Seeing that it was useless to try to turn Tubby from his determination to rest, which, next to eating, was his favorite occupation, Rob and Merritt took up their brushes, paste and a roll of bills and set out for the barn. Tubby watched them languidly a minute and then drove off along the sandy track while the other two clambered up a bank.
From the road the barn had appeared quite close; but when they reached the top of the bank they found that, actually, it stood back quite a little distance beyond a strip of grass and weeds. The boys waded through these almost knee-deep, and finally reached the side of the old barn. They set down their buckets and brushes and unrolled some bills preparatory to pasting them up.
Suddenly Merritt raised a warning finger. Rob instantly divined that his chum enjoined silence.
“Hark!” was the word that Merritt’s lips framed rather than spoke.
Inside the barn some one was talking,—several persons seemingly. After a minute the boys could distinguish words above the low hum of the speakers’ voices. Suddenly they caught a name: “Mainwaring.”
“I guess maybe we might be interested in this,” whispered Rob.
By a common impulse the two Boy Scouts moved closer to the moldering wall of the old barn.
CHAPTER V.
A BIG SURPRISE.
Time and weather had warped the boards of the structure till fair-sized cracks gaped here and there. The boys made for one of these, with the object of peering into the place and getting a glance at its occupants. At first they had thought that these were nothing more than a gang of tramps, but the name of the engineer, spoken with a foreign accent, had aroused them to a sense that, whoever was in the old barn, a subject was being discussed that might be of interest to their new friends.
Applying their eyes to two cracks in the timbers, they saw that within the barn four persons were seated. One of these they recognized almost instantly as Jared Applegate. By his side sat a youth of about his own age, flashily dressed, with a general air of cheap smartness about him. The other two occupants of the place were of a different type. One was heavily built and dark in complexion, almost a light coffee color, in fact. His swarthy face was clean shaven and heavily jowled. Seated next to him on an old hay press was a man as dark as he, but more slender and dapper in appearance. Also he was younger, not more than thirty, while his companion was probably in the neighborhood of fifty, although as powerful and vigorous, so far as the boys could judge, as a man of half his years.
“You say that you have duplicates of Mainwaring’s plans, showing exactly the weakest points of the great dam?” the elder man was asking, just as the boys assumed positions of listening.
Jared nodded. He glanced at the more slender of the two foreigners.
“I guess Mr. Estrada has told you all about that,” he said.
“Of course, my dear Alverado,” the dapper little man struck in, “you recollect that I spoke to you of Señor Applegate’s visit to me at Washington.”
Rob started. The name Estrada, coupled with a mention of Washington, recalled to his mind something that sent a thrill through him taken in connection with the words of the man addressed as Alverado.
Estrada,—José Estrada! That was the name of the ambassador of a South American republic that had several times been mentioned as being opposed to Uncle Sam’s plans on the Isthmus. What if—but not wishing to miss a word of what followed, he gave over speculating and applied himself to listening with all his might. Jared gave a short, disagreeable laugh.
“You can just bet I got duplicates of all the plans,” he chuckled, “I had an idea that Mainwaring was going to fire me on account of—well, of something, and so I went to work and copied off all of his private papers I could. You see, it was common talk on the Isthmus that the place was alive with spies, and I figured out that anybody who was interested enough to hire spies must be mighty anxious to get at the real plans of the canal, and willing to pay big for them, too,” he added with a greedy look on his face, which for an instant gave him a strong likeness to his father.
Rob and Merritt exchanged glances. From even the little that they had heard it was plain enough what was going forward in the barn. There was no doubt now that Jared was bargaining with representatives of a foreign power that had good reason to dislike Uncle Sam; no question but that Mr. Mainwaring’s plans, or at least copies of them, were in the hands of an unscrupulous young rascal who was willing to sell them to the highest bidder, without caring for what nefarious purpose they were to be used.
The Boy Scouts’ blood fairly boiled as they heard. They had always known Jared to be weak, unprincipled and dishonest, but that he would descend to such rascality as this was almost beyond belief. Merritt in his anger made a gesture of shaking his fist. It was an unfortunate move. A bit of board on which one of his feet rested gave way with a sharp crack under the sudden shifting of his weight.
