The Lucky Seventh
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“Now, Dickums, if you’ll write to Billings and tell him – ”
“If I’ll write!”
Gordon laughed. “Of course; you’re the manager, aren’t you?”
“Humph! So I have to attend to the correspondence too, do I? It seems to me that you ought to write that letter. Bert sent it to you, and you’re captain, and – ”
“Well, that’s what I thought,” responded Gordon cheerfully, “until I got to thinking it over. Then I remembered that you were manager, and, of course, managers always attend to arranging contests; and there you are. Just tell him we’ll play his team on Wednesday the sixteenth, Dickums, at the Point.”
“All right. I might call on him and tell him about it, though, for I’m going over to the Point in the morning.”
“You are? What for?”
“To get a job, I hope. You know I got them to put up a notice in the hotel over there for me: ‘tutoring in French, Mathematics, and English; references; terms on request.’ This afternoon a Mrs. Townsend called me up by telephone, and she wants me to come over in the morning and see about coaching her son. He’s going to Rifle Point School in the Fall and is weak on English and Math. He’s thirteen, she says. She seemed to think the price was all right, but she wants me to have a look at the youngster first. Sounded as though she was afraid I wouldn’t like him. I’d coach a Bengal tiger if I got paid for it. I need the money, Gordie.”
“That’s fine! Then why not see Billings instead of writing to him? You could arrange the whole thing in five minutes. Do you know where he lives?”
“No, but they can tell me at the hotel, I guess. By the way, why do you want to play over there? Why not have them come over here?”
“Because I saw Mr. Grayson awhile ago and asked him if it would be all right if we used the school field, and he said it would as far as he was concerned, but that he’d just got notice from Mr. Brent that they are going to cut the field up pretty soon for building lots. I suppose we could use it until they begin to build on it, but I haven’t seen Mr. Brent yet, and I thought it would be safer to say we’d play them at the Point. They’ll probably want another game, and then, if it’s all right about the field, we could play them here.”
“But that will leave us without an athletic field!” exclaimed Dick, in dismay. “I thought we had a lease or something on it.”
“Mr. Grayson says not. Says Mr. Brent just agreed to let us use it as long as it wasn’t needed for anything else. Now he wants it put in the market for house lots. Rather tough, isn’t it? I guess we can find another field somewhere, though.”
“Not in town,” said Dick. “We’ll probably have to go across the river somewhere. There are plenty of fields over there, but they’re as rough as the dickens. What did Mr. Grayson say about that?”
“Nothing much. He seemed to think it was up to the Athletic Committee.”
“Perhaps it is, but he’s principal, and – ”
“Shucks, he wouldn’t care a lot if we didn’t have a field, I guess!”
“I don’t think that, Gordie. Grayson’s not very keen about our athletics, I know, but he’s been pretty decent, just the same. We’ll have to get busy right away and find a new place. The football fellows will want to start practice in something like two months. Does Way know about it?”
“I don’t know. I saw Grayson after I left Way. I don’t believe he does, for he didn’t say anything. He will have to get the committee together and have a meeting, I guess. Who’s on it now?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No, not this year. There’s Way, and Harry, and Bert – ”
“Well, Bert can’t come. I think Will Scott is on it, isn’t he?”
“Maybe; he probably is if Way belongs. Well, it’s up to Way. I thought I’d ask Mr. Brent if we could keep on using the field for a while; or have Morris ask him. I dare say he’d be more likely to say yes if Morris asks him. Come to think of it, Dickums, as you’re manager – ”
“No, you don’t! I wouldn’t beard old man Brent in his den for a hundred dollars! If I’ve got to do that, I’ll resign!”
“All right, then, I’ll do it!” laughed Gordon. “Or I’ll see Morris about it. I don’t see why he needs to cut up that field, though. Seems to me there are enough houses in this town already.”
“Wants the money, probably. Bet you Jonathan Brent would cut up the Garden of Eden for house lots if he had it!”
“You don’t seem to care a whole lot for Mr. Brent, Dickums.”
