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CHAPTER XXIII
THE EGG AND THE FAN

The ball whizzed over the plate, cutting an outside corner for a strike.

The Rockledge rooters regarded this as a good omen and greeted it with wild shouts. They all had a warm spot in their hearts for Bobby, and they had been disgusted at the unsportsmanlike way in which Hicksley had left the box.

The next ball was a high fast one, at which the batter refused to bite.

Bobby had seen out of the corner of his eye that the occupant of the third bag was taking too big a lead. As the ball came back to him from the catcher, he suddenly turned and shot it to third.

The runner tried frantically to get back, but Sparrow had the ball on him like a flash.

“You’re out!” shouted the umpire.

“Scubbity-yow!” yelled Fred. “That was nice work, Bobby.”

This relieved the pressure somewhat, and the crowd breathed more freely.

But the danger was still threatening, and the batter was the captain of the Somerset team and one of its best hitters. He fouled off the next two. On his third attempt, he chopped a bounder to Mouser at second, who made a clever stop and threw him out at first, while the runners each advanced a base.

“Two down,” cried Sparrow from third. “You’re getting them, Bobby. Keep it up.”

Bobby now put on all steam. There was only one more inning after this one, and he did not need to save his arm. He sent two outcurves in succession. Each went for a strike. Then when the batter was set for another of the same kind, Bobby outguessed him with a straight fast one, and the ball plunked into the catcher’s mitt for an out.

There was a chorus of cheers from the Rockledge rooters as Bobby drew off his glove and came in to the bench.

“That’s what you call getting out of a hole,” cried one.

“The bases full and nobody out and yet they couldn’t score,” shouted another.

“We’ll give you a run this time, Bobby, and all you’ll need to do then will be to hold them down in the ninth,” prophesied Frank, as he selected his bat.

He started in to make his words good by cracking out a single on the second ball pitched. A sacrifice bunt to the right of the pitcher’s box advanced him to second. The next batter went out on an infield fly that held Frank anchored to the bag. Barry was given his base on balls. Then Spentz walloped a corker to left, on which Frank scored and Barry reached third. A moment later a quick throw caught him napping and the side was out.

“We’re in the lead now, Bobby,” exulted Fred, as Rockledge took the field. “Put the kibosh on them just once more and we’re all right.”

“Make this inning short and sweet, old scout!” sang out Mouser.

And short and sweet was what Bobby made it. He was on his mettle, and put every bit of control he had upon the ball. Despite the frantic efforts of the Somerset coachers to rattle him, he kept perfectly cool. Victory was too close now for him to let it go.

The first batter up knocked a high foul to Sparrow, who held it tight. The next sent a weak bounder to Frank, which he tossed to Bobby, who had run over to cover the bag. Then Bobby shattered the last hope of Somerset by striking out the last man on three pitched balls.

The Rockledge rooters, wild with delight, rushed down from the stands and gathered about their favorites, who were grinning happily. They had played a good game and deserved to win, but Bobby, because of his gallant stand when the team had its back against the wall, came in naturally for the lion’s share of the applause.

“That was some sweet pitching all right.”

“You had them standing on their heads.”

“Your nerve was right with you.”

“Wait till he tackles Belden. He’ll show them a thing or two.”

“I’m glad we pulled through all right,” said Bobby modestly. “All the boys put up a dandy game. And don’t forget that Hicksley held them down splendidly in the first part of the game.”

“That’s so,” conceded Mouser. “But when it came to the pinch he cracked.”

“He couldn’t stand the gaff,” put in Sparrow.

“Any pitcher will get knocked out of the box sometimes,” argued Bobby. “Then, too, he had been pitching six hard innings and was tired. I was fresh when I went in and only had two innings to pitch.”

Hicksley had left the bench as soon as the last man was out. He could not bear to wait to see the praise that he knew would be showered on his rival. He had been joined by Jinks and Bronson, and the three were now slouching grumpily toward the school buildings.

“Doesn’t seem as if they were tickled to death because Rockledge won,” commented Fred, as he looked at the group.

“Well, the rest of us are, anyway,” cried Sparrow. “We’ve made a mighty good start, taking the first game.”

“I can see the pennant flying from that pole already,” jubilated Skeets, pointing to the flagstaff back of center field.

“You’ve got dandy eyesight, Skeets,” laughed Bobby. “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

“One swallow doesn’t make a summer,” cautioned Frank, who, while he was as pleased as the rest, did not want his team to be too confident.

“And if the Ridgefield nine is as good as the Somersets, we’ll have our work cut out for us,” remarked Mouser. “Those fellows gave us all we wanted to do to win.”

“They put up a bully fight,” agreed Shiner.

