LAKEPORT SERIES

The Baseball Boys of Lakeport

OR

The Winning Run

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport,"
"The Boat Club Boys of Lakeport,"
"Dave Porter at Oak Hall,"
"Colonial Series,"
"Old Glory Series," Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY MAX KLEPPER

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1905, by A. S. Barnes & Co.,
under the Title "The Winning Run."

Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
The Baseball Boys of Lakeport.

PREFACE

Although a complete tale in itself, this story forms the second volume in a series devoted to sports in the forest, on the water, and on the athletic field.

In the first volume of the series, entitled, "The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport," I took some boys of Lakeport into the depths of the forest during the winter months. Here, in company with a trusted old hunter, they succeeded in bringing down game of various kinds and in learning many of Nature's secrets which, in the past, had been unknown to them.

With the coming of summer the thoughts of the boys turned to baseball, and it was not long before an amateur nine of no mean ability was organized. Challenges were both sent out and received; and in this volume a number of the games played are described in detail. The rivalry, as in all small towns, was of the "red-hot" variety, and the particulars are also given of a plot to injure the Lakeport nine and thus make them lose the most important game of all.

Baseball is pre-eminently an American game and as such will probably remain the leading athletic sport of village, town, city, school and college for years to come. It is not such a rough game by far as football, the individual plays, good and bad, are more readily followed, and because of these points it should be encouraged at every opportunity.

The writer of this story is a good deal of a baseball "rooter," and consequently the penning of the tale has been more of a pleasure than a task. Many of the plays described are such as I have myself seen on the diamond. In a few instances team work which would do credit to a professional nine is mentioned, but such mentioning is in strict conformity to facts.

Edward Stratemeyer.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE BASEBALL BOYS OF LAKEPORT

CHAPTER I.

A BALL GAME ON THE GREEN.

"What a beautiful afternoon for a game of ball, Fred!"

"Right you are, Joe. Let us see if we can't scare up some of the other fellows and have a game," returned Fred Rush.

"I know Harry will be glad to play—he spoke about a game this morning," went on Joe Westmore. "Have you that new ball of yours handy?"

"Right here," and Fred brought it forth and tossed it high in the air. "Go and get your bat and hurry up about it. If we can scare up enough fellows we can play sides."

"All right, you go after Link Darrow and Bart Mason and I'll tell Frank Pemberton and Paul Shale. My! but can't Paul run!"

"Run? Well, I just guess. He's the best runner in Lakeport. Say, if we organized a regular baseball club, he'd make a dandy base runner, wouldn't he?"

"What put organizing a regular baseball club into your head, Fred?"

"Oh, I don't know. They have a regular club up to Brookside, and one over to Camdale, too. We ought to be able to support a club as well as those places."

"That's exactly my idea." Joe Westmore paused for a moment. "I think we could get up a better team here than that up to Brookside. I don't know much about the fellows at Camdale."

"If we organized a regular club we could send out challenges to those other clubs and have regular contests."

"If we did that we would have to fix up a regular ball field."

"That would be easy. I know father would let us use the ten-acre lot back of the milk station. We could build a little grand stand, and have things in real city style."

"If we went that far we'd want uniforms, too."

"We'd have to save up for the uniforms—or else take up a collection. I guess my father would give something. He used to love baseball when he was a boy—and he likes to look at a game still."

"So does my father like it. He used to be a pitcher on his town club. It would just be grand if we could get up a real good club, and fix up those grounds with a stand, and get uniforms and gloves, and masks and those things, and have a clubroom somewhere——"

"Phew! but you've got it all cut and dried, Joe."

"We can do it—I know we can," answered Joe Westmore, confidently. "Some of the boys laughed at us last winter, when we started to organize our gun club. But the plan went through, and——"

"We had the best outing in the woods any set of fellows ever had," finished Fred Rush. "Do you know, I shall never forget our camp on Pine Island," he went on. "What a lot of sport we did have! If this baseball club would afford as much sport——"

"It will."

