The Chums of Scranton High Out for the Pennant

"Too bad that rain had to come, and spoil our practice for today, boys!"

"Yes, and there's only one more chance for a work-out between now and the game with Belleville on Saturday afternoon, worse luck, because here it's Thursday."

"We need all the practice we can get, because if that O.K. fellow, who dropped in to see us from Belleville, tells the truth, both his club and Allandale are stronger than last year. Besides, I hear they have each set their hearts on winning the championship of the Three Town High School League this season."

"For one, I know I need more work at the bat. I've improved some, but

I'm not satisfied with myself yet."

"You've improved a whole lot, Owen!"

"That's right, 'Just' Smith, he's made such progress in bunting, and picking out drops and curves and fast ones, under the watchful eye of our field captain, Hugh Morgan here, that several other fellows on the nine are below him in batting average right now, and I regret to say I'm one of the lot."

The boy who answered to the name of Owen turned red at hearing this honest praise on the part of his fellow students of Scranton High; but his eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure at the same time.

A bunch of well-grown and athletic-looking high-school boys had left the green campus, with its historical fence, behind them, and were on their way home. It was in the neighborhood of two o'clock, with school over for the day.

Just as one of them had said, a drizzly rain in the morning had spoiled all chance for that day of doing any practice in the way of playing ball. Mr. Leonard, second principal of the Scranton schools under Dr. Carmack (who was also county supervisor, with dominion over the Allandale and Belleville schools), had consented to act as coach to the baseball team this season. He was a Princeton grad. and had gained quite some little fame as a member of the Tiger nine that swept Yale off its feet one great year.

Besides Owen Dugdale, there were "Just" Smith, Thad Stevens, Hugh Morgan, Kenneth Kinkaid and Horatio Juggins in the bunch that started off from the school grounds in company, though they would presently break away as they neared their several homes.

"Just" Smith had another name, for he had been christened Justin; but he himself, in answering to the calls for Smith, would always call out "Just Smith, that's all," and in the course of time it clung to him like a leech.

Kenneth Kinkaid, too, was known far and wide as "K.K.," which of course was only an abbreviation of his name. Some said he was a great admirer of Lord Kitchener, who had recently lost his life on the sea when the vessel on which he had started for Russia was sunk by a German mine or submarine; and that Kenneth eagerly took advantage of his initials, being similar to those of Kitchener of Khartoum fame.

Horatio Juggins was an elongated chap whose specialty, besides capturing balloon fliers out in right field with wonderful celerity, consisted in great throwing to the home plate, and also some slugging when at bat.

Thad Stevens was the catcher, and a good one at that, everybody seemed to believe. He, too, could take his part in a "swat-fest" when a rally was needed to pull the Scranton boys out of a bad hole. Thad had always been a close chum of the captain of the team, Hugh Morgan. Together they had passed through quite a number of camp outings, and were said to be like twins, so far as never quarreling went.

This same Hugh was really a clever fellow, well liked by most of the Scranton folks, who admired his high sense of honor. He was averse to fighting, and had really never been known to indulge in such things, owing to a promise made to his mother, the nature of which the new reader can learn if he wishes, by securing the first volume of this Series. In so doing he will also learn how on one momentous occasion the peace-loving Hugh was brought face to face with a dilemma as to whether he should hold his hand, and allow a weaker friend to be brutally mauled by the detestable town bully, Nick Lang, or stand up in his defense; also just how he acquitted himself in such an emergency.

First "K.K." dropped away from the group as he came to the corner that was nearest his home. Boy-like, he sang out to the rest as he swung aside:

"I'm as hungry as a bear, fellows, and I happen to know our hired girl's going to have corned beef and cabbage for noon today. That's said to be a plebeian dish, but it always appeals to me more than anything else."

"Huh! you needn't boast, K.K.," said the Juggins boy, "over at our house Thursday is religiously given over to vegetable soup, and I'm good for at least three bowls of it every time. Then it's also a baking day, so there'll be fresh bread rolls, as brown on the outside as nuts in November. Whew! I just can't hold back any longer," and with that Horatio started on a dog-trot through a short cut-off that would take him to a gate in the back fence of his home grounds.