Doctor Raymond came down among the boys to congratulate them on the victory they had won for the school, and Mr. Carrier was even more enthusiastic over the success of his charges.

“You’ve made a fine start, boys, and I’m proud of you,” he told them. “Now, don’t let down a bit, but keep it right up to the finish of the season.”

“We will.”

“Trust us.”

“We’ve only begun to fight.”

“That’s the right spirit,” said Mr. Carrier, smiling. “And now to make you feel better, I’m going to tell you that I’ve just received a telegram that Ridgefield whipped Belden this afternoon by seven to three.”

A tremendous shout arose at this. They had counted on Belden as the rival from whom they had the most to fear, and they were immensely pleased to learn that it had begun the season with a defeat.

It was a jubilant throng of boys that made their way toward the school buildings that afternoon. They knew that a rocky road lay ahead of them, but a good deal depended upon the start, and it was a great thing to know that they had the lead on the other fellows.

“Hicksley acted like a game sport this afternoon when he threw the ball down in the box instead of handing it to you,” remarked Fred, with whom the incident rankled.

“Oh, well,” said Bobby, “you must make some allowance for him. It was natural that he should feel sore.”

“That isn’t the point,” persisted Fred. “A thoroughbred might have felt sore, but he wouldn’t have shown it. I tell you, Bobby, you want to look out for that fellow. If you could have seen the way he looked at you while you were pitching.”

“Looks don’t hurt,” Bobby flung back carelessly.

But a few days later an incident occurred which showed that Hicksley was willing to go much further than looks in his hatred of his rival.

It was one of those unseasonably warm days that sometimes come in the spring. Recitations were being held in the classroom of Mr. Leith, the head teacher, and in order to make the air cooler the electric fan had been set going.

The seats of Hicksley, Bronson and Jinks were just behind those of Bobby and Fred, and were in the rear of the room.

The lessons were proceeding as usual, when suddenly there was a crash, and something wet and sticky and evil smelling was scattered over the room. Almost all the boys got some of it, and a large yellow splash showed against the immaculate white shirt of Mr. Leith himself.

Somebody had thrown an egg into the electric fan! And it was a very old egg, as was proved by the vile odor which spread through the classroom.

CHAPTER XXIV
AN UNDESERVED PUNISHMENT

The whirling fan, going at tremendous speed, had scattered the contents of the egg far and wide, and hardly any one had escaped.

For a moment there was a stunned silence. Then a roar of laughter broke from the boys. To them it seemed a capital joke.

But Mr. Leith did not laugh. His black eyes snapped and his face was pale with anger.

“Who did that?” he asked, as he took out his handkerchief and wiped the smear from the bosom of his shirt.

Naturally there was no answer. The laughter died out, and everything became as silent as the grave.

“Such conduct is subversive of all discipline,” went on Mr. Leith in his stilted way and trying to get control of his voice. “If the boy who did that will confess, I will take that into account in the punishment I shall lay upon him. But no matter how long it takes, I am determined to find the culprit.”

Still no answer.

“Well,” said Mr. Leith after waiting a moment, “I see that I shall have to question each one of you separately.”

He called them up one by one, beginning at the front of the room, and each one denied knowing anything about it, Bobby among the rest. Then he came last to Hicksley.

“I didn’t do it,” said Hicksley; “but – ”

Then he stopped, as though he had gone further than he intended.

“But what?” queried the teacher sharply.

“Nothing,” mumbled Hicksley, in apparent confusion.

“You were going to say something else,” said Mr. Leith, “and I insist on knowing what it was.”

Hicksley kept silent. He wanted to give the impression that if he told anything it would have to be dragged out of him against his will.

“You had better tell me what you were going to say,” snapped the teacher severely, “or it will be the worse for you.”

“I don’t want to tell on anybody,” said Hicksley.

“Oh, then you know who threw it,” said Mr. Leith, brisking up like a hound on the trail.

“Yes,” replied Hicksley.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Who was it, I say?” thundered Mr. Leith in exasperation.

“Blake,” blurted out Hicksley, as though he did not want to say it but had to yield to force.

Bobby was thunderstruck, and for a minute the room seemed to be whirling around him.

“It isn’t true,” he cried, recovering himself.

“It’s a – a whopper!” shouted Fred fiercely. “I was sitting right beside Bobby, and he didn’t throw it.”

“Keep quiet, Martin,” commanded Mr. Leith. “Blake, come here.”

Bobby went forward and stood in front of the desk.

“Why did you do a thing like that?” asked Mr. Leith.

“I didn’t do it,” replied Bobby stoutly. “I was as surprised as any one else when it happened.”

Mr. Leith beckoned to Fred.