"Then I'm in favor of it this minute. But come on, let us have our game first and talk club afterwards," added Fred, and ran off in one direction while Joe made off in another.

Fred Rush was the son of a hardware dealer, whose establishment was located in the thriving town of Lakeport, situated at the foot of Pine Lake. Fred was a stout youth, with a round, ruddy face. He was generally bubbling over with energy and good humor and numbered a host of friends among those who knew him.

Fred's closest chums were Joe and Harry Westmore, the sons of a local flour and feed dealer. The Westmores were fairly well to do, and had recently come into possession of valuable land near the head of the lake.

As already intimated, the three boys had, during the previous winter, organized the Gun Club of Lakeport, the doings of which organization have already been set down by me in another volume, entitled, "The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport." With an old hunter named Joel Runnell they set out for Pine Island, located near the head of the lake, and there spent several weeks in hunting and trapping game, and in fishing through the ice. During a part of the outing they had had with them two of their fellow members, Link Darrow and Bart Mason, and also a young Irish lad named Teddy Dugan. Some of their adventures had been perilous, but all had ended happily, and when they had returned to Lakeport with their game the success of the gun club had been the talk of the town for several weeks.

"Those boys are all right," was the comment of Mr. Paxton, the postmaster. "I reckon a lot of other young fellows wish they had been along."

"Well, I wish I had been there," Paul Shale had answered, and in this declaration he had been joined by Frank Pemberton, Walter Bannister, Matt Roscoe, and half a dozen other lads of Lakeport, who had hung fire about going.

The outing in the woods had been productive of one very important result. A dishonest real estate dealer of Brookside had been claiming some land which rightfully belonged to the Westmore family. On the island the young hunters had picked up some legal documents which proved the Westmore claim, and Hiram Skeetles, the real estate dealer, had been made to right the wrong done. Skeetles had had as his friend a bully of Lakeport named Dan Marcy. When the exposure came the real estate dealer departed for parts unknown. But Dan Marcy was more brazen, and as soon as the talk over the affair subsided he returned to the vicinity of Lakeport, to begin his bullying habits as of yore. So far he had not bothered the Westmores and Fred Rush, but the time was coming when he would do so, as we shall presently see.

Joe found his brother Harry working over some photographs which he had been printing. Harry owned a good snap-shot camera, and during the outing in the woods had taken a number of really fine photographs, one of which had been enlarged and now hung framed in the parlor.

"Give it up, Harry!" he called out. "Fred wants us to play ball. I'm going to drum up some of the other fellows and he is going to do the same."

"All right, just as soon as this picture is finished," answered Harry, who was just a year and a day younger than his brother. "Isn't it a dandy!" and he held up the print in hand. It represented all of the young hunters and old Runnell in front of the campfire, each with a gun, ax, or kitchen utensil in his hand. "I'm going to send it to Aunt Laura. She asked me for it."

"Those were surely gay old times, Harry. But hurry up—we don't want to keep the others waiting."

Joe ran off, to find Frank Pemberton and Paul Shale, who lived but a short distance away. He found them trying their skill at long jumping.

"Come on, fellows, we are going to have a game of baseball!" he cried. "Harry and Fred are coming, and some of the others, too."

"Whoop! That's me!" ejaculated Paul Shale. "There, beat that if you can, Frank!" And he made an extra long jump down the garden path.

"Not to-day," laughed Frank Pemberton. "Your legs are too long for me. But I think I can beat you at playing ball," he added.

"Can you? Come on and see," answered Paul, and running up to the picket fence he cleared it at a bound. Frank had to go around by the gate, and then both boys joined Joe on his way to the field where the ball game was to come off.

When they arrived, they found Fred already there, with Bart Mason and Link Darrow. Harry was also coming up, with several others, including Teddy Dugan, who chanced to be in town on an errand for his father.