“I don’t,” responded Dick emphatically. “We wouldn’t be like we are now – as poor as church mice – if father hadn’t got mixed up with Mr. Brent in one of his real-estate schemes. I’m not saying that Mr. Brent was dishonest, Gordie, but he was too sharp for dad, and dad got let in for a pile of money.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Gordon. “You never told me, did you?”
“No. It was a long time ago, when I was just a kid. Dad moved here from Norwalk when I was three years old. He had quite a little money – thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars it was – and Mr. Brent got him to invest it in that South-west Division, as they called it. They got hold of a pile of land down the river toward the Point. You know; where the picnic grove is. They were going to sell it for factory sites and there was a railway coming through to connect with the Shore Line, and everything was fine – on paper. But the bottom fell out of the scheme; the factories didn’t come, and the railroad decided not to build; and the mortgages were foreclosed; and after it was all over Mr. Brent had the whole thing and dad had nothing! And it was all legal and above-board, too! And that’s why I’ve never had much use for Jonathan Brent; nor Morris, either, although Morris has never done anything to me.”
“You and he seem to be pretty good friends,” said Gordon.
“I know. He – Well, he seems to like me pretty well, and you can’t be anything but decent to a fellow in that case, can you? I suppose if Jonathan Brent wasn’t his father I’d like him well enough. Well, I’ll stop in and see this Billings chap to-morrow. It’s less trouble than writing a letter, I guess. Wednesday the sixteenth, on their own grounds, at – what time?”
“Three o’clock, I suppose,” answered Gordon. “That will give us plenty of time to get over on the two-o’clock car and warm up a bit before the game. You might tell him about our field, and say that if they want a return game we’ll play it over here if we can get the use of the field. By the way, that grandstand at the field belongs to the school. We’ll have to move that if we get out. I wish Mr. Brent would be satisfied with all the money he’s got and not go and take our field away from us.”
“So do I. What we want to do, though, is to watch out and be sure he doesn’t swipe the grandstand too!”
“Well, you are rabid!” laughed Gordon. “Still, I don’t know that I blame you. I never knew that about your father, Dickums.”
“Well, don’t repeat it, please. It’s all done with now, and there’s no use talking about it. I don’t – very often. Only sometimes – Well, I get sort of hot under the collar when I think of all the money Jonathan Brent has and how awfully hard we have to scrabble to get along. Good-bye, Mr. Captain.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Manager. I’m not captain, though.”
“You will be,” laughed Dick. “You always are, you know!”
CHAPTER III
A RICH MAN’S SON
Gordon had doubts of finding Morris Brent at home when, shortly after nine o’clock the next morning, he walked up the neat artificial-stone path to the front door of Brentwood. But the maid who responded to his ring assured him that Master Morris was in, and led the way to the gray-and-gold reception room. He decided to take no chances with the spindle-legged, silk-brocaded chairs, and took refuge in front of the mantel, from which place he viewed the gray satin wall panels and dainty luxuries of the apartment with surprise. He didn’t have to wait long, however, for he had only just reached the conclusion that the room was pretty but uncomfortable when footsteps sounded quickly in the hall and a boy a year older than he appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, Gordon! How are you? Say, what did they put you in here for? This room gives me the creeps, doesn’t it you? Come on out on the piazza.”
Gordon followed his host across the hall, through a warm-toned, luxurious but decidedly comfortable library and out of a French door onto a wide porch that was screened and curtained. There were many bright rugs and gayly cushioned easy-chairs here; and tables with blossoming plants and books and magazines on them. From the porch one looked across a carefully kept lawn to where a symmetrically clipped hedge bordered Louise Street. Mr. Brent owned not only the block on which his estate was located, but some eight or nine adjoining blocks besides, his property running from his back line across Troutman, Lafayette, Main, and Common Streets to the river, including, two blocks north, the plot of land which for many years the High School had used as an athletic field. Mr. Brent had laid out the section himself and had named the two cross streets after his son and daughter, Morris and Louise.
Morris was a good-looking youth, with a self-confident air and a somewhat dissatisfied expression. He was tall, carried himself well, dressed rather more expensively than his companions in high school, and was never quite able to forget or allow others to forget that he was Jonathan Brent’s son and heir. But, in spite of that, he was not unpopular, and if there was any snobbishness about him it was unconscious. In fact, there were one or two of his acquaintances in Clearfield to whom he went out of his way to ingratiate himself. Gordon was one and Dick was another. But Gordon had never cared to respond more than half-heartedly to Morris’ advances, while Dick’s attitude we already know.