Instantly the men in the barn were on the alert.
“What was that?” cried Estrada sharply.
“Nothing. A rat, I guess; old barns like this are full of them,” rejoined Jared, striving to appear at ease, but glancing nervously about him.
“A rat, bah!” exclaimed Alverado, puffing out his fat jowls till he looked like a huge puff adder. “That was not a rat, amigo, that was a spy. This barn is not as secret a meeting place as you led us to believe.”
“Come on, Merritt,” whispered Rob, “grab up everything and run for it. They’ll be out here in a minute.”
Swiftly they gathered up their paste, brushes and bills, and crouching low ran toward what had been a smoke-house. Hardly had they darted within its dark and odorous interior when the conspirators in the barn came rushing out, looking in every direction. In Alverado’s hand something glittered in the sunlight. The two Boy Scouts peering out through a knot-hole had no difficulty in recognizing the object, with an unpleasant thrill, as an automatic revolver.
They now saw, too, something that they had been unable to perceive from the back of the barn. This was a big, red touring car drawn up close to the antiquated structure. But they had no time to waste in looking at the car. The movements of the searching party engrossed their attention too deeply.
“Scatter in every direction,” they heard Alverado order, “we must find out if anyone has been here listening, or if our ears deceived us.”
There was no doubt but that the search was to be a thorough one. Even the chauffeur of the car, which, the boys noticed in a quick, fleeting glance, bore no number, joined in the search. They rushed about like a pack of bloodhounds in every direction.
“This is getting pretty warm,” whispered Rob; “it’s plain those chaps are thoroughly alarmed and don’t mean to leave a stone unturned to find us.”
“Oh, that unlucky board!” groaned Merritt remorsefully. “I’m a fine specimen of a Scout to make such a mistake as that,—at such a critical time, too.”
“It was unfortunate; but accidents will happen,” rejoined Rob quickly. “But it’s no use crying over spilt milk.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m trying to think.”
“Perhaps there is a chance that they will overlook us.”
“No danger of that, I’m afraid. From what little I saw of Mister Alverado he appears to be a very painstaking gentleman.”
“They’re searching the house now.”
“Yes, that will take them some time; but you can depend on it that when they’ve finished they’ll search the outbuildings.”
“Yes; and they’ve left that chauffeur on guard outside, too. Not a chance of our getting out of here.”
“Unless there’s another door.”
“Cracky! Maybe there is. Let’s look. But we’ve got to hurry up. Hark!”
“They’re coming out of the house and pointing over here,” cried Rob the next instant.
Both boys desperately sought to find some way out of the old smoke-house other than by the door by which they had entered. But no exit offered. Suddenly Rob had an inspiration. The smoke-house was roofed like an inverted V. The roof was covered with shingles. Apparently they were rotten, for in places the light came through. One side of the roof faced toward the abandoned farmhouse; the other faced back upon some fields. Rob thrust his fist with some violence against the shingles on the side of the smoke-house roof that faced the fields. To his joy the shingles gave way almost like rotten cardboard.
“Hurrah! We’ve found a way out,” he cried exultingly, although he was careful not to raise his voice much above a whisper. He rapidly enlarged the opening till it was big enough to crawl through. Luckily the search party had paused to examine a corn crib that lay between the smoke-house and the farmhouse, so that the boys had a few seconds’ grace.
“Now then, through you go!” breathed Rob as soon as he had pitched out the bills.
Merritt scrambled through with Rob close on his heels. The apex of the roof, of course, screened them from view of the party now approaching the old smoke-house. It was a drop of not more than three feet to the ground, for the walls were low, and Rob had, of necessity, punctured the roof near the eaves.
Ahead of them lay a meadow with a patch of woods beyond. Rank brush and tall weeds intervened. But they had to make a dash of some hundred feet across an open space. Somehow, just how they never knew, they got across it and plunged into the brush, making for the woods beyond.
At the same instant Alverado and the others entered the smoke-house.
CHAPTER VI.