"Sure an' I love baseball, so I do!" cried the Irish boy, with a twinkle of his eye. "It's meself as is goin' to be a professional pitcher when I grow up."

"Good for Teddy!" cried Link Darrow. "Just wait till he's the leading pitcher in the regular league at ten thousand a year, won't he be some pumpkins?" And a laugh went up.

"Are they after payin' a ladin pitcher ten thousand a year?" asked Teddy, curiously.

"To be sure, Teddy," answered Bart Mason. "And when they travel he gets the best room in the hotel, and turtle soup every day for dinner."

"And a gold medal every time he strikes out a man," added Fred.

"And a diamond if he hits the umpire in the eye," came from Joe.

"Now you're pokin' fun at me!" grumbled the Irish boy. "Just the same, I'm going to be a pitcher some day," he continued, brightening. "Mike Leary once pitched for the Red Stockings, of Pittsfield, an' they paid him five dollars the game. 'Twas easy money, my dad said."

All told, twelve boys had assembled, and it was speedily settled that they should choose sides, with Fred and Joe as leaders, one having furnished the bat and the other the ball. Fred's first choice of a player was Harry, while Joe took Bart, and the other choices followed rapidly. A game of five innings was arranged, with Joe's side first to the bat.

"Here is where you go out in one, two, three order," said Fred, as he stationed himself behind the home plate. He had put in Harry as pitcher and Frank as first baseman. "Harry, don't you favor Joe, even if he is your brother!" he called out.

"No favors granted or expected!" sang out Harry. "All ready?"

"Ready," answered Joe, who was the first player up.

With care Harry sent the ball in, but it was too high and Joe did not strike at it.

"One ball!" cried out the youth who had been selected as umpire.

Again the ball came in. This time Joe struck at it and missed it.

"One strike!"

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Fred, as he threw the ball back to the pitcher.

Again Harry made his calculations with care. But Joe was on the alert and as the ball came in just where he wanted it he met it fairly and sent it sailing down to centerfield.

"Hurrah, first blood!" yelled Bart. "Leg it, Joe!" And Joe did "leg it" for all he knew how and reached third base in safety.

"Hi, there, stop up!" called out Harry, ruefully. "Don't try to make a home run the first thing."

"Never mind. I'll put him out at the home plate," said Fred, but he failed to do so, and Joe came in when Bart made a safe hit to first base.

Thus the game went on until the beginning of the third inning, when the score stood 7 to 7.

"Sure an' it's a foin game, so it is!" cried Teddy Dugan. "It's a real baseball club Lakeport ought to have, wid yourselves as mimbers."

"Perhaps we shall have a club," answered Joe.

Link was at the bat, and after he had made a safe hit to second, Harry followed.

"Here comes Mr. Jadell," remarked Frank. "See that you don't hit him, or there'll be a row."

Mr. Montgomery Jadell was the principal of the Lakeport school. He was a fussy old gentleman, who wore a high, silk hat on all occasions and big, gold-rimmed spectacles. Only a few of his pupils liked him, and the majority of the lads spoke of him as Old Stovepipe behind his back. He was a bachelor and had a maiden sister named Angelina who kept house for him.

"Old Stovepipe is going to walk right across the ball field," came from Paul. "Guess he is in a hurry to get home." And evidently the schoolmaster was in a hurry for he scarcely gave the boys a look as he passed those in the outfield.

Harry let one ball pass him and then the sphere came in just where he wished it. Taking a step forward he swung around the bat with vigor. There was a sharp crack! and away flew the ball over the pitcher's head and out toward centerfield.

"Hi! hi! look out!" yelled several voices at once, and the player in centerfield started to catch the ball. But before he could do so, it landed fairly and squarely on the school principal's high hat, crushing in the top of the silk tile and sending Mr. Montgomery Jadell flat on his back on the grassy field.

CHAPTER II.

HARRY GETS INTO DIFFICULTY.

