The Lucky Seventh. Barbour Ralph Henry

it until you got ready to – to build on it.”

      “Oh! I see. What’s your name? Herrick?”

      “Merrick, sir; Gordon Merrick.”

      “Ellis Merrick’s boy?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “I know your father. Are you in the High School?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Know my boy?”

      “Yes, sir. I – I went to see him this morning. I thought maybe he would ask you for me, but – he – ”

      Gordon floundered, and a tiny smile moved the corners of Mr. Brent’s straight lips.

      “He didn’t care to, eh? Well, Merrick, you’re welcome to use the field as long as you don’t interfere with the engineers or workmen. I believe they’re going to survey there for the street in a week or so.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Brent.”

      “All right. I dare say you boys are going to miss that playground.”

      “Yes, sir, we are. It – it’s been a fine place for us.”

      “Yes. Sorry I can’t let you have the use of it longer, but I need the ground. I suppose you can find another field without much trouble.”

      “I think so,” agreed Gordon doubtfully.

      “You and Morris friends?”

      “Yes, sir. That is, we – we know each other pretty well.”

      “Only pretty well, eh? What’s the matter? Don’t you like him?”

      “Why, yes, sir, but – but we don’t see each other much.”

      “Doesn’t he like you?”

      “I think so. He seems to.”

      “Did he say anything to you about an automobile, Merrick?”

      “Yes, sir, he mentioned it.” Gordon began to wish himself away.

      “Ever drive one of the things?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Like to?”

      “Yes, sir, I guess so. I think it would be fun to – to have one.”

      “Why doesn’t your father get you one?”

      “I don’t think he could afford it, and, besides – ”

      “Yes? Besides?”

      “I guess he wouldn’t think I was – was old enough to run it.”

      “How old are you?”

      “Fifteen, sir.”

      “Morris is sixteen. Think your father would let you have one if you were a year older and he could afford it?”

      Gordon shook his head. “I don’t believe so, Mr. Brent.”

      “I don’t, either. Well, help yourself to the field, Merrick. Glad to have met you. Good day.”

      CHAPTER IV

      THE TEAM ELECTS ITS CAPTAIN

      There was a full attendance at the organization meeting which assembled in the Merricks’ front parlor that evening. Besides Gordon himself, Dick Lovering, Fudge Shaw, Harry Bryan, who had won his father’s consent, and Tom Haley, all of whom we have met, there was Lansing White, otherwise known as “Lanny,” Jack Tappen, Pete Robey, Will Scott, and Curtis Wayland. Curtis and Will were inseparable companions. Damon and Pythias would have been excellent, if hackneyed, nicknames for the pair. Dick had once remarked in his quiet way, when the two chums had appeared arm in arm on the ball field: “Where there’s a Will there’s a Way.” Thereafter Curtis was called Way, and Dick’s pun was handed over to an appreciative public in the “Caught-in-the-Corridor” column of The Purple, the High School monthly. Way and Will were both of an age, which was sixteen, both of the same height to a fraction of an inch, and, perhaps by reason of having been together ever since they were in kindergarten, were so much alike in general appearance, manners, and speech that they were always mistaken for brothers and not infrequently for twins. Way was a little heavier in build than Will, and had dark brown hair, whereas Will’s was light. For the rest they were much the same, with brown eyes, short noses, and round, freckled faces. Good, healthy, jolly, normal boys both.

      Pete Robey was fifteen, a lank, dark-eyed fellow, rather diffident and quiet. Jack Tappen was only fourteen, but he was big for his years. He was not at all diffident. In fact, Jack had a pretty good opinion of himself. He was a clever ball player, and, for that matter, did many things about as well as the older fellows with whom he associated.

      Lansing White, or Lanny, as he was always called, was fifteen. Every one who knew him would have assured you earnestly that Lansing White was destined for great things. Perhaps they were right. At all events, he had the fine faculty of making friends on the instant and holding them. There wasn’t a kinder-hearted fellow in school, nor one more thoughtful of others. If a ballot had been taken for the most popular student, Lanny would have won, hands-down, over many a fellow far more prominent in school affairs. He caught for the school nine, played a fine game at left halfback on the football team, and regularly won his five points in each of the sprints at the track meetings with Springdale High School.

      In appearance he was rather striking by reason of his hair, which was as near the color of ripe flax as hair ever gets, and his eyes which were so dark a brown that they looked black. The contrast between light hair and dark eyes was rather startling. He was always a little too lean, his parents thought, but his leanness was quite healthy and was due, probably, to the fact that he was always in training for something.

      The nine members of the Clearfield Ball Club sat around the parlor, occupying every available chair and couch, and discussed the project exhaustively and with enthusiasm. They all agreed that it was the bounden duty of someone to humble the pride of those Rutter’s Point chaps, to whom they had long been in the habit of referring as the Silk Stocking Brigade; and they didn’t see but what the duty could be performed by them as well as by any others. Jack Tappen thought they could attend to it a little better than any others, and so declared. That point agreed on, they discussed ways and means. Everyone there except Fudge and Pete Robey had a High School uniform which it would, they decided, be quite permissible to wear. Fudge declared that he would buy a uniform, and Pete was sure he could borrow one. Gordon’s announcement that Dick had been tendered and had accepted the position of manager met with acclaim, and Will and Way, in the same breath, demanded a speech. Dick declined to address the meeting, contenting himself with reminding the turbulent pair that as manager he had the power to fine them for misconduct. At which Will and Way, pretending to be much alarmed, subsided. It was agreed that every member was to pay his own car-fares when the team journeyed from home, and that the manager’s expenses were to be provided for by an assessment on each of one-ninth of the necessary amount. Dick claimed the floor, there to state that it would probably not be necessary for the others to provide his expenses, and that in any case he would pay his own way unless the team journeyed a long distance.

      The name of the team was decided on – the Clearfield Baseball Club. Harry Bryan was in favor of something with more “snap” to it, something like the Clearfield Pirates or the Clearfield Giants, but he was defeated. Dick, who had taken the proceedings in hand, then announced that the election of a captain was in order, and Tom Haley, Fudge, and Jack Tappen nominated Gordon in unison. The others signified approval noisily. Gordon, however, insisted on being heard.

      “You fellows don’t have to make me captain,” he protested, “just because I started the thing going. It wasn’t my idea, anyhow; it was Bert Cable’s. I’ll be captain if you really want me, but I think some of the rest of you would be better, and I nominate Tom.”

      “Nominate all you like,” grunted Tom Haley. “I decline.”

      “I nominate Lanny,” said Will Scott.

      “Second the nomination!” piped up Way.

      “Much obliged, fellows,” said Lanny,