BASEBALL.
“Of course they guessed how we made our escape, Rob.”
Merritt spoke as the two lads lay crouched in the thick brush far removed from harm’s way.
“Naturally. The fresh breaks in the roof would show them that. But, beyond that, they are none the wiser as to our identity, of which I am heartily glad.”
“I can understand that. You don’t like the look of things.”
“Merritt,” Rob spoke very soberly, laying his hand on the other’s arm, “it looks to me as if we’ve stumbled on a monumental plot against Uncle Sam’s canal. I don’t know much of politics, but I do know enough to realize that there is a certain South American republic that thinks that the Canal Zone was stolen from her by trickery and deceit. I’m sorry to say, too, that I’ve heard that there are interests right here in the States that agree with her—people who think that the opening of the canal will result in enormous losses to freight, and who would like to see the canal completion delayed at all costs.”
“I see. You think that the two dark men were representatives of that republic you mentioned.”
“I know one of them was,” snapped Rob; “he is its representative at Washington.”
“Wow! Say, Rob, this is a big thing we’ve stumbled upon. We must bring it to the attention of the proper authorities.”
“That’s our duty as Scouts.”
“Of course. But what steps do you propose to take?”
“I don’t just know yet. We must see Mr. Mainwaring, of course, first. It will be for him to decide. But—horrors, Merritt!—we’ve forgotten all about Tubby. He’s asleep in the rig. Look, Jared and his friends are piling into the auto. If they go down that road they are sure to discover him. They may do him some injury.”
But the next instant both the anxious lads drew a sigh of relief. Instead of taking the by-road, the auto struck off across lots along a barely perceptible and weed-grown track. In a few moments it was out of sight and the coast was clear. Then, and not till then, the two Boy Scouts set out to rejoin Tubby. They found that rotund youth blissfully sleeping, while the old nag cropped grass at the roadside. They awakened their stout comrade and soon took the lees of sleep out of his eyes by relating all that had passed within the last hour. Tubby heartily agreed that the first thing to be done was to put Mr. Mainwaring on his guard.
Naturally there was no more thought of bill posting, and filled with a sense of the duty that lay before them the three Boy Scouts drove rapidly back to Hampton. But there a disappointment awaited them. Mr. Mainwaring had been called away on business. He had gone west and would not be back for a week or more. So for the present the scene in the barn had to be forgotten, while more immediate matters were attended to. During the ensuing week nothing was seen of Jared, but the Saturday afternoon of the game found him “warming up” on the ball field with the orange and black of the Hampton team on his back.
Rob and Merritt fairly boiled over with indignation as they watched him. But they decided not to say anything to him that might put him on his guard.
“We’ll give him all the rope he wants,” declared Rob. Later he was bitterly to regret the adoption of this policy.
The grounds began to fill up early. The game aroused widespread interest in that section of Long Island. As the local paper put it, “red-hot ball” was looked for. Enthusiastic young ladies were there by the score, waving flags from the bunches on sale about the field by hawkers. The grand-stand filled early. Rob’s team-mates noticed his eyes frequently straying in that direction.
“Looking for Lucy Mainwaring,” whispered Tubby to Merritt with a grin on his round and blooming countenance.
Finally the game was called and soon both teams were on the field. Hiram, captain of the Eagles, won the toss and chose to go to bat first. The game was started. Nelson promptly struck out. He could not help making a wry face as he threw down the willow.
A broad grin was on Jared’s face. He went through all sorts of antics, as Andy Bowles came to bat with a look of grim determination on his face.
Jared was good; that was a fact which admitted no blinking, as the Eagles had to acknowledge. Andy was given first base on balls, tried to steal second, was thrown out and retired disgruntled to the bench. The Hampton rooters began to give their war cry. The Eagle supporters replied to it bravely. It was early in the game to be making any predictions. Rob was third batter. He struck out. Jared’s delight was ill-concealed.
“I’ll shut ’em out,” he bragged loudly, not caring who heard. “I’ll show the tin soldiers some pitching.”
The Eagle supporters had to admit that things did not look very roseate, but they consoled themselves by recollecting the fact that practically the game had only begun.