Morris pulled forward the most comfortable chair for his guest, repeated that he was glad to see him, and for several minutes gave Gordon no chance to state his errand. When he did, however, Morris was as much surprised as Dick had been.
“Dad hasn’t mentioned it to me,” he said, with a frown. “That’s too bad, isn’t it? I don’t see why he needs to cut up that land just now. What’ll we do, Gordon, for a place to play?”
“Dick said he supposed we’d have to go across the river. That would make it pretty far from school, though. But I don’t know of any place in town, do you?”
Morris shook his head, and Gordon went on:
“What I wanted to see you about was to ask if you thought your father would have any objection to our using the field until they began to build on it. I don’t think they’ve done anything there yet. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind asking your father, Morris.”
Morris hesitated a moment. “I’ll ask him,” he said, at last, “but he and I – well, we aren’t on very good terms just now. Honestly, I think it would be better if you asked him yourself, Gordon. I’m afraid he’d say no to me just to – to be nasty. You see, we had a sort of row about an automobile. He kind of promised last Christmas that he’d get me a runabout this Spring, and when I asked about it he put me off; and so I” – Morris grinned – “I went ahead and got Stacey to order one for me. It came yesterday, and I told dad and he got as mad as a hatter about it. Says I can’t have it now. I’m going to, though. I’ve got some money in the bank, and Stacey says he’ll wait for the rest of it. It’s only six hundred dollars, anyway.”
“Too bad!” murmured Gordon, not very enthusiastically. “Maybe he will change his mind, though.”
“Not he! He isn’t made that way. What are you going to do at the field? Play ball?”
Gordon told about the letter from Caspar Billings and the formation of the ball club. “I suppose,” he ended, “you’ll play with the Point fellows?”
Morris shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so. I haven’t heard anything about it yet. Caspar’s a friend of mine, though. We don’t move out to the Point until the seventeenth this summer. Dad’s full of business and as grouchy as the dickens. Sis and I have been trying to get mother to spunk up and insist on moving right away, but she won’t. Who’s on your team, Gordon?”
Gordon told him. Morris criticised several of his selections and was infinitely amused at the idea of Fudge Shaw playing. Gordon had an uneasy feeling that Morris perhaps resented not being asked to join. But if Morris held any resentment, he didn’t show it.
“We ought to have some good games,” he said finally and approvingly. “I dare say Caspar will want me to play on his team. You know him, don’t you?”
Gordon was doubtful. “I think I remember him,” he said, “but I’m not sure. What does he look like?”
“Oh, rather a good-looking chap – big, dark hair, plays tennis a lot and is pretty good at it. He lives in a cottage near the hotel, the second in the row at the left. He’s a dandy chap, Billings. I don’t see, though, where he’s going to get enough fellows at the Point to make up a nine, unless there are more there this year than usual. Perhaps he’s got some fellows staying with him. He goes to St. George’s, you know, and last year he brought a couple of friends home with him for a while.”
“Dick went over to the Point this morning to see about coaching a boy who is going to Rifle Point in the Fall,” said Gordon. “He’s going to look up Billings and tell him we’ll play him a week from Saturday.”
“Could Dick do that? Coach, I mean.”
“I guess so. You know he’s about the smartest fellow in his class at school. He wants to earn some money, and there aren’t many things he can do. I hope he gets the job.”
“Yes. I like Dick. He’s terribly white, isn’t he? Gee, if I had a bum hip like his and had to live on crutches, I’d – I’d – ” But words failed him. He shook his head. “He’s so awfully cheerful. Who is the kid he’s going to coach?”
“I’ve forgotten the name. He told me. Something like Prentiss, I think.”