"Gracious, Harry, that's the time you did it!"

"Old Stovepipe's hat is ruined forever!"

"I'll bet he's madder than a nest of hornets!"

So the talk ran on, as Harry cast away the bat and hurried down into the field. In the meantime Mr. Montgomery Jadell had scrambled up and was bending down looking for his spectacles, which had fallen off.

"Here are your glasses, sir," said the boy who was playing centerfield, as he picked them up and handed them over.

"You—you young rascals!" gasped the school principal. "What do you mean by attacking me in this—this atrocious fashion?"

"Oh, Mr. Jadell, I didn't mean to hit you!" called out Harry, as he came up.

"Ah! so it was you who threw the ball at me, eh?" And the teacher glared savagely at the boy.

"I didn't throw it. I was at the bat and when I hit the ball it flew in this direction."

"Humph! it amounts to the same thing." Mr. Montgomery Jadell felt of his somewhat bald head. "Whe—where's my hat?"

"Here it is, sir," answered the fielder, and picked up the battered headgear.

"What!" The principal gazed at the hat in consternation. "The—the—yes, the top is knocked out! Oh, you young villain! How dare you do such a thing!"

"I hadn't the slightest intention of hitting you or the hat, Mr. Jadell."

"Ha! don't tell me! I know better! Do you know, sir, that that hat cost me six dollars?" The school principal was rather a close man and six dollars meant much to him.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to get you another," answered Harry ruefully. He wondered where he was to obtain the money.

"You will certainly have to do that, young man. But that is not all. Do you think I am going to allow you to attack me in this fashion? No, indeed!"

"As I said before, it was an accident. I——"

"Nonsense! I know better, Westmore. You are angry at me because I made you stay in yesterday and the day before, and I presume in your way you thought you'd get square."

"No, sir, I——"

"Don't contradict me, young man, don't contradict me! I know! You shall pay for the hat; and I'll settle the rest of the matter in school to-morrow!" And thus speaking, Mr. Montgomery Jadell stalked from the field, leaving the whole crowd of boys staring after him in wonder.

"Isn't he a peach, though?" came softly from Link. "He's the meekest man I ever met."

"I guess I've put my foot into it," groaned Harry. "Ten chances to one he'll tell father I did it on purpose."

"Well, we can prove that you didn't," put in Fred.

"He had a right to watch out fer himself, when he was crossin' the field," came from Teddy Dugan. "He knew he might be hit."

"That's a fact," said Bart. "Strictly speaking, it was his business to keep off the field."

A number of the village folks, including several men, had gathered around to watch the game and all agreed that Bart was right.

"This green is a playground," said one of the men. "The schoolmaster should have kept away from it."

The game was resumed and although Harry had lost much of his interest, he managed to play his position creditably and when the five innings were finished the score stood 11 to 12 in favor of Fred's side. Fred himself had made two of the runs and Harry had made three. By this time it was dark, and the boys lost no time in scattering for their homes.

"We'll certainly have to organize a regular baseball club," said Fred to Link, "and the sooner the better."

"Well, I'm in for it," answered Link. "I'll tell you where we can have our clubroom! On the top floor of my father's carpenter shop. We might have had our quarters up there last winter only it was too cold. But it will make a dandy place during the summer."

"That's worth remembering, Link. Let us tell the other fellows, when we get together again."

As Joe and Harry hurried homeward they talked over the affair of the ruined silk hat.

"How much money have you saved up, Harry?" asked his brother.

"A dollar and fifty cents."

"I've got the same. That makes three dollars. I don't think the hat cost more than that. Besides, it was old."

"He said it cost six dollars."

"Oh, bother! Well, if it did, you'll have to ask father for the rest of the money—or mother."

"I'd like to know if he went down to the store and told father," went on Harry, uneasily.

"Oh, I guess not."