Hampton now went to the bat. Merritt occupied the pitcher’s box. He had injured his arm somewhat in practice, but it was agreed, after a consultation, to put him up as first pitcher, holding Rob in reserve till they got the Hampton’s gait. Merritt showed wonderful form. In one, two, three order he struck out Hampton’s batters, including Jared.
Great was the delight of the Eagles and their friends.
“Good boy, Merritt! Good for you! Kr-e-e-e-ee-ee!” was heard on all sides as the Hamptons came running out to take their positions in the field.
Merritt felt a glow of pleasure as Rob congratulated him.
“I hope I can keep it up,” was all he said.
“I hope so, too; but I’d like to have a chance at Jared,” responded Rob.
The Eagles now came to the bat, Rob leading. Rob was not only a good pitcher but a sure batter. Whiz-z came Jared’s ball. Rob met it and promptly drove a humming liner into right field. It was a safe base hit.
“Oh, you Eagles!” chanted the crowd; those of them who were not lined up for Hampton, that is.
Rob watched his chance and stole second, to the huge delight of his team supporters. An ugly look was on Jared’s face. The next batter, Merritt, received first base on four balls. Cheers and yells greeted this. Jared’s countenance grew blacker and blacker. He bit his lip impatiently.
Suddenly Rob played dangerously off second base. The Hampton second baseman was close to him. It was a daring move. Jared saw it in a flash. The catcher’s signal came. He threw the ball to the Hampton short stop on second base.
But Jared’s chagrin at the way his pitching was being “knocked about” unsteadied his aim. He threw wild. The ball passed above the short stop’s outstretched finger tips. Rob darted off for third base like a jack rabbit.
The right fielder got the ball and shot it to third base, but, although the ball and Rob seemed to arrive simultaneously, Rob was hugging the bag contentedly in the nick of time. This was a quick, stirring bit of play and brought yells from the crowd, among whom criticisms of Jared were freely expressed. He grew pale with rage and chagrin.
Paul Perkins now came to bat. The dreamy lad struck out. His apparent unconcern made the crowd laugh. They laughed even more when Tubby, having struck out also, calmly picked up a bit of pie he had been munching when he came to bat and marched to his seat contentedly chewing it.
At this stage of the game two were out, Merritt was on second and Rob on third.
Now came the turn of Ernest Thompson, a big-eyed, serious-looking lad, one of the first recruits to the Eagle standard and a first-class scout. Jared was now on the broad grin. Thompson looked easy.
“Look out, baby-face,” chuckled Jared, poising himself.
An in-curve shot from his hand. Ernest gazed at it in an uninterested manner and allowed it to go by.
“Strike one!” came the sonorous voice of the umpire, who was Sim Giles, the postmaster.
“Oh-h-h-h-h!” yelled the crowd.
The next ball was of the same character. This time Ernest struck at the ball. He missed and the crowd yelled again. Jared began to regain self-confidence.
“Strike two,” was the cry.
The third ball was high.
“Ball one,” declared Sim.
Then came an out-curve. But it was too far out. Jared was a rather ragged pitcher.
“Ball two,” called Sim.
Suddenly Jared threw to third base. But, quick as he was, he didn’t catch Rob off.
“How’s that?” yelled Higgins, the Hampton third baseman, as he touched Rob.
The umpire merely waved his hand in what he deemed a professional manner.
“A thousand years late,” chuckled Rob to Higgins.
Jared heard him and flashed him an ugly look. Hatred gleamed in his eyes. Rob watched him narrowly and again stole off third.
Bang!—came a swift straight ball at the dreamy Ernest. But he was not in “a trance,” as Jared had scornfully thought. Crack!—went a hot grounder to short stop. Merritt stood fast at second, but Rob, like an arrow from a bow, shot off for home. The short stop fired in the sphere to the catcher as quickly as he could. But before the ball got there, Rob, his legs working like pistons, had passed the home plate.
What a roar went up then! Flags waved and cheers resounded among the Eagle sympathizers.
