Part 25 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXIII.

HOOKER BREAKS WITH RACKLIFF.

Pa.s.sing Hooker's home on his way down into the village Thursday evening, Rackliff saw a light in the carriage house, which led him to fancy he might find Roy there. In this he was not mistaken; Hooker was puttering over his motorcycle by the light of a lantern. Hearing a footstep on the gravel outside, he looked up and perceived the visitor entering by the open door.

”h.e.l.lo,” said Herbert.

”h.e.l.lo,” grunted Hooker, without any effort at cordiality or welcome.

”Tinkering with that old thing again, I see,” coughed Rackliff.

”Thanks to you, I am.”

”Thanks to me?”

”Yes; it has been out of order ever since you used it last. Baseball practice doesn't give me much time to work on it by daylight, and so I'm trying to get her running now.”

”Take my advice and pay somebody to remove the thing. It's the biggest old lemon I ever saw. All it's worth is its price as junk. Gee! I'm feeling rotten.” He sat down on a box, coughing again.

Indeed Herbert did not look well, and there seemed to be something of an alarming nature in the sound of his cough. His thin cheeks were flushed and feverish.

”You don't have to worry yourself about it,” returned Roy warmly.

”It's mine, and I presume I can do anything I please with it.”

”Awful touchy to-night,” muttered Rackliff. He lighted a cigarette, but the first whiff threw him into a most distressing fit of coughing and he flung it out through the open door. ”Can't seem to get anything out of a smoke,” he complained. ”Cigarettes don't taste good, and they raise the merry d.i.c.kens with this old cough of mine. I've got a beastly headache, and I suppose I ought to be in bed, but I've got to go down to the postoffice. Expect a letter from Newbert to-night.”

”So you're corresponding with him, are you?” said Roy, wiping his greasy hands on some cotton waste.

”Sure. Why not? We were chums, you know.”

”And of course you still think him the greatest pitcher that ever happened?”

”He's just about the greatest in his cla.s.s; you'll find that out Sat.u.r.day. Watch how he shows Cowboy Grant up. Say, Springer rather showed that fellow up, too, didn't he?”

”How do you mean?”

”You know; the way he made him pull his horns and take water.”

”Who says Phil Springer made Rod Grant take water?”

”I do. I was there and saw it. Your Texan hasn't got any nerve. He's the biggest case of fake to be found in seven States. He's strong, I'm not denying that; but when he saw that Springer really meant business he didn't dare do a thing.”

”I've heard the fellows talking about it,” said Hooker, ”but I don't believe Grant was afraid of Phil Springer. A fellow who would take the chances he did to save Lela Barker from drowning couldn't be frightened by Springer.”

”I've heard about that, too, and, as near as I can make out, Grant took those chances because he had to.”

”Had to? Why----”

”He had to after he got caught by the current and carried over the dam with the girl. There couldn't be any backing out then. I'll bet he never would have jumped into the water at all if he'd stopped a moment to consider the danger. According to the story I've heard, it was really that big lout, Bunk Lander, who did the great act of heroism and saved both Grant and the Barker girl; but of course Grant got most of the credit. Anyway, I know that some fellows have lost a bit of their confidence in the cowpuncher since Springer faced him down; they're due to get the rest of it shaken out before the game ends Sat.u.r.day.”