They laughed. "And then," went on Howard, "according to the terms of the contest, we tried to settle the tie by counting up the number of races that each of the three had won-and there was a tie again! So the next race settles it all." "Does Fred Barnes have a grudge against you?" asked Pelham. "Oh, no!" answered Howard. "He 's mighty grumpy just after he 's been beaten, and he could hardly be polite even to Ruth after she won last Saturday. He says mighty rude things when he 's in such a mood-oh, I 've been ready to thrash him for them. But I've come to learn that he forgets that he 's insulted you and seems surprised that you have any feeling about it." "The kind that does n't apologize," remarked Pelham. "I know 'em. But what makes him so?" "Money, we think," answered Howard. "His father has a good many millions. Made his money suddenly, you know, by speculation. guess it's gone to Fred's head." "He's like some of the girls at school that show the dollar-sign," said Lois. "I often think they 're very lucky." "Lucky!" exclaimed all the rest together. Even Neil, sitting forward by the mast, for a moment turned his head. "All they want is things," Lois explained. "And things they can buy. They can even buy the kind of friend they want. Suppose, on the other hand, they wanted to be something? They 've never quite trained themselves for it. Now I never saw Fred Barnes before, but is n't he like that?" "Exactly!" cried Howard. "Come about," Neil said quietly to Harriet. "We 're running into shallow water." He had left his place and come behind her; and crouching on the narrow overhang of the stubby stern, he cleverly avoided the sweeping sheet as she brought the boat about. Instead of allowing her to belay the rope he held it half cleated. His watchfulness and readiness gave her confidence, and she steered as he told her, beyond the cluster of boats that lay at anchor. Again at his direction she brought the boat to another tack, and found it heading through a lane of anchored yachts, directly toward the end of the pier. She was delighted with the slow certainty with which the boat answered the wheel, delighted also that she understood what she was doing. Looking ahead, she saw that the Venture would pass close by the pier, entirely clear of all the anchored boats. Her confidence increased as she said to herself that sailing in a harbor was not so difficult after all. So she allowed her eyes to wander from their previous strict attention to the course of the boat. Thus it was that she saw Fred Barnes, in his fifteen-footer that had passed them so recently, sailing on a course that was bringing the two boats near together. Quick thinking showed Harriet that Barnes was running almost before the wind; she had, therefore, the right of way over him, and did not need to worry. Her inexperience, however, kept her thinking of the situation which would come about when in a few moments the two boats would be at their nearest. She was not able to gage their speeds so as to be sure that they could safely pass. Looking at Neil, she saw that he was not worried, but that his eye was attentively fixed upon the other boat. Howard also noticed the problem that was fast developing. "Fred sees that you 're a greenhorn and means to bother you," he said. "Don't let him drive you into giving up the wheel." Harriet looked again at the Flora, and now saw that probably the two boats would clear each other not far from the end of the pier. Yet even if they were in danger of striking, Fred would have to give way to her. So she sailed confidently on, still unaware of yachtsmen's tricks. The boats came near, and were indeed already passing, some ten yards apart, when Harriet heard Fred give a sharp order to his man. Looking, she saw that the man was beginning to haul in the sail. It did not need Howard's angry growl to tell her what Fred was about to do. He was going to bring the Flora round upon the starboard tack, and thus, having gained the right of way, would force the Venture to turn away from him. This would very neatly pocket Harriet behind the pier, while another quick turn on Fred's part would leave him just outside, free to sail innocently away. "Well," thought Harriet, "I suppose it will give him great satisfaction." She looked at the pier in order to judge her distance. The rest all happened quickly. She had scarcely noticed a boat-load of laughing children under the pier, splashing happily in the shadow, before the rattling of blocks and the flapping of the Flora's sail called her attention back to her work. The racing-boat had spun about, and had started to cross the Venture's bows. So close was she that the big cat-boat could neither keep on nor turn toward her without a collision. Harriet could not help admiring the skill of the trick, while vexedly preparing to turn away. Ruth's nervous cry hastened her. "About, Harriet! About!" But Neil said quietly, "You must keep on!" And on the instant Harriet recognized his reason. The boat-load of children had managed to come out from under the pier and were rowing themselves into the path where, should she turn, the Venture must cut them down. "Keep on!" said Neil again, steadily. Harriet felt that he held himself ready for the emergency, but he kept his hand from the wheel. Thus reassured