“You say that Blake didn’t throw it,” he said. “Were you looking at him at the time?”

“N-no, sir,” Fred had to confess, “I was looking at the blackboard. But I know I’d have noticed it if he had made any motion. Besides,” he added in his attempt to help his friend, “if Bobby had been going to do anything of that kind he’d have told me beforehand.”

“That isn’t proof,” remarked the teacher; “especially when Hicksley says that he actually saw him do it. Do you still stick to that, Hicksley?”

“Yes sir,” answered Hicksley, who was scared now at the tempest he had raised but had gone too far to back out.

But he carefully avoided meeting the blazing eyes of Bobby.

“Go to your seats,” Mr. Leith ordered.

They obeyed, and as Hicksley sank down between Bronson and Jinks, he whispered in a panic:

“Don’t forget that you fellows have got to stand by me.”

Mr. Leith reflected for a moment.

“Did any one else see Blake throw the egg?” he asked at length.

Hicksley nudged his cronies and both raised their hands.

“I did,” came from both at once.

Bobby half rose from his seat and Fred clenched his fists.

“It’s not so!” exclaimed Bobby.

“The low-down skunks!” ejaculated Fred.

Mr. Leith quieted them with a gesture.

He was a good man, and he tried to be just. But he had been sorely tried by this breach of discipline, and his dignity had received a severe shock. He could not forget the glaring yellow smear on his shirt front, and he felt that he had been made a laughing stock before his class.

He had always liked Bobby, who had stood high in his lessons and whose behavior in class had always been good. Yet it was possible that an impish spirit of mischief had suddenly taken possession of him, and that on the impulse of the moment he might have taken refuge in denial.

And there was the positive testimony of three witnesses that they had actually seen Bobby throw the egg. To be sure, he knew something of the character of those witnesses, and against any one of them he would have been inclined to take Bobby’s word in preference. But he knew nothing of the grudge the bullies held against Bobby, and to a man of his upright character it was inconceivable that three of them should make such a charge if it were not true.

He pondered the matter for several minutes, while the class waited breathlessly.

“I shall look into this matter further,” he finally announced; “but for the present, Blake, and until the affair is cleared up, you are not to take part in track sports or play on the baseball team.”

CHAPTER XXV
OFF FOR A SWIM

Bobby sat as if stunned. There was bitter revolt in his heart against the injustice of it all. And, in addition, he felt as though he would like to get at Hicksley and thrash him well.

But for the moment he was helpless. The evidence was against him, and he was too proud to make any further protest or appeal to Mr. Leith.

To the rest of the boys, the sentence came like a clap of thunder. They were fond of Bobby and believed he was telling the truth. They would have been sorry to see him punished for any reason. But it was not only the fact of the punishment, but the nature of it, that filled them with consternation. Bobby Blake off the ball team! Where would Rockledge be now in the race for the pennant of the Monatook Lake League?

The lessons proceeded, but the class might as well have been dismissed at once, for only one thought filled the minds of all. And when at last the gong rang, there was a rush for Bobby on the campus, and a buzzing arose that resembled a hive of angry bees.

It was well for the bullies that, sitting on the rear seats, they had slipped out of the door quickly and disappeared. They would surely have come to grief in the present excited condition of the boys.

Fred slammed his books so violently on the ground that he broke the strap that held them.

“Just wait!” he stormed, “just wait! I’ll pitch into that Tom Hicksley the minute I see him, big as he is.”

“It would have been bad enough of him to tell, even if Bobby had done it,” growled Mouser.

“He ought to have his head knocked off,” raged Skeets.

“Swell chance now we’ll have of winning the pennant,” groaned Shiner.

“Not a Chinaman’s chance,” mourned Pee Wee.

“I can see us coming in as tail-enders,” prophesied Sparrow.

“Was such a dirty trick ever heard of?” wailed Billy Bassett, appealing to high heaven, as though even in his grief he was asking the answer to a riddle.

Bobby had had time now to get a grip on himself, and although his heart was hot within him, he was outwardly the coolest of them all.

“Tom Hicksley will pay for this all right,” he declared. “Some time the truth will come out and I hope it will be soon. I haven’t any doubt of course that he did it himself. Then he got cold feet when he saw how angry Mr. Leith was and fibbed out of it.”

“Of course, he’d fib out of it!” exclaimed Fred. “Nobody who knows Tom Hicksley would expect him to do anything else. But why did he put it on you?”

“Because he’s sore at me, I suppose,” Bobby answered. “He’s always hated me since that afternoon on the train.”

“Yes, but he’s just as sore at the rest of us who butted in, as he calls it,” persisted Fred. “It’s something more than that, Bobby. It’s because you saved the game when he had almost lost it.”