As the cheering died away the catcher, Hollis Powers, walked into the diamond to confer with Jared, who showed by his passionate gestures that he was mad clear through.
“Look out or they’ll knock you out of the box,” yelled some one.
This did not tend to improve Jared’s temper. But, nevertheless, he struck out the next batter, Simon Jeffords, which helped in part to restore his balance. The Eagles then retired to the field.
“How do you feel, Merritt?” was eagerly asked by his comrades before he took the pitcher’s box.
“All right, so far. You’ll know soon enough when my wing gets sore,” was the reply.
Apparently Rob was not destined to pitch that day. Merritt struck out the first two batters, fielded a hot liner and threw out Jared before he got to first base. Jared was certainly piling up his list of grievances against the Boy Scouts. To add to his ill-feeling he had recognized Fred Mainwaring, nodded to the latter and received the cut direct. The fact that Lucy Mainwaring was a witness to this snub did not improve matters.
“Good boy, Merritt!” yelled the Eagle supporters in a frenzy of delight.
The third inning commenced with the Eagles at the bat. But now Jared appeared to have on his throwing clothes. The Scout batters couldn’t hammer his pitching at all.
In fact, all that occurred while they succeeded each other at the bat was a monotonous succession of calls from the umpire:
“Strike one. Strike two. You’re out.”
The Hampton villagers began to pluck up heart. They gave Jared warm support and cheers for his really excellent work and that of his team-mates. To the somewhat blank astonishment of the Eagles, they had not been able to find Jared’s pitching at all in this inning. It began to look as if they were by no means to have things their own way.
CHAPTER VII.
A TEST FOR THE EAGLES.
But Jared was to score still further. He came to bat confidently at the end of the third inning. With two of his side out and none on bases, he knocked a beautiful homer into left field. It was a really fine drive. The Hampton contingent went wild. The faces of the Eagle supporters, too, were cheerful, but anxious. As for Jared, he beamed, and then as his eyes met Rob’s, he gave the latter a malevolent glance.
At the end of the third inning each side had scored one run. The Eagles made no runs in the following three innings, while Hampton scored two, so that, when the seventh inning began, things looked rather gloomy for the Scouts. The score then stood three to one in favor of Hampton and the town players fairly swelled with confidence.
It was already painfully evident that, exercise his will power as he would, Merritt’s arm was getting sore. He had put redoubled efforts into his work but the score showed with how little success. At the beginning of the seventh, he told Captain Hiram that he thought the Hamptons had “found” his pitching, but he consented to stay in the box for one more inning.
The inning commenced with Merritt at the bat. He was given first base on balls. Paul Perkins made a base hit to left field. He got safely to first with Merritt hugging second. Tubby Hopkins once more struck out with the same cheerful grin on his round countenance. Hiram sent a slow grounder to Jared and was promptly thrown out at first, but Merritt reached third, and Paul second, very nicely.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. Jared determined to strike him out if it were humanly possible. After a lot of posing which he thought gave him quite a professional air, Jared delivered the best ball in his répertoire, a swift and vicious in-curve. It fairly hissed through the air.
Crack!
Rob’s willow collided with the sphere and away it sped far into right field. Merritt and Paul scored amidst tremendous enthusiasm; hats were thrown in the air. Things once more looked rosy for the Eagles. Rob was easily the favorite of the moment.
As for Jared, his feelings were not enviable. He felt that he would gladly have allowed the others to score if he had only been able to shut Rob out. He struck out the next batter, and then Hampton went to bat.
Merritt’s arm felt better and he went to the box without the misgivings that had assailed him earlier. But with the first ball he pitched he knew that he had deluded himself. The batter hit a fly to right field and was caught out. Merritt, summoning every ounce of resolution he could muster, struggled on right manfully. But it was a hopeless cause. Base hits were made with absurd ease. Jared was caught out on a fly. Finally there were two out and two on bases.
Higgins came to bat and made a second home run amidst yells of delight from the Scouts’ opponents.
It began to look like grim defeat for the Scouts. The Hampton contingent was jubilant. Jared danced mockingly about whenever he could catch the eye of a Boy Scout.
