CHAPTER XXIX

MR. HOBSON

Boxwood Hall had won the second game of the important series in the tenth inning. It was game and game--a third one would be necessary to decide the championship. And as the rooters of the victorious side realized this, and as they thought of what snap and ginger Ned, Bob and Jerry had put into the team at the crucial moment, there came glad shouts and cries.

The winning team had cheered its losing rivals, and in turn, to show their sporting spirit, the military lads had responded. Then out on the diamond swarmed the Boxwood Hall rooters.

“Oh you Jerry Hopkins!”

“Oh you Bob Baker!”

“Three cheers for Ned Slade, our peerless pitcher!” called one enthusiast.

The cheers were given with a will, and the boys thronged around our three heroes, patting them on the back, hugging them, trying to shake hands with them and lead them about in a wild snake dance.

Ted Newton saw a dark and scowling look on Frank Watson’s face. He did some quick thinking.

“Three cheers for our captain!” he called. “The pluckiest baseball captain Boxwood Hall ever had.”

And the cheer that followed brought a smile even to Frank’s dour face. Ted had guessed rightly--that Frank was getting jealous of the popularity of the three chums, and Ted did not desire this, for he wanted to see all enmity wiped out.

“Great work, old man!” exclaimed Jim Blake, the deposed pitcher, as he shook hands with Ned. “I was certainly off form to-day.”

“Well, maybe you’ll be all right next time,” said Ned.

The celebration over the victory proceeded, yells, cheers and songs being intermingled. The vanquished hastened away, not a little down-hearted, for after their decisive victory in the first game they had looked for a walkover in the second one. And they would have found it only for the timely playing of Ned, Bob and Jerry.

One might have thought that he would have given credit where it was due, but Frank did not. He did not approach the three lads he had publicly said he would make eat humble pie.

“Say, old man, don’t you think it’s about time you made up?” asked Bart, linking his arm in that of Frank as he walked with him off the diamond.

“Make up with whom?”

“With Jerry and his friends. They pulled us out of a hole to-day, and----”

“I’m willing to admit that,” broke in Frank. “I’ll give them all the credit in the world for playing ball, but, personally, I don’t care to have anything to do with them.”

“That’s no way to feel,” added Bill Hamilton.

“What is it to you how I feel?” snapped Frank. “You let me alone! I’m willing to have them play on the team, because they can put up a good game. But beyond that I won’t go!”

Frank was as obstinate as ever. Bart and Bill were about to give up, for the time being, the attempt to reconcile Frank to the three chums, when Ted Newton, having overheard what was going on, took a hand.

“Frank, you’re all wrong in this,” said the football hero, as he and Bart and Bill, with the baseball captain walked off to one side. “You’re making a big mistake!”

“Well then, let me make it!” exclaimed Frank, angrily. “I wish you’d let me alone! I know my own business. I know what I’m going to do. I say I won’t be friends with those fellows, and I won’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Ted shrugged his shoulders, and did not know what to answer. At this moment, off among a little group of lads, a voice was heard saying:

“There he is--right over there!”

A hand pointed to where Frank stood disputing with Bart, Bill and Ted, and a man, detaching himself from those who had evidently been giving him directions, approached the baseball captain.

“Hello, Frank!” he cried in jolly tones, holding out his hand. “I hear you just won a big game.”

“Oh, hello, Dad!” Frank cried, his face lighting up with surprised pleasure, in strange contrast to the former looks that disfigured it. “Say, I wish you could have been here. It was great! We’ve tied Kenwell now. When’d you arrive?”

“Just a little while ago. I had a blowout and it delayed me, otherwise I’d have been here, as I wrote you.”

The two linked arms and walked away, showing mutual affection more like two brothers or chums than any other relationship.

“That’s Frank’s stepfather,” said Bart. “They surely are fond of each other.”

“Frank would do anything for him, so I’ve heard him say,” remarked Bill. “But there’s no use trying to get Frank to do anything about Jerry and his chums.”

“No, I guess not,” agreed Ted.

Frank and his stepfather, walking toward college, saw three lads approaching them. It was Ned, Bob and Jerry, and just now Frank would have preferred not to encounter them.

Frank made as if to turn to one side, but his stepfather, taking a second look at our heroes, exclaimed:

“Hold on a moment, son. I know those lads!”

“Know them?” gasped Frank.

“Yes. Hello there!” he cried. “Aren’t you Jerry Hopkins, Ned Slade and Bob Baker?”

For a moment neither of the three chums answered. Then looks of recognition came over their faces.

“Mr. Hobson!” Jerry fairly shouted. “Mr. Hobson!”

“I thought so,” went on Frank’s stepfather, laughing. “I’ve got a pretty good memory for faces. I never expected to see you at Boxwood Hall. Frank, you know these lads, of course?”

“I--er--I--that is--Oh, yes, of course.”

Frank was ill at ease. But his stepfather, Mr. Hobson, went on, not seeming to notice.

“Frank,” he said, “I want you to shake hands with three of the pluckiest lads in the world. When I had an accident some time ago--when my auto left the road, rolled down a bank, pinned me under it and then got on fire--these lads raised it off me and got me out in time to save my life. Shake hands with Ned, Bob and Jerry, Frank, and thank ’em for your dad’s life.”