CHAPTER XXII.

ALL ARRANGED.

Having disposed of Buzzsaw Stover and seen him cared for by his two friends, Dick Merriwell quietly walked away and sought Charlie Loring at the Sunset House, a small hotel at which most of the Outlaws had found accommodations.

It fortunately chanced that Loring was there, and soon Dick was explaining his business. Surprised, the manager of the Springs nine looked Merriwell over with a queer smile on his face.

“What’s this you’re giving me?” he said. “You want to engage the ball park to-morrow? You’ve made arrangements to play Harrison’s Outlaws? Why, my boy, where’s your ball team?”

“I’ll have one to-morrow,” laughingly declared Dick.

“But I don’t understand where you’ll get it.”

“Leave it to me, Loring. If I can secure the field I’ll put a team against Harrison’s bunch.”

“Well, I think perhaps we can fix it about the park. When I entered into negotiations with Harrison, I had no idea the backers of my team would object, but in a way they’re a lot of old women, and they got cold feet. You see, they have an idea that these Outlaws would make us look like fourth raters, and they’ve figured it out that there wouldn’t be much of any profit in the game anyway if we got only one-third of the gate money and stood for all the expenses.

“Furthermore, it’s a fact that my players are pretty badly smashed up. We’ve had rotten hard luck this season. I really couldn’t blame Harrison for making a howl, though he barked it into me so hard that I had to get away in order to keep from punching him. You understand when the financial backers of my team got out from under me I had to find a loophole for myself. Never did such a thing before, and I hope I’ll never be forced into it again.”

“Well, if I get together a nine and play the Outlaws it will let you out all the more gracefully. Your backers ought to jump at this chance. They really ought to give us the use of the park without money and without price.”

“That’s right. Perhaps I can fix it that way. I’ll put it up to them good and stiff and let you know inside an hour. I’ll phone you at your hotel; I know where you’re stopping.”

“Thank you.”

“Still, as a special favor, would you mind telling me where you expect to get your players?”

“Buckhart, the regular Yale catcher, is here with me. Two others of my party are Tommy Tucker, who once played short on the Yale varsity, and Bouncer Bigelow, who isn’t much at baseball, but might fill right field on a pinch--though I hope I won’t have to use him. Chester Arlington, an old Fardale schoolmate, is stopping here, along with his mother and sister. To my surprise and delight, this very morning I ran across old Greg McGregor, a Yale grad who once played on the varsity nine, and McGregor tells me that Blessed Jones, another Yale man, will be down from Denver this afternoon. They’re out here on some sort of a business deal.

“There are seven men of the nine, if we count Bigelow in. Jimmy Lozier and Duncan Ross, two Columbia men, are here at the Springs, stopping at the Alta Vista. We sat out in the moonlight last night and talked baseball and college athletics for two hours. The fever is still burning in their veins, and they would jump at the chance to get into a game.

“So you see, Loring, old man, I’m confident that I can get a team together. I hope to find another man, so that I can keep Bigelow on the bench in case of accident. I didn’t jump into this blindly; I had it all figured out in advance.”

“Well, it seems that you can scrape up a team; but, oh, my boy! what chance do you fancy you will have against the Outlaws? They will make a holy show of you.”

“Perhaps so,” nodded Dick; “but you never can tell. We’re not going into this thing for money. In fact, I’ve agreed to donate my share of the gate receipts to the Collins’ Home for Consumptives. It’s sport we’re after, Loring.”

“There isn’t much sport in being wiped all over the map. However, if you fancy it, that’s your funeral, not mine. I’ll do what I can for you.”

“Harrison has agreed to pepper the town with paper advertising his own team. I’m to look after the rest of the advertising.”

“Leave that to me also, Merriwell. If I can get the park for you, I’ll see that everybody at the Springs knows there’s going to be a game to-morrow.”

“Thank you, Loring. You’re putting yourself to too much trouble.”

“Not at all. I couldn’t put myself to too much trouble to oblige the brother of Frank Merriwell.”

True to his word, in less than an hour Charlie Loring looked up Dick at the big hotel where Merriwell was registered and informed him that he had found no difficulty in securing the ball park. The matter of advertising was discussed, and Loring hastened away to attend to it.