The next Hampton batter struck an easy fly to left field which was caught by Paul Perkins. The Scouts now came to the bat, beginning the eighth inning. The score was six to three in Hampton’s favor. Things looked black, but with the true Scout spirit the lads of the Eagle put the best face possible on matters. They noted Jared’s leering face without a sign that they saw his malignant triumph.
Jared struck out the first three Scout batters with ridiculous ease. When the Hamptons came to the bat, the Eagles made a change in pitchers. It was Rob, cool, self-confident and determined, who occupied the box. This followed a consultation at which it was agreed that, splendidly as Merritt had done, his arm had gone back on him.
As Hiram adjusted his catcher’s mask and Rob took his new position, things grew very quiet. It was palpable to all that the change of pitchers denoted a crisis in the game for the Scouts. Rob faced the first batter without indulging in any of Jared Applegate’s antics. Hiram signaled for a swift one. He braced himself as he saw it coming. He knew that Rob was a swift pitcher with a mighty right.
“Strike one!” yelled the umpire a fraction of a second later.
Jared, at the bat, looked angry and puzzled. He wondered why they hadn’t put Rob in the box at first. He did not know that Rob, while a splendid pitcher, was not to be relied on through a long game as was Merritt. Another thing he didn’t know was that Rob had determined with a grim resolution to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, if possible. That’s a feeling that will carry any boy, or man either for that matter, a long way.
Hiram signaled for another cannon-ball. It was plain that those were just the kind of missiles that were not at all to Jared’s liking.
The ball shot from Rob’s hand apparently without effort. But it shot over the plate like a bullet.
“Strike two!” bellowed the umpire.
“Oh, you Rob!” yelled his friends.
“K-r-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee!” shrilled the Scouts.
But Rob took no notice; nor did he regard Jared’s look of hatred, oddly mixed with worry. Rob’s pitching bothered him. He wanted no more off that plate.
But whi-z-z-z-z-z-z! came another “cannon ball” like a high powered projectile burning up the atmosphere. Jared swung wildly an inch too high.
“Striker’s out!” came the call of Jared’s doom from the umpire.
It was a furiously angry youth that strode to the bench.
“Thought you were going to make ducks and drakes out of him, Jared?” grinned one of his fellow players.
“So I was. I was just trying him out,” grunted Jared disgustedly.
The next two batters couldn’t handle Rob’s pitching at all. The game began to look as if it might be retrieved after all.
“Blake! Blake! Blake!” chanted the crowd as Rob walked toward the batters’ bench.
Merritt was first at bat for the Scouts in the ninth inning. Jared began to pitch with as good an imitation of Rob’s speed as he could muster. Merritt let the first ball sing past him.
“Ball one.”
The second, also, went by in similar manner.
“Ball two!” sang out Sim in his high, nasal voice.
Jared pulled himself together. He sent the ball humming right over the home plate. Merritt swung at it and made a safe base hit to right field. Then came Hiram. He struck out. Jared and the Hamptonites began to feel better. Jared was still holding the Scouts down and they had a safe margin of runs.
Paul Perkins struck out this time. Then came Ernest Thompson, who dreamily submitted to the same process.
Rob Blake now came to the bat. His exhibition of pitching just previously earned him a round of applause. Jared looked positively bilious. He had actually been holding himself in reserve for Rob. It was his intention to shut him right out. Rob ignored Jared’s first ball.
“Ball one!” was the cry.
“Ball two!” followed in rapid succession. Rob smiled easily. Jared’s dislike of the boy at the bat was making him irritable and uneasy.
But he rallied his skill and threw what looked like an easy pitch. Rob struck at it but fanned the empty air.
Jared grinned, the Hamptonites yelled and the umpire called:—
“Strike one!”
“All right for you, Mister Casey at the bat,” snarled Jared, “watch out for this one.”
It came like a flash, a tricky, wavy curve. Rob swung with all his strength and—missed!
“Strike two!”
A groan went up from the Scout supporters. Their chances of victory looked slim indeed now.