Morris shook his head again. “Don’t know them. They must be new. When I get over there, Gordon, I’ll see if I can’t drum up some trade for Dick. I know about everyone there.” He paused, and then added morosely, with a wry smile: “It might be a mighty good scheme if I had him coach me a bit. I’ve got to take my college exams next year, and I know blamed well I won’t pass them.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’ve got another year yet. Do you have to go? Stay and play a couple of sets of tennis with me. You’ve never tried our court, have you?”
“I’d like to, but I want to get this business settled. I guess I’d better go and see your father about the field. I’d like to play, though, some time,” he added, as he saw Morris’ face fall. “It looks like a bully court.”
“It is. It’s a dandy. Fast as lightning. I haven’t played much myself this year, and I’m all out of trim. Sis and I had a couple of sets the other day, and she pretty nearly licked me.”
“I hope your sister is well,” murmured Gordon. “And Mrs. Brent.”
“Yes, thanks. Sis ought to be around somewhere. Wait till I see.”
He got up and passed into the library, and Gordon heard him calling his sister at the stairway. He came back in a moment. “She’s coming down,” he announced. “Don’t hurry off. Dad will be in his office all the morning, I guess. I hope you don’t mind my not wanting to ask him, Gordon. I would in a minute, only, as I say, we aren’t very chummy just now.”
At that moment Louise Brent came through the doorway, and Gordon, who had reseated himself after his first start to leave, arose again. She was tall, like her brother, but, unlike him, was light in coloring, with brown hair that just escaped being yellow and a very fair skin and blue eyes. She was not a beauty, but she was pretty in spite of irregular features, with a lot of animation and a smile that won friends at once. She was fifteen; but she looked older, Gordon thought as he took the hand she extended.
“I haven’t seen you for a long time, Gordon,” she said, as she seated herself on the edge of Morris’ chair. “Not since the school dance in January. And then you didn’t ask me for a single dance.”
Gordon smiled a trifle embarrassedly. “I – I don’t dance very well,” he said. “I thought it would be kinder to spare you.”
“You didn’t spare Grace Levering,” she laughed.
“Well, Grace – ”
“Is awfully nice. I know.”
“I didn’t mean that! I meant that – she’s only thirteen – and – ”
“Oh, I’m too old?” Louise opened her eyes very wide. “But I’m only fifteen, Gordon. How old are you? Or isn’t it polite to ask?”
“Fifteen, too,” he laughed. “I guess the reason I danced with Grace so much was because I thought she wasn’t old enough to be fussy about the way I did it. Kind of tough on her, though, wasn’t it?”
“Kind of tough on the rest of us, you mean,” responded Louise. “You’ll have to make it up this summer by coming to some of our parties at the Point. Will you?”
“Why – yes, if you want me to. But, really and truly, I’m a fierce dancer, Louise.”
“Is he?” She turned to her brother. Morris shook his head.
“Search me. I know he can bat a ball like sixty, though. I’ve been trying to get him to stay and play some tennis, but he won’t. You ask him, sis.”
“Won’t you?” she begged. “The court’s just crying to be played on. If you will, I’ll bring you out the biggest, coldest pitcher of lemonade, Gordon, you ever saw!”
“Thanks, but – some other time – ”
“That means never!” she sighed. “I don’t think you’re as nice as you used to be. Is he, Morris?”
“He’s so full of business these days. Say, sis, father’s going to cut up the athletic field for building lots. What do you think of that?”
“What for?” she demanded.
“Search me. It leaves the school in a hole, all right.”
“How horribly mean!” said Louise. “It was such a nice field, too! I don’t think he ought to do it, Morris, and I guess I’ll tell him so.”
“Go ahead!” laughed her brother. “It’ll make a lot of difference – I don’t think! Gordon came around to get me to ask dad to let the fellows use the field until he began to cut it up, but I told him that he’d better do the asking himself. If I asked he might give orders to build a dozen houses on it to-morrow!”
“I know.” Louise nodded. “I wish you’d give up the idea of that automobile, Morris. Mother doesn’t want you to have it, either.”
“Just because dad made such a fuss,” he grumbled. “She was all right before that. I’m going to have it, just the same.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she murmured. “Do you think he ought to drive an auto, Gordon? Don’t you think it’s too dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” answered Gordon. “I’ve never had much experience with automobiles. I suppose, though, that if one is careful – ”
“Morris won’t be,” mourned Louise. “He’ll have an accident, kill himself, break his arm or something.”
