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When Gordon Merrick neared the corner of Troutman Street he slowed down his bicycle and finally drew in at the curb, putting out a foot to hold himself in the saddle while he deliberated. So deep in thought was he that when the yellow watering cart trundled up, the driver half asleep under the blue and white umbrella, he never knew of it until the sprinkler had drenched him from foot to knee. The driver awoke at that moment and, looking back, saw Gordon.
"Hi, there!" he shouted. "Look out!"
Gordon, aroused from his thoughts by the unexpected bath, smiled.
"Why?" he asked. "Are you coming back?"
The joke was lost on the driver of the watering cart, however. He only scowled and settled back to slumber again. Gordon chuckled, and glanced ruefully at his drenched trouser-leg. Except for the looks of that no harm had been done, for it was a hot morning in early July and the feeling of the cool water against his leg had been decidedly pleasant. Evidently the incident had brought a decision in the weighty problem which had confronted him, for with no more hesitation he turned his wheel to the left and peddled on down E Street.
"I'll talk to Dick about it," he said to himself. "He always knows what to do."
The Loverings lived in the third house from the corner, one of a half-dozen modest abodes occupying that side of the block. All the houses were painted white, although differing slightly in the simplicity of their architecture, and all were more or less hidden from view by hedges of lilac or arbor-vit?. Old-fashioned white picket fences peeked out between the leaves of the hedges. The street itself was old-fashioned. Ten years before it had been in the desirable part of Clearfield, but since then the residential center had worked westward and the row of quiet, green-shuttered cottages was being closed in by such unsavory neighbors as livery stables and dye works and tenements.
Dick Lovering hailed Gordon from the vine-screened porch as the latter jumped from his bicycle and leaned it against the hitching-post in front of the little gate. "Hello, Gordie! Come on up."
Dick was seated at the cool end of the porch, which stretched the width of the house. There was a table beside him which held a few flowers in a quaint old green vase and many books and magazines. Dick's crutches stood against the wall within reach, for Dick, as he put it, was "very fond of his crutches and never went anywhere without them." He was seventeen, a tall, nice-looking boy with dark hair and eyes and just the smallest suggestion of pallor on his lean cheeks. As Gordon came up the steps Dick laid down the magazine he had been reading and smiled his pleasant smile.
"Been in the pond?" he asked, viewing the other's wet trousers.
"Watering cart soused me at the corner. How are you, Dickums?"
"Fine. Swell weather, isn't it? You look warm, though."
"So would you if you'd been riding all over town. Say, I got a letter from Bert Cable this morning and I want you to see what you think about it. I've got it here somewhere."
"Where is Bert?" asked Dick as Gordon searched his pockets.
"Bridgeport, Connecticut. He's working for his uncle in some sort of a factory over there. He told me he was going to get eight dollars a week. Here it is. You'd better read it."
"You do it," smiled Dick. "I'm lazy to-day."
"Well, he says-Where is it?-Here we are. 'I'm sending a letter that came the other day from Caspar Billings. He thinks we're still playing ball and wants a game with us. I haven't answered it. What I was thinking was why don't you and Lansing and Fudge Shaw and some of the fellows get a team together and play the Point? You could have a lot of fun. Those fellows at the Point aren't anything to be scared of. You could get up a team that would wallop them easy. Tom Haley would pitch for you and Lansing could catch and you could play first. Why don't you? Anyway, you answer the letter. I'm awfully busy here and don't have much time for writing letters. This is a swell town, lots going on all the time and plenty of baseball. Remember me to all the fellows and tell Harry Bryan when you see him that he's got my glove and is to send it to me because I may need it. We're getting up a team here at the factory. We've got a dandy pitcher and I guess they'll put me at short. Don't forget to write to Billings anyway. Yours truly, Bert.'"
Gordon looked inquiringly across at Dick. "What do you think?" he asked.
"Why, I dare say they will."
"Dare say who will? Will what?"
"Put Bert at short," chuckled Dick.
"Oh, you know what I mean! What do you think of the scheme?"
"Good, I'd say. I suppose," with a humorous glance at his crutches, "you came around to see if I'd play third base for you."
"Wish you could, Dickums. Gee, I don't see how you can always be so cheerful about-about it! I couldn't."