“Wake up! You’re in a trance!” scoffed Jared, grinning at Rob. “Get out of the straw.”
“The straw in the red barn!” suddenly flashed Rob, in a low, but far-reaching voice. It was pregnant with meaning and Jared turned white as death. He fumbled the ball with trembling fingers.
“W-w-what do you mean?” he managed to gasp.
“Play ball!” yelled the crowd impatiently.
Jared, his fright still on him, pitched. He made a wild fling. Rob trotted to first base. Merritt boomeranged to second.
Simon Jeffords got his base on balls, advancing Rob to second and Merritt to third. Everybody began to sit up and take renewed notice. A home run now would add four to the Scout score. Could they get it? Jared had shown that he could hold them down. Could he still keep up his gait?
And now out strolled Tubby Hopkins. He paused first to insert a huge chunk of chewing gum in his capacious cheek and then, not noticing in the least the laughter and joking that greeted his appearance, he lounged to his place, his jaws moving rhythmically.
“It’s up to you, Tubby. Bring home the bacon!” some one yelled.
“He’s got the bacon with him,” shouted some other humorist.
Jared fixed his eyes quizzically on Tubby.
“Like a bottle of anti-fat, kid?” he sneered; and then, “Oh, what I won’t do to you! How do you like ’em?”
Tubby stopped chewing an instant. His large eyes opened wide as if he had just heard Jared’s voice.
“Oh, I like ’em Panama fashion, if you’ve got any of those about you to-day,” he said with a cherubic smile.
Zang! came the ball. It was as swift as any that Jared had yet thrown. He would have liked to see it knock the disconcerting fat youth on the head. But it did no such thing. With an agility unsuspected except by those who knew him, Tubby swung viciously at the spheroid.
“Bin-go!” yelled the rooters.
Off into left field a hot liner whizzed its way.
“Go on!” shrieked the Eagles and their supporters, dancing up and down in excitement.
Off darted Merritt from third. He shot across the home plate an instant later and scored amidst loud cheering. Hot after him flashed Rob, with Simon close behind. Excitement rose to a point where it was almost unbearable.
Tubby had shot like a stone from a sling the instant he made his hit. And now more like a steam roller the fat youth cavorted over the bases while the crowd went crazy. Pandemonium reigned.
“Home! Home! Home!” shrieked the raucous crowd in a frenzy.
Boys hugged each other and the Scouts danced up and down.
Tubby, with amazing speed, his short fat legs working like piston rods, flashed by first, second and third bases. The next instant a yell went up that split the air. A rotund form sky-hooted across the home plate and then, tripping up, went rolling like a tub of butter into the arms of Rob and his team-mates. Tubby had made one of the most sensational plays ever seen on the Hampton field, and foes as well as friends generously applauded the fat boy. But he paid no attention to the plaudits.
“Great Scotland! I’ve lost my gum,” were his first words on being helped to his feet. “Anybody got a chew?”
“A barrel full, if you want them!” yelled the delighted Scouts, dancing about the boy who had hit out a home run with bases full.
The next batter, Walter Lonsdale, struck out. Then the town team went to bat for its last chance. The score now stood thus:
Eagles: seven. Hamptons: six
Rob resumed his place in the pitcher’s box. Higgins struck out. But Jared got his base on balls. Maybe Rob was overconfident. Conners came next. Two strikes had been called on him, when Rob, like a flash, hurled the ball to first. With neatness and expedition Jared was put out.
Incidentally, Conners had been so rattled by Rob’s pitching that, when the latter threw to first, Conners frantically struck at an imaginary ball, causing a roar of laughter. This disconcerted him so badly that he missed the next ball and struck out.
The Scouts had indeed snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. The game was theirs but by so narrow a margin that they hardly liked to think about it.
In an instant the crowd broke all boundaries and surged about the victorious Eagles.
“Three cheers for Home-run Tubby!” yelled somebody.
In a flash the fat youth was hoisted on half a dozen shoulders. Then began a triumphal march around the field to the music of Andy Bowles’ bugle, which he had suddenly produced from some mysterious hiding place.
“You see, I knew that I’d need it,” he explained afterward.