Having phoned Harrison and put him wise to the successful course of affairs, the Yale man looked around for Lozier and Ross. He found the latter in a short time, and Ross delightedly agreed to play, giving his positive assurance that Lozier would be equally glad of the opportunity.

Things were moving along swimmingly. On the broad veranda of the hotel Dick discovered Chester Arlington, who greeted him with a friendly smile.

Arlington pricked up his ears at once on hearing what Merriwell had to say.

“Baseball?” he cried. “A game with the Outlaws? Why, say! I thought they were to play the local team.”

“So they were, but it’s off--a disagreement over terms.”

“And you’ve got it fixed to tackle them?”

“It’s all fixed. The ball ground is engaged for the game.”

“Will I play!” laughed Chester. “_Will_ I! Ask me! I haven’t touched a ball, it is true, since I played down in Texas with Frank’s pick-ups. Oh, we gave the great Tigers a surprise down there! But say, I’ve been looking over the list of games played by these Outlaws, and they walloped the Tigers to a whisper. They must be the real hot stuff.”

“I fancy they are,” nodded Dick.

“Think we’ll stand any show with them?”

“I don’t know about that. We’ll do our handsomest, and it won’t kill us if we’re beaten. Nevertheless, if they win we’ll try to leave them with the impression that they’ve been in a baseball game.”

“Surest thing you know, Dick. Say, old man, think of it! You and I playing together shoulder to shoulder--you and I, old foes of bygone days! I’m not especially proud of my record in those old days; but still, I can’t help thinking of it sometimes.”

“I think of it often, Chet. As an enemy you were the hardest fighter I ever got up against.”

“Absolutely unscrupulous,” said Arlington. “In those times it was anything to down you, Merriwell. I used to think you lucky, the way you dodged my best-laid traps and sort of ducked me into the pits of my own digging. After a time I got my eyes opened and realized that it wasn’t luck--it was sheer superiority. I was sowing the wind in those days, and it’s a marvel that I didn’t reap the whirlwind. I was the lucky man, after all.”

Indeed, Arlington had been fortunate; for a score of times, at least, he had been concerned in heinous plots and schemes which might have lodged him behind prison bars. His reckless career had carried him to the point of nearly committing homicide, and the shock of it, together with Dick Merriwell’s friendly eye-opening words, had finally caused him to turn over a new leaf.

The fight to regain his lost manliness and win an honorable standing in the world had been long and bitter; but, with those words from Dick’s lips echoing in his heart, he had struggled onward and upward. At last he had shaken himself free from the shackles of evil passions and bad habits, and, despite occasional falls and lapses, had risen to a man whom any one might proudly call friend.

In business, as in other things, Chester had shown himself to be a thoroughbred hustler and the worthy son of D. Roscoe Arlington, once known as the greatest railroad magnate of the country. This hustling had lifted him into financial independence, despite his youth, and placed him on the road to wealth. Mingled with remorse for his reckless past, there remained the regret that he had never been able to take a course at Yale.

“Buckhart, Tucker, and Bigelow are out somewhere with old Greg McGregor in my touring car,” said Dick. “They will be ready enough for the sport. Tommy and Bouncer spent a week, with headquarters here at the Springs, while Brad and I hunted up Scott Randolph, an old college acquaintance of my brother. We found Randolph in the foothills west of Denver. It’s a mighty interesting tale, Arlington, and I’ll spin it for you sometime when we’re sitting down comfortably at leisure.”

“Good! Think of it--you and I sitting down comfortably at leisure and chatting! But say, old man, I wish you would have a little chat with my mother.”

“Your mother?” breathed Dick, not a little surprised by the proposal.

“Yes. You know she’s ill. It’s pitiful, old man--she has almost completely lost her memory. I was speaking to her of you last night, and she tried in vain to recall you. She’s sitting yonder at the far end of the veranda.”

As Chester made a motion with his hand Dick’s eyes discovered a woman, seated amid pillows in a big, comfortable chair. He was shocked. Was it possible that this thin, sad-faced, white-haired old lady was Chester Arlington’s mother, the woman who, as an enemy, had been even bitterer and more venomous than Arlington himself?

There she sat with her pallid hands resting on her lap, gazing dreamily upon the mountains which rose majestically against the western sky.

“Will you come, Merriwell, old man?” asked Arlington softly, as his hand rested on Dick’s arm.

“Yes,” was the answer.