"Well, it isn't hard, Gordie, when you've had seventeen years' practice. Of course, if I'd been able to get around like other fellows and then-then had this happen I guess it would be different. Anyhow, a chap might as well be cheerful as anything else. After all, I don't miss much fun. I can't play games or run or skate or-or do a lot of things I'd like to, but I can watch the rest of you and I can make believe that if I could-well, play third base, say, I'd do it better than the next chap. The beauty of it is that you can't prove I wouldn't!"
"I'll bet you would, Dickums! Why, you know more baseball and more football than most of the fellows who play."
"Why not?" laughed Dick. "They don't have as much time to study it as I do. They have to get out and play. I can watch and learn. But never mind about me. What's this Billings chap say?"
"Oh!" Gordon pulled another sheet of paper from the envelope and read its contents. "'Mr. Bert Cable, Captain Clearfield High School Baseball Club, Dear Sir: A lot of us fellows at the Point are getting up a ball team and we want games. Will you play us? We'll play on our own field or on yours, just as you say. Any date after July 10th will suit us, Wednesdays or Saturdays preferred. Our fellows will average about the same as your team, I guess. Please let me hear from you, and if there are any other teams around Clearfield we could play with I wish you'd let me know and send managers' addresses. Very truly, Caspar Billings, Captain, Rutter's Point Baseball Association.'"
"Caspar Billings," mused Dick. "Which one of the Silk Stocking Brigade is he, Gordon?"
Gordon smiled. "I don't remember him particularly. He's a sort of chum of Morris Brent, though."
"That all you can say for him?" asked Dick. "I suppose Morris will play with the Pointers?"
"I guess so. He won't be much of a help, though. He plays ball like-like a turtle!"
"Morris says," replied Dick with his slow smile, "that he can play a lot better than most of you fellows and that if Bert and Tom Haley and some of the others weren't down on him he'd have made the team last spring."
"Guff! He can't catch a ball. He's not a bad sort, Morris, if his dad does own the town, but he's no Ty Cobb! Well, what do you think about getting up a team, Dickums?"
"Why not? You've got plenty of fellows. Most of the school team are still around, aren't they?"
"All except Bert and Warner Jones and Joe Browne."
"Where's Warner?"
"I don't know. Gone away with his folks somewhere for the summer. Wish my folks would do that."
"Well, get out your pencil, Gordie, and let's make up the team. Haley, pitch, and Lanny, catcher--"
"I'll play first and Harry Bryan second--"
"How about Will Scott?"
"Third. Then for shortstop--"
"Jack Tappen?"
"N-no, he'd better play in the outfield. I'll put him down for right. I guess Pete Robey's the chap for short. That leaves us Way for left field and I guess Fudge will do for center. He can't hit much, but he can pull down a fly."
"There you are, then. What will you call the nine? You can't be the High School team, I suppose."
"N-no, we'll have to find a name. The Clearfield-what, Dickums?"
"Rovers?"
"Sounds like a troupe of trained dogs," laughed Gordon. "We might call ourselves the Purple Sox, only it's sort of hard to say."
"Shorten it," suggested Dick. "Call yourselves the 'Purps.'"
"That's worse than the Rovers! Why not just the Clearfield Ball Club?"
"Why not? That's settled. Now you want a manager--"
"Got one."
"You have? Who?"
"You."
"Me!"
"Surest thing you know. That's partly why I came. To tell you. You see, I thought you'd want to know it."
"Very thoughtful of you," Dick laughed. "But will you tell me how I can manage a ball team, you idiot?"
"Why can't you? All you have to do is to arrange games for us and look after the expenses and see that we behave ourselves. If they make me captain--"
"Which they will, as it's your scheme!"
"It's really Bert's. But if they do I'm going to tell the other fellows that they've got to do just as you say. You know more baseball than I do and you're going to be the real thing."
"Nonsense!"
"No nonsense about it. That's settled, then."
"But, look here, I'd have to go to places with you and-and-well, you know, Gordie, I can't afford to do that very often."
"It won't cost you anything. Your expenses will be paid by the club. Besides, we'll only go over to the Point and places like that, I guess. Now I'm going to see Lanny and talk it over with him."
