
But the "poet" jumped nimbly aside, then his sturdy arms encircled "Little Bill's" waist, and, in an instant, the latter found himself on the ground.
"Let go—lemme be!" he cried.
But Dave was calmly sitting on his shoulder.
"Keep quiet," admonished50 Dave. "Lie still! A little conversation might be all right, but we don't want any shouting."
"Push that elephant off, somebody. I'm mashed51 to a pulp52 a'ready. Oh, now, Grimshaw, don't stand there like an idjit."
"We were talking," said Dave, pleasantly, "about keeping quiet. Now, if you promise to do what I say, an awful lot of trouble will be saved."
There was no help for it. Dave Brandon's hundred and seventy-two pounds held the belligerent53 ball player helpless, and Bill, furious and chagrined54, was obliged to surrender.
"You ain't heard the last of this, you clumsy elephant!" he shouted, as he arose and edged away. "Don't you forget it!"
Dave's face wore a very broad grin.
But Mr. Perkins was speaking—"No, Dugan, you cannot continue to play," he said, firmly. "How is it, boys?—good—we don't want any rowdyism on this field."
There was a few minutes of silence. Grimshaw held a brief conference with his fellow players, then walked forward and called out in a loud voice, "Hello, Sanders, get down there to second and play the base."
It was a very willing boy that hurried forward to obey this summons, and Bill Dugan, thoroughly55 discomfited56, almost immediately saw the game going on without him.
And the score still stood seven to six when the villagers came to bat in the ninth. It was their last chance, and they were determined to at least tie the score.
"My arm's getting kind of played out, Dave," whispered Bob. "I'll do what I can."
"You can't do any more," said the other, soothingly57. "Make them hit it—we'll do the rest," and the stout boy grinned.
Clayton was the name of their opponents' first batsman. He came within one of striking out, then drove the ball over Havens' head and sprinted58 to second.
Loud cheers came from the spectators, and Bob looked worried.
"Don't let them get your nerve, old man," called Sam.
The loud coaching of Mills and continuous cries from the field, intended to disconcert the Ramblers, only served to spur pitcher Somers to greater efforts. Putting forth59 every ounce of strength he possessed60, the captain sent in an inshoot.
The batter61 knocked a fly, which Fenton on third easily caught. Clayton, who had been playing off second, just got back in the nick of time.
Mills fanned the air three times, and threw down his bat in disgust. Their chances seemed about to go glimmering62, yet one good hit might save the day.
Dalton, a big, strong chap, older than any of his team mates, faced the pitcher. Clayton played away off second. It was a moment of intense interest to the spectators and anxiety to the Ramblers.
Bob forced the runner back to the base by a throw, then pitched the ball quickly. Clayton anticipated this, risked everything and was instantly off on a wild dash for third.
Sam handled the sphere nicely, making a perfect throw.
There was an expectant hush63, as ball and runner neared the bag. A cloud of dust arose. Clayton had thrown himself flat, and touched the base with his hand.
The silence, intensified64 until not a sound could be heard, continued for a moment longer. Then Mr. Perkins' voice rang out clearly. "Safe," he said.
A storm of cheers broke forth, while the cries which it was hoped would disconcert the pitcher redoubled.
"One strike!"
"Two strikes!"
Bob grinned and gripped the ball more firmly. Then came Mr. Perkins' voice again, "One ball—two balls!"
All eyes were upon the stalwart form of Dalton. One more strike, and the game would be over.
But as the next ball shot above the plate, a solid smack65 sounded. An awkward bounder was ripping toward first base at such a speed that the eye could scarcely follow it.
Another great shout arose as Clayton sped home. No one expected that the ball would be fielded until the batter was safe on second.
Then the spectators witnessed an astonishing sight. Dave Brandon darted66 off the bag with lightning agility67. Breathlessly they watched him. The stout boy reached far out.
"Look at that elephant," remarked "Little Bill" to the boy sitting next to him. "What does he think he's going to do?"
Smack! The ball had bounded, striking squarely in the centre of Brandon's mitt68. Dave instantly recovered himself and made for first base.
Then a series of wild yells and whoops69 from the Ramblers broke forth, for Mr. Perkins was heard to say, "Runner out on first." By a fraction of a second, Dave had beaten Dalton in the race and won the game.
Even the villagers were good-natured enough to cheer his play, and the "poet" almost blushed when his enthusiastic friends surrounded him.
"Bully70 boy," said Mr. Kimball, patting him on the shoulder. "Biggest surprise out. Thought, from the way you moved yesterday, that—oh, well, what's the use of saying it?"
"When Chub gets waked up, he's like a streak o' lightning," declared Bob. "Now, I'm satisfied. We've had a good game, and, what's more, won it. Let's skip off on our hunting trip next week——Say, but wasn't 'Little Bill' wild, though," and Bob smiled at the recollection.
Unobserved, Dugan had approached. But he stopped at a respectful distance, and pointed73 his finger threateningly toward Dave Brandon.
"You'll wish yer hadn't, fat feller!" he cried. "Remember what I says," and he stalked slowly off the field.
"He's wearing his number one sour expression," laughed Dick. "Most as bad as the mountaineer we saw at the hotel."
"Bill's a pretty mean fellow at times," put in Jim Havens, "but I wouldn't pay any attention to him. Let's fix it up about that trip to the mountains."
The boys, accordingly, made their way to the porch of the Rickham House, Mr. Kimball and Phil Levins accompanying them.
Before supper time, all arrangements had been made. It was decided74 that Bob, Dave Brandon and Dick Travers would take the first jaunt75, and on their return Sam and Tom could go off on theirs.
"That way, we'll all have a fling at it during the summer," said Bob; "not once, but a couple of times, and the Rickham will never be left without an occupant."
"You fellows ought to have a daisy time," observed Phil Levins.
"It makes me feel real envious76, boys," said Mr. Kimball of Boston, "but—well, I never handled a gun or fishing pole in my life—I'm more at home running over a column of figures in a ledger77 than I would be facing a grizzly—but, seriously, don't you think it's rather a risky78 undertaking79?"
"Huh! I guess the Rambler Club can take care of itself," and Mr. Kimball laughed at the scorn which Dick Travers put into his tones.
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1
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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2
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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5
mooring
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| n.停泊处；系泊用具，系船具；下锚v.停泊，系泊（船只）(moor的现在分词) | |
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6
havens
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| n.港口，安全地方( haven的名词复数 )v.港口，安全地方( haven的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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8
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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9
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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10
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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13
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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14
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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15
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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16
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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17
bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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18
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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21
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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mash
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| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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30
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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44
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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46
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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47
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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50
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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51
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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52
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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53
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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54
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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56
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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58
sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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60
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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61
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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62
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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63
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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64
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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66
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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67
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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68
mitt
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| n.棒球手套，拳击手套，无指手套；vt.铐住，握手 | |
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69
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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70
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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71
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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72
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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75
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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76
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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77
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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78
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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79
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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