CHAPTER VIII.

THE YOUNG MAN IN TROUBLE.

When Dick and his friends left the Clover County Club, to continue their trip, Forest Hills was their next scheduled stopping place.

“Try the Burlington,” said Roger Clingwood, as he bade the party good-by; “the restaurant is the best in the place.”

Following Clingwood’s advice Dick and his friends had gone at once to the Burlington, and after removing the stains of travel, sought the dining room.

As the head waiter spied them, he conducted them to a round table near one of the open windows and drew out the chairs with a flourish.

As soon as they were seated, Tucker reached for the menu.

“Well, let’s get this struggle over with,” he remarked, as he ran his eye down it. “I eat from a sense of duty. Hotels must be supported. Mere grub is repugnant to me, but I have to go through the motions.”

Buckhart looked at Dick and lowered one eyelid.

“Catch on to his order, pard,” he murmured.

At that moment the waiter approached with pad and pencil.

“What are you going to have, Tommy?” Dick asked. “Don’t torture yourself too severely.”

The little fellow’s brows were knitted in deep thought.

“H’m! A little _consommé_ to start with, I think. That ought to taste pretty good on a warm day like this. Then--let me see. A _filet mignon_ sounds right. Potatoes come with it, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir,” nodded the waiter.

“Lima beans and green corn will do for the other vegetables. Follow that with a lettuce salad; and, for dessert, sliced peaches with a portion of vanilla ice cream. That’s about all, except that I want a pot of coffee with cream brought with the filet.”

He sat back in his chair and unfolded his napkin with an air of much satisfaction.

“Looks like you got a rake off from the management,” the Texan grinned.

“Aren’t you the real clever thing to guess it,” returned Tucker. “How else do you suppose I make expenses? These hotel proprietors are only too glad to give a little bonus to a good-looking chap like me. Gives tone to the establishment, you know.”

Merriwell gave his order and then, sitting back, glanced casually around the room. It was well-filled with the usual crowd of business men, among whom were a few ladies in light summer dresses, and a pleasant air of refinement pervaded the establishment.

Presently Dick noticed a party of three young fellows who were lunching at a table in the centre of the room. One of them faced him--a pleasant-looking, well set up man of about twenty-two, with clean-cut features and curly, brown hair; and, as the Yale man glanced at him, he hastily averted his eyes as if he had been staring.

“I suppose there isn’t any chance of going through the mine this afternoon,” Dick remarked, turning back to his friends. “Clingwood said the morning was the best time. We can put in the rest of the day looking the town over, and after dinner I’ll hunt up the superintendent, Orren Fairchilds, and give him that card of introduction.”

“I think I’ll take a rest,” yawned Bigelow. “The roads were awful this morning. I’m black and blue all over from being jounced around.”

“Hear him talk!” jeered Tucker. “He’s so packed with blubber, you’d have to jab something into him a good two inches before he could feel it.”

Dick glanced over at the other table again and met the curly haired fellow’s eyes fixed squarely on him. One of his companions had half turned and was also regarding the Yale man intently.

“They’re certainly going to know me the next time they see me,” he thought. “I wonder if I have ever met them before.”

He decided that he had not. Endowed with an extraordinary memory, he never forgot a face, and those two were totally strange.

The next moment he was surprised to see the brown-haired man rise from his table and come across the room toward him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, pausing beside Dick’s chair; “but isn’t your name Merriwell--Dick Merriwell?”

There was a slightly puzzled look on Dick’s face.

“It is,” he answered. “But I don’t remember----”

“No, of course you don’t,” the other interrupted with an embarrassed smile. “You’ve never laid eyes on me before; but I’ve seen Merriwell pitch several times, and the minute you came into the room I was sure you were he.”

He hesitated for an instant, and Dick waited quietly for him to continue.

“I’m the captain of the Field Club nine here in Forest Hills,” the tall fellow went on presently. “Our big game--the game of the season--is scheduled for to-morrow, and our battery is beastly weak, especially Morrison, the pitcher. I thought--I wondered whether it would be possible for you to come out to the grounds this afternoon and give us a pointer or two. I--I know I’ve got nerve, but that game means a lot to us. My name is Gardiner--Glen Gardiner.”

Merriwell’s heart warmed to this frank, pleasant-voiced young fellow, who was so obviously embarrassed at the favor he had ventured to ask; and, as Gardiner finished speaking, the Yale man rose quickly to his feet and held out his hand.

“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Gardiner,” he said heartily. “You’re not nervy at all. I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can. We were just wondering how we could put in the afternoon. I’d like you to meet my friends, Brad Buckhart, Tommy Tucker, and Bouncer Bigelow.”

Gardiner’s face glowed with pleasure as he shook the Texan’s hand.

“I’ve seen Mr. Buckhart before,” he said quickly; “and I’m very happy to meet you all. You have no idea, Mr. Merriwell, how much I’ll appreciate your coming out and coaching us.”

“Better wait until you’ve seen how I can coach before you thank me,” Dick smiled. “Won’t you bring your friends over and lunch with us? There’s room enough at this table, and we can get some more chairs.”

“Thank you very much, but we’ve just finished,” Gardiner said. “I know they’d be awfully pleased, though, to sit here while you eat yours.”

He went back to his own table and returned with the two men, whom he introduced as Ralph Maxwell and Stanley Garrick. The former played shortstop on the nine and was short and wiry, with red hair and freckles. He was not unlike Tucker in looks and manner, and the two took to each other at once. Garrick, who played second, was tall and rather ungainly, with a noticeable deliberation of speech and manner. To the casual observer, he seemed slow and clumsy, but on the diamond he was anything but that.

They were both delighted to meet the Yale men, and, drawing up some chairs, made themselves comfortable while the latter began on the luncheon which had just appeared.

“Who is it you play to-morrow?” Dick asked, as he took up his knife and fork.

“The Mispah team--the mine boys,” exclaimed Gardiner. “They’ve got a crackajack nine this year and have licked everything they’ve been up against, so far. We have a pretty good organization ourselves, and we’ve won every game we’ve played. So you can see that it will be a hard fight from start to finish. If we win, we’ll hold the state championship.”

Dick nodded.

“I see; but how does it come that these mine fellows are so good? They don’t generally amount to much at scientific baseball.”

“It’s on account of Orren Fairchilds, one of the mine owners,” Gardiner answered. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“Yes, I have. But I didn’t know he was one of the owners. I thought he was the superintendent.”

“He’s both. He also happens to be one of the greatest baseball enthusiasts in the country. Before he went into mining, he played on one of the big-league teams, and he’s still a crank over the game. He got together the most promising of the young fellows in the mine and practically taught them the game from start to finish--spent months coaching each man separately and the whole nine together. He hardly ate or slept during that time, and, as a result, he’s got a crowd that he boasts can lick anything in the country outside the big leagues.”

“He must be all to the good,” Dick said, smiling. “He’s a man after my own heart, and I shall be much interested in meeting him to-night.”

“You have an appointment?” queried Gardiner.

“No; a card of introduction from a mutual friend,” Merriwell returned. “We are anxious to go through the mine to-morrow, if possible.”

“You’d better be at his house before seven to-night, then,” Gardiner said. “He has dinner at half-past six, and the minute he’s through he goes up to the diamond he’s laid out near the mine, where the boys practice until dark.”

“Much obliged for the advice,” Dick smiled. “I’ll be there on the dot; for our only reason for coming to Forest Hills was to see the mine.”