But Joe was mistaken; Mr. Montgomery Jadell had lost no time in making his way to the flour and feed establishment run by Horace Westmore. He had found Harry's father busy over the books.

"How do you do, Mr. Jadell," had been Mr. Westmore's pleasant greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"Please to look at that hat, Mr. Westmore!" And the article was slammed down on the counter.

"Dear me! You've had quite an accident."

"Accident?" snorted the school principal. "No accident at all, sir. Your boy Harry did that, sir."

"Harry?"

"That is what I said, sir."

"How did he come to do it?"

"It was done deliberately, with a baseball, just because I kept him after school yesterday and the day before."

At this answer Horace Westmore's face grew stern. He thought much of his sons, but he expected them to behave themselves.

"You are sure of this, Mr. Jadell?"

"I am, sir—positive."

"I am sorry to hear of this. I will question Harry as soon as I go home."

"He has got to buy a new hat," continued the teacher.

"I will see that he does so—if it was his fault, as you say."

"Aren't you willing to take my word for it, Mr. Westmore?" fumed Montgomery Jadell.

"I'd like to hear what my son has to say. You are sure it was not an accident?"

"I am—and he must get me a new hat very soon!" grumbled the school principal, and stalked out of the store exactly as he had stalked off of the ball field. He was very set in his ways and never willing to listen to another person's side of a story.

When Joe and Harry returned home they had several chores to do, and having finished these they washed up for supper. They had scarcely finished when their father entered.

"Harry, Mr. Jadell has told me a pretty bad story about you," said Mr. Westmore. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"It was purely an accident, father," was the youth's reply, and told of the affair exactly as it had occurred.

"You are sure that you did not intend to hit him?"

"I did not."

"He was in very bad humor over it."

"He is always in a bad humor lately," put in Joe.

"Why did he keep you in yesterday and the day before, Harry?"

"Because I talked to Link Darrow once and because I dropped the big dictionary on the floor. The reason I spoke to Link was because he had my history and couldn't study without the book. I tried to explain to Mr. Jadell, but he wouldn't listen."

"Hum!" Mr. Westmore mused for a moment. "You seem to have gotten into hot water all around. You'll have to get the teacher another silk hat."

"I'll do it."

"Have you got the money?"

"I've got some, and Joe is going to lend me some," answered Harry, evasively. He did not wish to ask his parent for a loan just then.

"Very well; you settle with the teacher and I'll say no more," said Mr. Westmore, and sat down to the supper table. He thought that by letting Harry pay for the damage done he would be teaching the boy a valuable lesson.

"You got off rather easy after all," remarked Joe, when the meal was over, and he and his brother had gone out into the yard. "But you've got to settle with the teacher next, and raise the money for the hat. Where are you going to get that other three dollars?"

"Oh, I'll raise it somehow," answered Harry. "But if Old Stovepipe tries to make an example of me to-morrow I'm not going to stand for it, I can tell you that!"

"Why don't you go down to Mr. Carew's store and find out just how much such a silk hat is worth."

"I'll do it."

Joe had some work to do for his mother, so Harry went on his errand alone. Mr. Carew's establishment was of the department store variety, with one part devoted to shoes, another to hats, and another to general furnishings.

"So you want to find out the price of a silk hat?" said the storekeeper. "Want it for yourself, I suppose," and he laughed at his little joke.

"No, Mr. Carew, I want one for Mr. Jadell. I spoilt his to-day and I want to get him another like it."

"Oh, yes, my clerk was telling me about that. Well, I reckon I can fix you up."

"What is such a hat worth?"

"Well, the regular price was six dollars, but as it was a bit out of style I let Mr. Jadell have it for five."

"Can you get me another like it?"

"To be sure. I've got the mate right in my case now—same style, size and all."

"Then please keep it for me until I come for it."

"When will you come?"

"To-morrow, if I can, or else the day after."

"Very well, I'll keep the hat for you," answered the storekeeper.

CHAPTER III.