So presently when Owen and "Just" Smith had also separated themselves from the balance there were only Thad and Hugh remaining; nor did they waste any time in talking, for a high-school boy is generally ferociously hungry by the time two in the afternoon comes around; although at intermission, around eleven in the morning, in Scranton High they were given an opportunity to buy a lunch from the counter where a few substantial things, as well as fresh milk and chocolate, were dispensed by a woman who was under the supervision of the school directors.

"Since our baseball practice is off for today, Thad," remarked Hugh, as they were about to separate, "suppose you drop over and join me. I've got an errand out a short distance in the country, and we can walk it, as the roads are too muddy and slippery for our wheels."

"Yes, I have hated riding on slippery roads ever since I had that nasty spill, and hurt my elbow last winter," replied the other, rubbing his left arm tenderly at the same time, as though even the recollection after months had passed caused him to have tender memories of the pain he had endured. "Lucky it wasn't my right wing that got the crack, Hugh, because it sometimes feels sore even now, and I'm sure it would interfere with my throwing down to second. But of course I'll join you. I've nothing else that I want to this afternoon."

"Mother asked me if I'd go out to the Sadler Farm for her the first chance I got, and already it's been put off too long, owing to our keeping continually at practice every afternoon this week. She gets her fresh sweet butter from Mrs. Sadler, and their horse is sick, so they don't deliver it nowadays. Look for you inside of half an hour, Thad."

"I'll be along, never fear," sang out his chum, as he hurried off, doubtless smelling in imagination the fine warm lunch his devoted mother always kept for him on the back of the stove.

Thad was at the back door of the Morgan house inside of the stipulated time, and being perfectly at home there he never bothered knocking, but stalked right in, to find Hugh doing something in his own room. Like most high-school boys' "dens," this apartment was a regular curiosity shop, for the walls were fairly covered with college pennants, and all manner of things connected with athletic sports, as well as pictures that indicated a love for fishing and gunning on the part of the young occupant; but every illustration was well chosen, and free from the slightest taint of anything bordering on the vulgar or the sensational. There was not a single picture of a notorious or famous boxer; or any theatrical beauties, to be seen. Evidently Hugh's fancy ran along the lines of clean sport, and healthy outdoor exercise.

So the two chums started off for a walk, their pace a brisk one, because the air after that recent spell of rain was quite cool and invigorating, Indeed, once Thad even deplored the fact that Mr. Leonard had thought it best to call off practice for that afternoon.

"Well," remarked Hugh on hearing him say that, "Mr. Leonard was of the opinion we were rather overdoing the matter, and might go stale. He told me so, and said that in his experience he had known more than a few teams to overdo things, and lose their best gait in too much work. He says one more test ought to put the proper fighting spirit in us, and that he feels confident we'll be keyed up to top-notch speed by tomorrow night. I think our pitcher, Alan Tyree, is doing better than ever before in his life; and those Belleville sluggers are going to run up against a surprise if they expect him to be an easy mark."

In due time they reached the farm, and securing several pounds of freshly-made butter that had not even been salted, and was called "sweet butter," they started back. Thad proposed that they take a roundabout route home, just for a change; and this small thing was fated to bring them into contact with a trifling adventure that would cause them both considerable bewilderment, and be a cause for conjecture for days and weeks to come.

"I smell wood smoke," remarked Thad, after they had gone about a third of the distance; "and as the wind is almost dead ahead the fire must be in that direction. There's no house in that quarter that I remember, Hugh. There, now can see smoke coming out of that thin patch of woods yonder. I wonder if they're meaning to cut those trees down and clear more land?"

"No, you're away off there, Thad," remarked Hugh, just then. "I can glimpse the fire now, and there's just one chap hanging over it. Don't you see he's a Weary Willie of a hobo, who's getting his dinner ready with wet wood. Here's a chance for us to see just how the thing is done, so let's make him a friendly call!"