and encouraged, Harriet gripped it the more firmly. Fred had created the situation, and he himself must suffer from it. (To be continued.) THE FAIRIES BY ELLA M. BOULT THEY 're all about and in and out the flowers, and they hide Where they float their fairy boats, and dive, and splash about all day. They dance and sing, and gaily ring wee silv'ry bells for hours; They make their wings and cloaks and things from the web the They linger late at night to catch the fireflies for their slaves; They often tease the honey-bees and butterflies, and steal The sweets the bees are bearing, and the down upon the wings Of the butterflies to make the fairy pillows, and they feel All bubbling over when they hear the song the robin sings. And sometimes crowds upon the clouds go floating to the sky, They 're everywhere! High in the air they 're riding on the breeze; 'Most every day I come and play, and sit and read my book, I close my book, and look and look about me everywhere; I almost, almost see them, and I whisper low to Glen To lie quite still; but he wags his tail, and bristles up his hair; And they 're probably frightened to death, and say, "Let 's never go CHAPTER XVII DALE'S CHANCE BY JOSEPH B. AMES Author of "The Treasure of the Canyon," etc. To Tompkins, watching with bated breath and clenched fists, it seemed as if the ball would never drop. Two of the fielders were running swiftly backward, but there was n't a chance in a hundred of their catching it. Bat flung aside and toe-clips digging into the ground, Blake was speeding toward first. Before the ball hit the turf he had rounded the sack. By the time Pete Oliver had recovered it and lined it in, the runner was panting on second. "Got him going! Got him going!" shrieked Conners, delightedly. "Get after it, Peanut. Smash it on the nose and bring in Blakie!" His team-mates added their jubilations to his, and a bedlam of shrill advice, mingled with fresh joshing, ensued. Ranny's eyes flashed with illconcealed anger, and he gripped his under lip tight between his teeth. His first ball was good, but the batter fell on the second with all his might. Crack! A gasp went up from the watchers on the bench. Smack! The gasp merged into a yell of delight as the ball landed squarely in Frank Sanson's mitt and stuck there. The force of the impact nearly upset the short-stop, but he recovered swiftly and lined the horsehide straight into the outstretched hands of Court Parker, astride of third. There was a flashing downward motion of those hands, and the sliding runner was tagged, his fingers not six inches from the sack. To the shout of delight that went up, Dale Tompkins contributed rather more than his share. Leaping and capering in front of the bench, it seemed as if he could n't express his overwhelming relief at the unexpected ending of the inning and their escape from a dangerous situation. He thumped Sanson on the back and poked Court in the ribs joyously. But when the first excited enthusiasm had passed he began to think of the inning yet to be played and to wonder how Ranny would get through it. Surely there was time to pull himself together, the boy thought. He had n't really lost control of himself except for a moment. With the opening of the ninth it looked as if Tompkins was right. Troop Five had failed to score further, but Ranny entered the box apparently as cool and self-contained as he had been at the beginning of the game. Quietly and efficiently he took the first batter in hand, and in spite of the joshing that at once began on the other side, he lured the boy into popping up a little infield fly that was easily smothered by the second baseman. The next fellow up, however, sent out a long fly to right-field which Blair unaccountably muffed. Instantly the shrill, nagging voice of "Red" Conners pierced the din. "Up in a balloon!" he yelled. "Little Lambie 's ready for the stable. He 's done. I knew he could n't stand up before a regular team once they got his number." Irritating as a mosquito's buzz, the strident voice rasped Dale Tompkins's spirit like a file, and a rush of sympathy for the pitcher swept over him. He knew how annoying it is to be blamed for another's fault, and the error was distinctly Blair's for muffing that fly. If only Phelps would n't pay any attention to the nagging! He had only to put out two more men and win the game. Surely he must realize that the fellows did n't mean anything they said; that they were only trying He caught his breath with a swift, anxious intake as the ball left Ranny's fingers and an instant later went sailing over the infield. It was a clean hit and brought forth a roar of delight from Troop One's adherents, who at once redoubled their efforts to tease the angry pitcher. It was n't baseball, in its better sense, nor did it show the real scout spirit, but it was human nature. Seeing the game slipping from them, they took the only way they had been able to discover to turn the tables. Ranny, plainly furious, pitched hastily to the next batter and hit him in the arm. The bases were filled, with only one out. "They 've rattled him, all right," said the regretful voice of Paul Trexler at Tompkins's elbow. "Great Scott! He can't be going to stick it out!" For a moment it looked that way. Flushed and furious, his