A BIT OF A MYSTERY.

During his walk home Harry pondered in his mind the question of how to raise the remaining two dollars with which to pay for the silk hat. He did not wish to ask his parents for the amount and he felt reasonably certain that neither of his sisters possessed that sum.

"I've got to raise it somehow," he told himself. He thought of Fred and his other friends, but shook his head. Every one of the lads spent his money about as fast as he received it.

On the following day Mr. Montgomery Jadell appeared at the school with another silk hat—one he had been wearing years before. He lost no time in calling Harry up to his desk.

"What do you and your folks propose to do about my hat?" he asked, coldly.

"I have already ordered another hat from Mr. Carew," was Harry's answer. "He says it will be exactly like the one that was ruined. I shall have it in a day or two."

"Oh, very well. Now go to your seat and see that you behave yourself," and Harry went, glad to get away thus easily. During all of that day the principal watched the boy closely, but Harry was on his guard and took care not to do anything for which he might be censured.

After school the majority of the boys went off to play ball and other games, but Harry slipped away by himself and did not get home until supper time.

"Where have you been?" asked Joe.

"Oh, I've been out about that hat," answered Harry, and would say no more.

"The boys are talking baseball club stronger than ever," said Joe, a little later. "Fred has an idea we could get up a fine nine if we tried."

"Well, if we want a good nine for this summer we'll have to get together pretty soon. It takes lots of practice to make a nine work together—and that is what counts, they tell me."

"To be sure it does. No matter how good individual players are, if they can't play in harmony they are sure to botch a game. Frank was telling me that the Brookside fellows are in practice already. George Dixon is captain of the club."

"He's a good batter."

"Yes, and a good shortstop, too. Roy Willetts is their pitcher. They tell me he can pitch a swift ball."

"And who is going to catch for them?"

"Little Ike Gass."

"What, that midget?"

"He's small, but he is a good one, so they say. I wish we had the club organized," went on Joe.

"Well, the only way to do is to go ahead and get the fellows together, Joe. Why not issue a call for, say, next Saturday afternoon?"

"That is what Fred suggested. But as we want to hold the meeting in Link's father's carpenter shop I suppose we ought to get Link to issue the call."

On the following day they talked the matter over with Fred and Link, and as a consequence a call was issued to about a dozen boys to come to the "clubroom," as it was designated and help organize the Lakeport Baseball Club.

"I'll have the upper floor of the carpenter shop in order by that time," said Link. "Father said we could fix it up to suit ourselves, as he isn't going to use it again until next winter."

"I'll help you fix it up," said Fred. "Just wait till we get going and have a little money in the treasury! We can have pictures on the wall and all sorts of athletic things—punching bags, boxing gloves——"

"Our first money will have to be spent for bats, balls and uniforms," came from Bart Mason. "The Brooksides have uniforms. We don't want to be behind them."

"Well, I guess not!" ejaculated Joe. "If the Lakeport Baseball Club can't have things as good as Brookside it had better go out of business!"

"Exactly what I say," was Fred's comment.

After school that afternoon Harry went to Mr. Carew's store and purchased the silk hat for the school principal.

"You are certain this is exactly like the other hat?" he asked, as he paid for the purchase.

"Yes, Harry—the two hats came out of the same box, as the saying goes."

"I don't want to have any trouble over it—I've had trouble enough."

"I guess Mr. Jadell is getting the best of the bargain. His hat must have been pretty well worn by this time."

"I suppose it was. But as I couldn't present him with a secondhand hat I had to get this new one," answered Harry, and left the store with the headgear in a box. Not caring to take it home he walked directly to the teacher's house with it.

"Is Mr. Jadell in?" he asked of Angelina Jadell, who came to answer his ring at the front door.

"He is not."

"Well, here is a new silk hat for him, to replace the one that was damaged a couple of days ago."

"Oh! Are you the boy that knocked my brother's hat from his head?"

"Yes."