“He’s never forgiven you for that,” agreed Mouser.

“Well, whatever his reason was, I’m the goat all right,” said Bobby, in a feeble attempt to put the best face on the matter.

“It isn’t only you, but it’s Rockledge that’s the goat,” amended Sparrow. “We’ll be licked out of our boots.”

“You fellows will have to play all the harder,” said Bobby. “Mr. Leith may change his mind when he comes to think it over. I have a hunch that Hicksley isn’t going to get away with such a whopper as that.”

“I’d like to have him by the throat and choke the truth out of him,” snapped Fred wrathfully.

“It would be a pretty big job to get any truth out of that fellow,” grunted Mouser.

“What did the old weather want to go and get so hot for all of a sudden?” burst out Pee Wee. “If it hadn’t been for that, the fan wouldn’t have been going and the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

This kick against nature struck the boys as comical, and the laugh that followed cleared the air somewhat and relieved their excited feelings. But for the rest of the day and evening, there was but one topic that held the attention of any of them.

Bobby felt blue and depressed. He would rather have had any other penalty put on him than to be ordered not to play on the team. The very sight of his glove and uniform made him miserable.

It would have been bad enough, even if he had been guilty of that special bit of mischief. But then he would have “taken his medicine” with as good grace as possible. But it made him raging angry to feel that he had been made the victim of a contemptible plot by such a fellow as Tom Hicksley.

What made it still more exasperating was the fact that he did not see any way to get at the real truth. Hicksley had been on the rear row of seats, and his only companions were Bronson and Jinks, who were just as bad as himself. No one but they had seen the egg thrown, if, as Bobby felt sure, Hicksley had thrown it. And now that they had put it on Bobby, they had to stand by the falsehood. One was as deep in the mud as the others were in the mire, and there was not a chance in the world of their confessing.

It hurt Bobby, too, to know that he rested under a cloud in the eyes of Mr. Leith, who had practically told him that afternoon that he did not believe him. He was a truthful boy and it came hard to have his word questioned.

All the next morning he was gloomy and downhearted. In the afternoon, Fred, like the loyal friend he was, tried to get his mind off his troubles by suggesting that they go swimming.

“Don’t let’s go to the lake this time,” said Fred. “Let’s go to Beekman’s Pond up in the woods. There’s a dandy place there for diving.”

It was a little early in the season yet for a swim, but the warm weather, which still continued, made the prospect an agreeable one. So, shortly after dinner, having received permission to go out of bounds, Bobby and Fred with half a dozen of the other boys started out for the pond.

“Say, fellows,” asked Billy as they trudged along, “what’s the dif – ”

“There goes the human question mark again,” interrupted Mouser.

“He’s not to blame, he was born that way,” said Skeets with large toleration.

“Honestly, Billy,” chaffed Fred, “I don’t believe you can say a single sentence that isn’t a question.”

“Can’t I?” said Billy, a little nettled.

“There! what did I tell you?” said Fred, trapping him neatly.

The boys roared, and even Billy grinned.

“Well,” he said, “I might as well have the game as the name. What’s the difference – ”

“Stop him, somebody,” cried Sparrow, wringing his hands in pretended agony.

Billy looked at him scornfully.

“Oh, let him get it out,” said Bobby resignedly. “Go ahead, Billy.”

“Shoot,” said Fred.

“What’s the difference,” asked Billy, “between a fisherman and a lazy scholar?”

“Ask Pee Wee,” replied Skeets. “He ought to know.”

“Pee Wee isn’t a fisherman,” objected Mouser.

“Who said he was?” retorted Skeets.

“If you’re hinting that I’m a lazy scholar,” remarked Pee Wee, “all I’ve got to say is that I’ll never be lonesome among you boobs.”

“Stop your chinning,” said Billy, “and answer my question.”

“One catches fish and the other catches a licking,” ventured Fred.

“Each one sometimes finds himself in deep water,” guessed Skeets.

“No,” said Billy. “They’re not so bad, but neither one’s the real answer.”

Finally the boys gave it up.

“One baits his hooks and the other hates his books,” chirped Billy.

A groan went up from the sufferers.

“I think that’s a pippin,” remarked Billy proudly; “but I’ve got another one that’s better still. Why is a – ”

“Sic the dog on him!” ejaculated Mouser.

“What’s the use of letting him live?” asked Fred.

“He seems to be human, but is he?” queried Sparrow.

As Beekman’s Pond came in sight just then, they broke into a run, and Billy had to save his masterpiece for another time.

They found a secluded spot, and with a whoop and a shout were out of their clothes in a hurry. Then with a shiver each took the plunge into the clear waters of the pond.