snapping eyes sweeping the circle of grinning faces, Ranny stood motionless for a moment or two in the middle of the diamond. He even toed the slab and took a signal from Ted MacIlvaine. Then, of a sudden, his arm dropped to his side, and he stalked across the infield toward the bench. By the time he reached it his face was white, save where the grip of teeth had left little crimson dents in his under lip. His level, almost hostile, glance fixed Dale Tompkins coldly. "Go in, Tompkins," he said curtly, and tossed him the ball. Dale caught it instinctively, and, scrambling to his feet, pulled off his sweater mechanically. His chance had come, but somehow he did not want it now. He would infinitely rather have had Ranny keep his head and his control and finish the game he had started off so well. The hurt and shame in that white face smote on him with a sense of physical pain, made him feel in a curious, involved fashion as if he were in some manner responsible for the humiliation of his hero. A moment later all this vanished from his mind as he crossed the diamond, his heart beating unevenly, every sense concentrated in the task before him. He was greeted by a burst of joshing from Conners and the others, but he scarcely heard it. Quite without self-consciousness as he was, the remarks of the crowd, with most of whom he was on friendly terms, meant nothing to him. It was merely an obvious attempt to rattle him to which he paid no heed, so intent was he on gaging the boy who stood, bat in hand, a little to one side of the plate. Tompkins had warmed up a little before the game, and now, after throwing a few to MacIlvaine, he found the plate and nodded to the batter to resume his place. All the afternoon he had been sizing up the different batters, noting as well as he could the strength and weakness of each one. He thought he knew the sort of ball Jack Dillon could not hit safely, and promptly he proceeded to send it up. In that very instant something in the fellow's face told him that he had blundered. His heart leaped with the crack of leather meeting wood; he caught his breath almost with a sob as the ball whizzed past his vainly reaching arm. There was no answering thud behind him. Bob Gibson had missed! Heartsick, he saw the runner shoot down from third and cross the plate. Close at his heels, it seemed, the fellow behind him rounded the sack and started home. Suddenly he doubled back, and Dale realized with a gasp of thankfulness that Gardner had nipped that second run with a fine throw to the plate from center-field. He was trembling a bit as he caught the ball from MacIlvaine and moved slowly backward, turning it nervously in his hands. There was a sick, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. All about him the opposition were yelling joy ously as if it were only a question of minutes before the game could be counted theirs. "Another easy mark!" shrilled Conners. “We 've got him going, too. One good single, Irish, and we take the lead. Come over here, Blakie, and coach. I'm up next." Dale brought his teeth down hard and his jaw squared. He'd show Red Conners who was easy. Stepping into the box, he met the confident grin of Roddy Thorpe. This time there could be no mistake. He knew Roddy's game through and through. His eyes dropped to where MacIlvaine crouched, giving a signal from behind his mitt. He shook his head slightly, and Bob, with some reluctance, changed the signal for another. Dale pitched suddenly, and Thorpe, swinging with all his strength to meet the sort of ball he thought was coming, missed, with ludicrous dismay. He fouled the second one, and then let two go by. Finally he missed again, fooled by a sudden change of pace and a slow ball when he had expected speed. A cheer went up from his team-mates that still further heartened Tompkins. "Who's an easy mark now, Red?" taunted Frank Sanson, pounding his glove delightedly. "Here's where you get yours, too." "I should worry!" retorted Conners, dancing to the plate with every sign of confidence. "That was only a fluke; it won't last." Dale's eyes narrowed a bit as he surveyed the grinning, freckled face before him. Ordinarily, he and Red were on good enough terms, but at this moment he felt a slow, smoldering anger against the fellow who, he felt, had been the main cause of forcing Ranny out of the box. "Here's where I even up," he muttered. He took Bob's signal, and promptly, yet without apparent haste, he pitched. The ball left his fingers and whistled over with a slight inswerve. Conners swung his bat fiercely, but encountered nothing but empty air. "One!" muttered Tompkins, under his breath. "Two more, now-just two more!" The next was a ball, and Conners let it pass. Then came a slow one delivered with a swing and snap that fooled the batter into striking before it was well within his reach. As he regained his balance he scowled slightly and shook his head. The grin still stretched his lips, but it had turned into a grimace. Dale's heart began to pound. Over and over again he was saying to himself: "One more! Only one more! I must get him-I 've got to!" Silence had fallen on the field. The batter's team-mates had left off their gibing. It seemed as if every fellow gathered about the edges of the diamond was holding his breath. |