Read Ebook: The Boy Scouts of Lakeville High by Quirk Leslie W Kirkpatrick William Arber Brown Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1843 lines and 71174 words, and 37 pages

"It was splendid of you!" Molly began, and then stopped, horror-struck. "But look at your clothes!"

The red-headed boy glanced down, but continued to smile, in spite of the dark stains that had spread where he gripped the tree-trunk and sundry leaf and nut clusters between his knees.

"I'm always doing something like that. I wish it wasn't the first day of school, though," he added a little ruefully. "It's most schooltime, too."

But now Molly was her practical self once more. "You get your books," she ordered, "and I'll take you down in our automobile. Horace Hibbs has his workshop near the school, and he mixes a sort of patent stuff that just takes any kind of a spot out of your clothes. He's the Scout Master of the Black Eagle Patrol of Boy Scouts, too. See, father's getting the car ready now. You come right over."

While Mr. Sefton drove the car, Molly and the red-headed boy sat side by side on the rear seat. After deftly finding out his name and his age and his grade Molly began telling him all about Lakeville and about the new high school, which had resulted from the combined efforts of Horace Hibbs, the Fair Play Sporting Goods Factory, and, most of all, the Black Eagles, Lakeville's patrol of Boy Scouts.

"I came pretty near being a Scout last year myself," Rodman said suddenly. "I was all ready to pass my tenderfoot examinations when we moved out on a farm and staid there till we came to Lakeville."

"Oh, that's fine!" Molly assured him briskly. "You'll be taken in with the Black Eagles. You see, Handy Wallace moved to Beloit almost a year ago, and Sandy Anvers was sent East to school; so that leaves only seven. And the patrol is going to do things this year," she went on warmly. "There will be high-school football teams and baseball and basketball teams and everything else, and there will be lots of Black Eagles on every team, too. I just know so."

The boy's face lost its smile. "I'm not sure whether I'd be taken into that bunch or not," he confessed slowly. "I'm not much good at athletics."

"Nonsense! Of course you are!" nodded Molly reassuringly. "And, besides, even if you aren't, you'd be good in just a little while. You only have to try."

"I--I'd like to," he agreed, as the car stopped in front of the Fair Play Factory's annex. "I'd certainly like to."

A round, jolly face showed at the window to the right of the door, and presently Horace himself, Scout Master of the Black Eagle Patrol, middle-aged and good-natured, greeted him from the entrance.

"What can we do for you this morning, Mr. Sefton?" smiled the inventor. "Do you want to buy a pair of skates or some hockey sticks, or shall you wait for the cold weather?"

Molly's father laughed. "We have a young man here who has been climbing a butternut tree, and Molly tells me you own a special brand of stain remover that can handle even accidents like this one."

Horace Hibbs raised his right hand. "Don't say another word. We will send those stains to the Happy Hunting Ground in about two minutes."

"Of course he's fine," agreed Molly, "but just wait till you know the boys in the patrol--Bunny Payton, the patrol leader, and Bi and Nap and S. S. and Jump and Specs and Roundy; and, oh, just wait till you've seen our new high school!"

Up Elm Street the car turned, and down Freemont, pulling to a stop in the middle of the block.

"Look!" cried Molly.

Artistically centered in a big lot, the building stood, with a scrub ball game already in progress on the new diamond. The gray rock side walls, that seemed to be more window than anything else; the graceful lines that rose in exquisite proportion; the main door, with its roofed, stone-pillared veranda on each side,--all made a structure that savored more of a home than a school. It was the sort of place you would enjoy going to, if the teachers only lived halfway up to the building. And the crowd of pupils already gathering for the first day proved how deeply Lakeville's first and only high school had stirred the little village and the country roundabout.

But the Boy Scouts of the Black Eagle Patrol were neither watching from the side-lines nor bored. Heart and soul, they were playing the game, from Specs McGrew, taking a lead off third, to Bunny Payton, thumping the palm of his catching glove with his other hand and signaling to Bi Jones, out in the pitcher's box. Handling the bat itself, Roundy Magoon waved the stick back and forth, while Bi, with maddening slowness, made ready to pitch.