"It was a wicked thing to do."

"It was done by accident, Miss Jadell."

"Oh, that's what any boy would say. If I'd been in my brother's place I should have had you arrested." Miss Jadell took the box. "Is this hat as good as the other?"

"Mr. Carew said the two were exactly alike. Kindly give it to Mr. Jadell and tell him Harry Westmore brought it," and without waiting for a reply the boy turned and hurried away.

"I suppose it's paid for?" called Miss Angelina after him, shrilly.

"Yes, it's paid for, and you won't have to give up a cent for it!" cried Harry, half angrily. "Oh, my, what an old maid!" he murmured to himself. "How I would hate to have her keeping house for me! No wonder Old Stovepipe is so crabbed!"

Harry and Joe went over to the carpenter shop that day after school and assisted Link in cleaning up the place. This was no mean task, for the upper room was full of shavings, bits of boards, and sawdust. They had also to pile up some saw-horses and put a number of tools in their proper places in a big chest. This done they swept up and dusted and fixed up an end of a carpenter's bench so that it could be used for a table.

"Now, I guess we are ready for the meeting," said Link, after the task was finished. "I wish we had some good pictures of baseball games to hang on the walls."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," answered Joe. "I'll write to the dealers in baseball supplies for catalogues of their goods and also ask them for advertising pictures. Maybe they'll be glad to send 'em along."

The news had circulated that our young friends were going to organize a baseball club, and, as was to be expected, it became the talk of the town. Many of the lads were very enthusiastic, but others, who had not been invited to attend the first meeting, "stuck up their noses" when the matter was mentioned to them.

"That club won't amount to a hill of beans," said one of the big boys, a lad named Voup. "Why, the Westmore boys can't play ball a little bit, and that Fred Rush is too stout to do anything on the diamond."

"Well, why don't you organize a club then, Si?" asked one of Voup's cronies.

"Maybe I will," answered Silas Voup. "If I do, will you join, Sid?"

"To be sure I'll join," came from Sidney Yates. "Say, wouldn't it be great if we organized a club and knocked the spots out of the other club," he added, earnestly.

"Reckon we can do it. I could pitch and you could catch, and we could get Longback Muggs for shortstop. That Westmore crowd wouldn't be in it with us."

"Right you are, Si! Let us organize by all means. We can meet in my father's carriage house." And then and there Silas Voup and Sidney Yates laid their plans for organizing a rival club to defeat the other organization. It may be added here that both Voup and Yates belonged to the aristocratic branch of the Lakeport community. They considered themselves a trifle superior to the other boys, and spent a good deal of their pocket money for cigarettes and pool playing. Their arrogant manners were the cause of the Westmores and Fred Rush leaving them severely alone.

Joe was the first to go home from the carpenter shop, and as soon as he appeared his mother sent him down to his father's store for a bag of flour. When the youth arrived at the store he found his parent very much exercised over something.

"What's the matter, father?" he questioned.

"I've lost some money, Joe," was the unexpected answer.

"Lost some money? How much?"

"Ten or twelve dollars—I can't exactly tell which. I had the bills in a tin box on the back desk and now the box is gone."

"Perhaps you put the box in some other place?"

"I've looked about every place I can think of. No, the box must have been stolen. The desk is so close to that back window anybody could have reached in and taken it."

"When did you put the box there?"

"A couple of days ago. The bills were on the old Lumberville Bank and had your Grandfather Anderson's signature on them, and I was going to show them to your mother."

"Was there anything else in the box?"

"Yes, an old society pin I used to wear years ago. That's gone, too."

"When did you see the box last?"

"I can't remember, exactly—I've been so busy. But I am certain I put it there two days ago. I ought to have put it in the safe," continued Mr. Westmore.

The two hunted around the store, but could find no trace of the missing box. The desk upon which it had rested was but a few feet from an open window, and outside was a narrow alleyway running to a back street.

"Somebody must have come into the alleyway and taken it," said Joe. "You didn't see anybody?"

"Not a soul. I sent Harry out there yesterday to pick up the rubbish."

"Harry?" Joe mused for a moment. "Did—did Harry know the box was there?" he asked.

"I suppose so. By the way, what about that hat he was going to get for Mr. Jadell?"

"He got it and took it over to Mr. Jadell's house."

"Did he pay for it?"

"I suppose so. He didn't want to say much about it." Joe's heart began to beat rapidly. "Oh, father, you don't think——" he began.

"I guess I'll ask Harry if he saw the box," returned Mr. Westmore, shortly. "You had better run home with the bag of flour. Your mother may be waiting for it."

CHAPTER IV.

HARRY'S SECRET.

On his way home Joe's thoughts were very busy. He well remembered that Harry had wanted two dollars more with which to pay for the silk hat. The hat had been bought. Where had his brother procured the needed sum?

"I'll never believe he took the box—never!" he told himself, over and over again. "Harry is too honest for anything of that sort."

He wanted to ask his brother about the two dollars as soon as he arrived home, but, for some reason, could not bring himself to do so. He told his mother about the missing box and she became interested immediately.

"Some sneak thief must have taken it," she said. "I declare, Lakeport is not as safe a place to live in as it used to be."

"I saw that box when I was down to the store," said Harry. "It was not over three feet from the window."

"Did you see anybody in the alleyway?" asked Joe.

"No," answered Harry, and then he turned away to bring in some wood for the wood-box. He had his arm full of sticks when his father came into the yard.

"Harry!" called out Mr. Westmore. "Wait a minute; I want to speak to you."

"Yes, sir," and the boy stopped short.

"I want to ask you about that hat you bought for Mr. Jadell. Did you pay for it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did you get the money?"

"Why—I—I—had some and Joe lent me some," stammered Harry and turned red.

"How much did Joe lend you?"

"A dollar and a half."

"What did you pay for the hat?"

"Five dollars."

"Did you have the other three dollars and a half saved up?"

"No, sir, but—but—oh, father, I wish you wouldn't ask me about it!" cried Harry, in confusion.

"How much did you have saved up?" demanded Mr. Westmore, sharply.

"A dollar and a half."

"Then where did you get the other two dollars?"

"Why, I—oh, please don't ask me, father. I—I——"

"Harry, I want you to answer me." Mr. Westmore's tone was very stern. "Did you touch the tin box on the back desk at the store?"

Harry stared at his father in perplexity for a moment. Then he dropped the wood, one stick after another.

"Me touch that box?" he said, slowly. "Me? No, sir, I didn't touch the box! I—I—father!"

The last word was full of fear—fear that he was being suspected by his own father of being a thief. But Mr. Westmore did not notice.

"Then where did you get that two dollars? Answer me."

"I—I got it—and I never touched your old box!" came in a jerk from Harry. "You—you're mean to suspect me, mean!" And he ran back to the wood-pile and then to the barn. Here he came to a halt, his breath coming hard and fast. His cheeks were burning and his mind was in a whirl.

"To think I took his money!" he muttered. "That I took it! Oh, what a shame! I'll never, never——" He could not finish. "What will mother say?" And then the tears came into his eyes.

Mr. Westmore was a stern man, but he loved his sons and in the past he had trusted them implicitly. He started to enter the house, then reconsidered the matter and followed Harry to the barn. Here it was so dark he could scarcely see.

"Harry!"

No answer came back, and he repeated the call several times.

"Go away and leave me," came from the corner where the feed box was located. "I—I don't want you to—to speak to me!"

"Harry, let us talk this over." Mr. Westmore's voice was unusually kind. He walked over to the feed box. "You are doing wrong to fly into such a passion over this, my son."

"You think I—I took that box?"

"No, I don't think so. You said you didn't touch it, and I have always believed you."

"But you think I got the two dollars from the box."