Rob, arm in arm with Merritt, brought up the rear of the tumultuous riot of enthusiasts. Suddenly Rob’s eye caught sight of a figure in the uniform of the Hampton’s players sneaking up behind a corner of the grand-stand which it was evident the crowd must pass in their march of victory. It was Jared Applegate. With him was the same young man the boys had seen in the barn the week before, as well as two other youths of bad character in the village, Hodge Berry and Maxwell Ramsay.
“What mischief is Jared up to?” breathed Rob, clutching Merritt’s arm.
“I don’t know, but he looks as sneaky as a pole cat. Let’s watch him.”
The two scouts followed, at a slight distance, the group of which Jared was the center. They saw the boys that they were watching sneak in behind the grand-stand, while Jared stooped and picked up a heavy stone. As the crowd, with Tubby’s rubicund countenance shining above their heads, came swinging around the corner on their way off the ball field, Rob gave a sharp exclamation and sprang forward.
Like a flash he gripped Jared’s arm just as it was about to launch the stone at Tubby’s head.
“You—you rascal!” he managed to exclaim, forcing Jared’s arm down with a firm wrist hold.
The next instant Hodge Berry and Max Ramsay, both of whom had played in the Hampton team, sprang at Rob furiously.
“You’re going to get a licking you won’t forget in a hurry,” they cried.
The crowd had swung on, not noticing the dramatic scene that was occurring so close to them. Rob dropped Jared’s wrist and turned to face his opponents.
Something in his face made them halt an instant, and in that brief space of time Merritt was at his side. The strange youth who had said nothing so far now started to speak, but Rob checked him.
Utterly ignoring the others, he addressed himself to Jared.
“Well, what do you want?” he demanded.
“I want to get square with you,” replied Jared in a furious tone. He appeared almost beside himself with rage.
“Humph! and so you’ve brought a bunch of your amiable friends along to help you in case it proved too big a job to tackle alone.”
“See here,” exclaimed the stranger, stepping forward a pace, “I don’t know who you are except by name, but I’m not going to have you insult me. Jared here is a chum of mine. I knew him in New York——”
“Sorry for you,” flashed out Rob curtly.
“None of your lip,” growled Max Ramsay sullenly; and yet, so electrical had the atmosphere become, and so capable of handling himself did the clean-living young scout look, that, uneven as the odds were, no further hostile move was made.
“Jared said he had a bone to pick with you,” went on the strange youth. “He told us he wanted to have it out with you Scouts. He invited us along. I’m not going to take any part in it, you can be assured of that. There’ll be fair play.”
“Like stone throwing, for instance,” retorted Rob contemptuously.
“I guess you’re scared,” sneered Jared.
“Who says so?”
“I do. You act so. You’re afraid of me.”
Jared was quite quick enough to see that Rob was unwilling to get into a fight. The leader of the Eagle Patrol abhorred, above all things, to be mixed up in a disgraceful set-to. But even Rob, who had unusual self-control, was fast beginning to lose patience.
“I don’t know what harm I’ve ever done you, Jared,” he said quietly, “but if you feel so, why I can’t help it.”
“I hate you, Rob Blake,” exclaimed Jared through his clenched teeth, “and I’m going to polish you off once and for all,—do you hear me?”
“I’m not deaf. Let us pass, please,” said Rob, still with that same calm, unruffled manner.
“Not till you’ve given me satisfaction.”
Jared interpreted Rob’s manner amiss. He was sure now that Rob would avoid a fistic discussion at all hazards. He determined to show his friends what a terrible person he was.
“Well, you heard what I said,” repeated Jared, thrusting out his jaw and stepping closer to the unmoved Rob, “you’ve got to give me satisfaction—understand?”
“Do you want me to fight you?” asked Rob, without the flicker of an eye.
“Yes, I do,” whipped out Jared boldly.
At the same instant, thinking to catch Rob off his guard, he aimed a vicious blow at the lad in front of him. Rob merely stepped to one side. Jared almost lost his balance as his fist encountered thin air, and just saved himself from taking an ignominious tumble.