"Hurry it up!" shouted Bunny. "This fellow is as good as gone, and I want a crack at the ball before the bell rings."

Herbert Zane, whose nickname of "Spick and Span" had been shortened to "S. S.", was creeping as far off first as he dared, with an occasional glance at his clothes, as if wondering whether or not it would pay to risk the gorgeousness of a brand new suit by sliding into second.

"Let the next one go!" he called to Roundy, apparently having made up his mind that it would be better to wallow in the dust, and thus perch on second, than be forced out or made the victim of a double play.

Roundy nodded. Very likely, too, he intended to do just that thing. But the ball floated over so slowly, so tantalizing "right", that at the very last instant he swung hard enough to drive it over all the roofs of Lakeville. But Bi had put his muscle into the heave, and Roundy had started his swing a fraction of a second too late. Though all his stout body went into the blow, only the handle of the bat made connection, and the ball hit in front of the plate and dribbed toward first.

Like a flash, Bunny leaped forward, scooped it up, tagged Roundy before that slow-moving youth had stirred into full action, and, with a bluff toward Specs, pegged to second.

It was a good throw, although high, and Jump Henderson took it with one of his old circus leaps, touching S. S., who slid nobly but too late, and relaying the ball back to Bunny in time to prevent Specs from making an attempt to score.

"Don't mind me! I'm nobody!" Specs howled mournfully, scampering back to third; while Roundy and S. S. trotted out to the field, Buck Claxton stepped into the pitcher's box, Nap Meeker put on the catcher's glove, and Bi and Bunny came in to bat.

"Leave me here," wailed Specs. "That's right! Leave me here! I'm having a lot of fun on this base. Yes, I am! I've watched eight of you fan or hit pop-ups or easy grounders; and here I am waiting yet."

"You won't be there long, Specs," Bunny promised cheerfully, picking up the bat.

"That's what they all say," Specs growled. "But nobody brings me in."

"Nobody will bring you in, either, old socks," observed Nap. "You're licked in this war. All right, Buck. Give him one right here."

The ball was shoulder high. Too eager to wait for a good one, Bunny swung lustily, managing to foul it off over Nap's head, past the Sefton automobile and across the road, where the ball lodged under the high fence of the Anvers yard.

"Tell my folks to send my dinner out here," groaned Specs, plumping himself down on third base and burying his head between his knees.

It was just as Nap started after the lost ball that Bunny spied the car with Molly and Rodman in the rear seat.

"Oh, Bunny!" shouted Molly.

A moment later, the new boy and the leader of the Black Eagles had formally shaken hands.

"And he can pass the tenderfoot tests, and he's awfully good at athletics, and--"

"He's just too modest to say so. You ought to have seen how he saved the kitten."

"Have you ever played baseball?" demanded Bunny suddenly.

"Sure--a little. But I'm no good. I can't bat decently, or catch or field."

Bunny held out his bat. "Come on over and take my place," he invited. "I doubt if I can hit Buck, and poor old Specs has been perched on third for hours. Everybody who comes to bat knocks a baby grounder or a pop-up or something, and Specs stays right there."

"All right, Bunny!" Nap broke in, crossing back to the school yard with the ball.

Molly dropped her hand on Rodman's arm. "Go and try," she urged. "I know you can do it."

"Hurry up, Bunny! Pretty near time for the bell!" Nap flung over his shoulder.

Rodman was plainly wavering. "But--but--"

"Try it, anyhow."

"Oh, you must!" Molly commanded.

The new boy climbed out of the car, smiling. "I'm no good, but I'll give you a chance to see just how bad I am."

"This Claxton," Bunny confided, as they jogged to the diamond, "pitches a hard ball, and he has a sure-enough out-curve; but if you stand up to the plate and don't let him bluff you back, it will be all right. Remember, though, you have only two strikes left."

From the car, Molly watched Rodman and Bunny join the others. For a little while, there seemed to be some objection to Rodman's substituting, but Buck Claxton ended the argument.

"Let him come to bat," observed Buck loudly. "He can't hit. I can see it in his eye."

"I'll bet he can't," assented Specs sadly. "None of 'em can."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet