Read Ebook: Catcher Craig by Mathewson Christy Relyea C M Charles M Illustrator

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Ebook has 1181 lines and 68351 words, and 24 pages

"Not yet. You needn't if you don't want to. Let me charge it to you."

"No, thanks," said Sam hurriedly, diving for his money. "If I get that place I'll need this mitt, I guess. I've been trying to persuade myself all the morning that I really ought to have it."

"Another reason for accepting the job, Sam," said Tom cheerfully. "It'll justify your extravagance."

"That's putting 'em over," said Sam, with a chuckle. "'Justify your extravagance!' Gee, Tom, that's real language, that is!"

"Yes, right in the groove, Sam. Say, I'd like to get out and pitch a few. What are you doing this evening? Let's get a ball and see how it feels. Will you? Good stuff! Drop around here at five and get me."

OFF FOR CAMP

Sam gave his new mitt a good try-out that evening. He and Tom and Tom's particular chum, Sid Morris, took possession of the alley behind the hardware store and, admiringly regarded by a dozen or so small boys, pitched and caught until supper-time. Sidney, a slim, lithe, handsome chap of nearly eighteen, had been told about The Wigwam and, like Tom, sighed because he could not accept the position himself.

"I'll tell you what, though, Sam," he said, as he made an imaginary swing at the ball just before it thumped into Sam's new glove, "if you go up there Tom and I will come and visit you for a day or two. I suppose they'd let us, wouldn't they, Tom?"

"I don't see how they could stop us visiting the place, but they might object to our staying overnight. Here goes for a knuckle-ball, Sam. Watch it." But the attempt was not successful and Tom shook his head as the ball came back to him. "I guess I'll never make much out of that," he said. "What's that, Sam? Four fingers? I can't see very well. All right, here she goes." A slow ball sped across the imaginary plate and Sidney, making believe to swing and miss, uttered a disappointed grunt and angrily slanged a non-existent umpire, to the delight of the gallery. It was time to stop then, and, pocketing his ball, Tom accompanied Sam and Sidney to Main Street and, after Sidney had jumped a car to hurry home to dinner, detained Sam a minute on a corner.

"Made up your mind yet?" he asked.

Sam hesitated a moment. "Mother wants me to try for it," he said, "and Nell, too, but I don't know as I ought to leave them so long."

"Well, you know best, Sam. Only, if you can do it you'd better. You know as well as I do that there's mighty little chance of a fellow's getting work in Amesville in summer, except at the mills; and they don't pay anything over there."

Sam nodded agreement. "I guess," he answered thoughtfully, "I'll write and see what Mr. Langham says. I suppose, though, he will tell me I'm too young."

"How would it do," asked Tom, "to say nothing about your age? He didn't seem particular about that, you know. Just tell him you're in your senior year at high school and are captain of the nine; and that you think you could hold down the place to the King's taste, and so on!"

"I might, only--I'd feel pretty cheap if I got up there and he told me I wouldn't do. Besides, it wouldn't be quite honest, I guess."

"I suppose not. No, you'd better tell him you're nearly eighteen."

"But I'm not," objected Sam gravely. "I won't be until December."

"Then tell him you're well over seventeen," laughed Tom. "Anyway, make yourself out as old as you can, you fussy old chump! And don't be too modest. I don't know but that I ought to see that letter before you send it, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "I'll do it all right," he said. "And you write to him, too, if you don't mind."

"I'll do it this evening. So long. You ought to get an answer by Friday, I should think. I hope it comes out all right, Sam."

"So do I," said Sam soberly. "It would be a dandy job if I could get it. Good night, Tom, and thank you for telling me about it."

That wasn't an easy letter to write, as Sam discovered later when, with the assistance of his mother and sister, he set about its composition. Nell, a pretty girl a year older than Sam, scored his first draft indignantly.

"Pshaw, lots of fellows can swim better than I do."

"No one around here, anyway. And you practically tell him that you don't know a thing about looking after young boys."

"I don't!"

"But you don't have to say so, do you? Now, you write that all over and--I tell you what, Sam! Write it just as if you were trying to get the place for someone else!"

Finally both Nell and Mrs. Craig approved, and Sam made a clean copy of the letter, slipped it into an envelope, stamped and addressed it, and went out to the mail box with it so it would be gathered up at eleven-thirty and go off on the early morning train. Now that he had made up his mind to get the position if he could he was impatient to learn his fate.

But three days passed without any response and he had begun to think that nothing was to come of his application, when one afternoon a messenger boy brought a telegram. It was extremely brief.

"Mail references immediately. LANGHAM."

"It doesn't look as though he thought you too young," said Tom when, later, Sam dropped in at Cummings and Wright's to tell the news. "If he did he wouldn't bother with your references. I guess you've got it, Sam."

And Sam acknowledged that it looked so. The letters of reference went off that evening, one from the High School principal and one from the minister of the church Sam attended. Both were, he considered, undeservedly flattering. They bore immediate result. Just thirty-four hours later another telegram arrived, this time not quite so brief.

"Satisfactory. Join camp July fifth. Rail to East Mendon, stage to Indian Lake. Bring grey flannel trousers, blue sleeveless shirt, sweater, sneakers, mackintosh. LANGHAM."

They referred to that telegram at intervals all day. Sam was a bit troubled because it said nothing about socks or a hat, but Nell said she supposed Mr. Langham gave him credit for enough sense to bring such things without being told.

"He doesn't say whether the sweater has to be any special colour, either," mused Sam. "Mine's grey."

"That thing!" exclaimed Nell scathingly. "Why, mother's darned that and darned it, Sam. It isn't fit to be seen in. You must have a new one."

"Gee, if I buy a new sweater besides all those other things I won't have any money left! I asked Miller, at the station, what the fare to Indian Lake is and he said it's four dollars and sixty cents."

"I don't care, Sam, you can't take that old sweater. You can get a new one for three dollars, I guess."

"Can't afford it," said Sam decisively.

"Then I'll present it to you. I've got a lot of money."

"I think," said Mrs. Craig, "it would be nice if Nellie and I bought those things for you, dear. How much would they cost, do you think?"

Sam demurred, but in the end they had their way, and the next morning Sam set out to Cummings and Wright's with his precious telegram in hand and laid the matter before Tom Pollock.

"So you got it!" exclaimed Tom. "Gee, but I'm awfully glad, Sam! Shake! Now let's see what you need. What shade of blue do you suppose that means? Dark, I guess. Here you are, then. Eighty-five cents each. You'll need two of them. Sneakers are ninety-five and a dollar and a quarter. Better pay the difference, Sam. The cheaper ones aren't much. What about flannel trousers? I'm afraid--Oh, you've got a pair? All right. Then that leaves only the sweater. What colour?"

"It doesn't say. What do you think?"

"Grey, I guess; and not very expensive."

"I guess this three-dollar one will do, Tom. Do I get anything off on this truck?"

"Certainly; fifteen off, Sam. That makes it--let me see--five dollars and six cents; call it five dollars even, Sam. What about the raincoat?"

"I've got an old one that will do, I guess. You see, I don't want to spend very much, because the fare up there and back comes to over nine dollars, and that's two weeks' wages."

"He didn't say anything about paying your fare, then?"

Sam shook his head. "He wouldn't, would he?"

"I don't know. Seems to me he ought to pay it one way, at least, though, Sam. I'd mention it to him, anyway."

"Maybe I will," replied Sam doubtfully. "Well, I guess that's all, then. I'll take these things along with me. How many boys do you suppose there will be up there, Tom?"

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