Part 21 (1/2)

”Hey!” cried Phil, dodging. ”What are you trying to do, Hooker?”

But it was not Hooker who shut off the motor and tumbled off the machine as it slackened speed. It was Herbert Rackliff, soaked, mud-bespattered, limp and in a temper.

”Why in the d.i.c.kens don't you get out of a fellow's way?” snapped Herbert, supporting the machine and glaring round at Phil. He bore little resemblance to the usual dapper, immaculate, self-possessed young fellow from the city whose tailored clothes and swagger manners had aroused the envy and admiration of a number of country lads thereabouts.

”Oh, is it you?” said Springer. ”I thought it was Hooker. What are you doing out in this rain with his machine?”

”Just getting back from Clearport,” answered Herbert, with a sour laugh. ”If I owned this old mess of junk I'd pay somebody to take it away. She stopped twice on me and skidded me into the ditch once.

Came mighty near leaving her there and hoofing it.”

In truth, Rackliff was a sight, and Springer restrained a laugh with some difficulty as he observed:

”It must have taken you a deuce of a while to get back on that thing, for the game was over by three o'clock.”

”Half past three,” corrected Herbert, turning to trundle the motorcycle toward the carriage house, the door of which, seen through the twilight, was standing open.

”I caught the three-twelve train from Clearport,” said Phil, unconsciously starting to follow Rackliff.

”Huh!” grunted the other. ”Know you did, but you didn't wait to see the finish. If you had----”

By this time Springer was at the speaker's side and had seized his mud-spattered, rain-soaked sleeve.

”What are you talking about?” he cried. ”Rain stopped the game right after the fifth. Saw I had barely time to get into my togs and catch that three-twelve, so I hustled.”

Rackliff started to laugh, but finished with a hollow cough. ”Bet I've caught a rotten cold,” he gasped. ”The game went for the full nine innings. Didn't begin to rain until I was pretty near halfway home.”

Phil was struck dumb for the moment, and before he could recover Hooker, having heard their voices, came running out to the carriage house, calling to Rackliff. Springer followed the drenched and complaining city youth into the shelter of the building, where Roy recognized him and seemed to betray embarra.s.sment.

”Take your old machine,” said Rackliff, ”and I hope it may be my everlasting finish if I ever ride another rod on it. Look at me! I'm a complete wreck, and all because you were too blamed stingy to lend me the price of carfare from Clearport. This suit is ruined, and I'm soaked to the bone. You ought to use an axe on the thing next time it gets out of order, Hooker.”

”And these are the thanks I get for furnis.h.i.+ng some means of transportation,” said Roy resentfully. ”Well, I don't know that I should expect anything else.”

Herbert, producing his cigarette case, gave a little half-muttered sigh of relief when he found that the contents of the case had escaped a wetting.

”Gimme a match, one of you fellows,” he coughed. ”I'm just crazy for a smoke. This has been the rottenest day I've seen in a long time.”

Hooker, having seen that the motorcycle was placed on its rack, supplied the match, and Rackliff fired up, the light seeming to s.h.i.+ne through his thin, cupped hands as he protected the blaze from the light draught that came in through the open door. He looked tired, and the first whiff or two set him coughing again.

By this time Springer had recovered, and he ventured to ask:

”What's this Rackliff tells me about the gug-game going nine innings?

It began to rain in the fifth and, wis.h.i.+ng to get home as soon as I could, I ducked when that was over. I didn't have an idea----”

”It didn't rain any to speak of until long after the full game was over,” said Hooker. ”You should have stayed, Phil; they wanted you--bad--in the eighth. Eliot was simply tearing things up in his frenzy to find you.”

”Why--why, what happened?” faltered Springer, a sickening feeling stealing over him. ”Tut-tell me what ha-happened, Roy.”

”The Porters got after Grant and b.u.mped him to beat the band. Came within one tally of tying the score. If you'd been there Eliot would have shoved you in, and you'd had a chance to win all sorts of glory saving the game.”