“Oh, piffle, sis! I can run an automobile as well as any chap. I’ve done it. When I get the car you’ll be tickled to death, and you’ll want to be riding in it every minute.”
Louise shook her head energetically. “No, I shan’t, Morris. I’d be scared to death. And I think it would be much better for you to wait another year or two. Papa won’t like it a bit if you take your money out of the bank and spend it on an automobile.”
“It’s my money, and I have a right to do as I please with it,” responded her brother. “Besides, if he’d kept his word – ”
“Oh, Morris, you shouldn’t say things like that! Papa never actually told you you could have it.”
“Well, he as much as told me,” muttered Morris. “Anyway, I’m going to have it. Stacey would think I was a pretty funny sort if I refused to take it after he’d got it for me.”
“Maybe he could sell it to someone else,” suggested Gordon. “’Most everyone is buying the things nowadays. Well, I’ll be going, I guess. Good-bye. Good-bye, Louise. I’ll come over some time and have that tennis, Morris, if you’ll let me know.”
“Come whenever you can, will you? I’m at home most of the time; or I shall be until I get my car.” And Morris grinned exasperatingly at his sister.
“Don’t forget that you’re to come to the Point some time and dance every dance with me,” Louise reminded, as she and Morris accompanied Gordon to the door. “That’s the only apology I’ll accept.”
“You’ll wish you hadn’t invited me after the first dance,” replied the visitor grimly. “But I’ll come if you want me to some time. Good-bye.”
On his wheel once more, and spinning down the shadow-dappled street, he thought, not without a little natural envy, how fine it must be to have as much money as the Brents. Morris had spoken of buying a six-hundred-dollar automobile in much the same way as Gordon might have announced his intention of purchasing a new suit of clothes! And yet, on reflection, Morris didn’t seem really happy and contented, and never had. He always appeared to have a quarrel with someone or something. Sometimes it was the teachers at High School, who were imposing on him; once it had been the baseball coach, Mr. Farrel, who, according to Morris, was keeping him off the team for spite, and now it was with his father. It would seem, then, that the possession of much wealth didn’t always bring contentment. There was Dick Levering, who was not only poor but a cripple as well, and who was absolutely the most cheerful and contented fellow of all Gordon’s acquaintances. It was a bit puzzling, Gordon thought, as he whirled into E Street and headed toward the business section of town.
Mr. Jonathan Brent’s office was in the Clearfield Trust Company’s Building, opposite the common. Gordon left his wheel against the curb and mounted the flight of marble stairs. A clerk took his name doubtfully and indicated a chair for him to sit in while he waited Mr. Brent’s pleasure. As it happened, although the mill president was a very busy man, Gordon didn’t have to wait long. Almost at once a buzzer sounded, the clerk disappeared, returned, and conducted Gordon through a door whose ground-glass pane was marked “Private.”
Mr. Brent’s office looked out across E Street into the elm-shaded greenery of the common. An electric fan made a soft and pleasant whirring from the top of the big desk which, until Gordon had crossed the room, hid Mr. Brent from view. A chair was set at the end of the desk and into this, not very confidently, Gordon lowered himself while Mr. Brent, without looking up, ran his eye over a letter in his hand.
Jonathan Brent was a small man, small and narrow, with a lean and wrinkled face, shrewd but not unkindly, and a pair of gimlet-like, blue-gray eyes. His face was clean-shaven and the grizzled brown hair had retreated until the top of his head was as bald and shining as the white-enameled newel-post at the foot of the Merricks’ stairway. His mouth was thin and set in a firm, straight line, a line that never altered as, presently, he laid down the paper in his hand and raised his gaze to Gordon’s.
“Well, what do you want, my boy?” he asked, in a quick but not unpleasant voice.
“I came to see you about the athletic field, Mr. Brent,” responded Gordon. “I heard yesterday that you intend to cut it up for building lots, sir.”
“Quite right. What of it?”
“Well, sir, you see we’ve been using it for baseball, and some of us are getting up a nine to play this summer, and I wondered if you’d let us use 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.”