"Well, all right. I'll be manager if you really want me to. I'd like it. Only, if you change your mind, or the other fellows think--"
"You know very well the other fellows will be tickled to death," replied Gordon severely. "And it will be a good thing for you, too. Take you off this porch now and then. You don't get enough sunshine and fresh air."
"Considering that I'm outdoors all day and sleep with my head through the window," laughed Dick, "that's a bit of a joke. But have your own way, Gordie. You always were a masterful brute. Going?"
"Yep. I want to catch Lanny. I'll come over again after dinner. Rah for the Clearfield Ball Club, Dickums! So long!"
On Your Mark! A Story of College Life and Athletics by Ralph Henry Barbour
Three years ago, Cecilia was left battered and alone by the man she loved most, Alston, yet she bravely completed the wedding ceremony while pregnant. Three years later, although they were married, they grew apart over time. Cecilia focused on her career, no longer foolishly believing in love. But her transformation instantly threw Alston into a panic... And what is the secret from 11 years ago that Cecilia has always been reluctant to reveal? *** "She went to a law firm, met with a lawyer..." A lawyer? Is Cecilia suing someone? Who? Is there any recent litigation against the company? Alston suddenly chuckled coldly, "Who could she sue? I'm the CEO of this company. How come such a matter doesn't come to me first?" The assistant swallowed nervously, speaking softly, "Sir, there's no litigation against the company. She met with... a divorce lawyer."
Eliana was framed by her best friend and her fiance into sleeping with a boy toy in the club and getting impregnated by him. Five years after she had given birth to twins, she returned home and worked under the Moran Group, where she met the CEO-- Maurice. Maurice was a brilliant businessman who did his job well. But in order to stay under the radar, he lived a double life. One as Maurice, and one as Preston. Fate brought the two together again, roping them in on an exciting love story. It all became more complicated when Eliana faced Preston, the man she had slept with before, once again. Now that she was being pursued by two men, how could she ever choose? When would Eliana uncover the secret of Maurice's identity? When was Maurice going to know that he already had two children of his own? How would Eliana face this man when the truth came to light one day? Come and find out.
To the public, she was the CEO's executive secretary. Behind closed doors, she was the wife he never officially acknowledged. Jenessa was elated when she learned that she was pregnant. But that joy was replaced with dread as her husband, Ryan, showered his affections on his first love. With a heavy heart, she chose to set him free and leave. When they met again, Ryan's attention was caught by Jenessa's protruding belly. "Whose child are you carrying?!" he demanded. But she only scoffed. "It's none of your business, my dear ex-husband!"
After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.
After two years of marriage, Sadie was finally pregnant. Filled with hope and joy, she was blindsided when Noah asked for a divorce. During a failed attempt on her life, Sadie found herself lying in a pool of blood, desperately calling Noah to ask him to save her and the baby. But her calls went unanswered. Shattered by his betrayal, she left the country. Time passed, and Sadie was about to be wed for a second time. Noah appeared in a frenzy and fell to his knees. "How dare you marry someone else after bearing my child?"
6 years ago, Lydia suffered a brutal betrayal orchestrated by her own husband and step-sister, who drugged her and framed her. In a twist of fate, she ended up having a one-night stand with a stranger. Don't even remember what he looked like. Later, in the throes of death, she discovered the truth about her mother's death all those years ago. In the blink of an eye, she lost everything. 6 years later, Lydia returned with her genius son, vowing to exact revenge on all her enemies! Little did she know, she encountered an incredibly familiar man at the airport! *** The man was briskly pushing open the door to the restroom, heading to the urinal. Even with such a mundane action, he did it with unparalleled elegance and grace. Lydia, following him in a daze, saw his fierce lower body and suddenly snapped back to reality. She let out a high-pitched scream, instinctively covering her eyes with her hands, her cheeks flushed, and stood there stiffly, unsure of what to do. Lambert furrowed his brows slightly but remained calm as he continued to relieve himself. The sound of water hitting the urinal made Lydia's face even redder. She angrily shouted, "You pervert!" Little did Lydia know that Lambert, seeing her in this state, had a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Memories from many years ago flashed through his mind, and his heart couldn't help but stir. It was her!