The matter of a new athletic field dragged. Two more meetings had been held by the committee, and several trips of inspection had been made to near-by fields, but no decision had been reached. In the meanwhile, the surveyors had shown activity and had run lines through the old field and even demolished a section of the fence. It was a question whether the team would be able to use the diamond much longer, although inquiries failed to elicit any definite information from the men who were doing the surveying. The football enthusiasts were becoming impatient. The prospect of having no better place to hold practice the next month than an empty lot somewhere in the neighborhood of the railroad didn’t please them, and they demanded action.

Unfortunately, Mr. Grayson, the principal, had left Clearfield on his summer vacation, and several other members of the High School faculty were also out of town, and the committee showed a disposition to await their return. The hope was several times expressed that, since Mr. Brent had done nothing with the field so far, he might postpone cutting it up until next year. But when the surveyors got to work that hope seemed idle, and at last a public meeting was called at which the Athletic Committee was to make a report and recommend the leasing of what was known as Tilden’s Meadow for a term of two years. The meadow was a mile from Clearfield and on the trolley route to Rutter’s Point, and consisted of about fourteen acres of fairly level turf. Only sufficient space for a football field and diamond was to be used, and the rest of the land was to remain as at present. Mr. Tilden was to keep the grass cut in return for the hay and was to receive one hundred dollars a year. There was no question of having a running track, for the owner absolutely refused to allow one to be laid out, and that, at first glance, seemed a great objection to the project. But, as several of the committee pointed out, there was no money on hand to build a track even if Mr. Tilden would allow it. The plan was to make use of the Y. M. C. A. field, a small enclosure behind the Association’s building on Lafayette Street, for training purposes, and hold the meets with Springdale at the latter’s grounds until Clearfield could secure a track of its own.

A piece of land sufficiently large for all athletic purposes was to be had across the river and fairly handy to the G Street Bridge, but it was next to the railroad tracks and the mills and the sentiment of the female members of the High School was strongly opposed to it. “It would be horrid!” they declared indignantly. “The smoke and soot from the engines and the mill chimneys would spoil our dresses and hats. And, besides, we’d have to walk a whole block through dust up to our shoe-tops!”

In the face of such weighty opposition the committee gave way, and the North Side location was abandoned. Only Tilden’s meadow remained then, and to that, too, there was much opposition. Many thought it too far from town; others pointed out that, since it was unfenced, there would be no way of keeping persons from witnessing games without paying, and still others dwelt on the lack of a track. The Athletic Committee was not to be envied.

Dick talked it over with Louise Brent one morning. Dick had got into the habit lately of walking over to the Brents’ in the morning before going out to the Point. Brentwood was hardly on his direct line to the car, although it is true that by retracing his steps two blocks he could get the trolley at B Street and consequently went only seven blocks out of his way. But seven blocks, when you have to do it on crutches, is quite a distance, and doubtless Morris was much flattered by the interest in his recovery which led Dick so far afield four or five mornings a week. Dick began by taking books to Morris, but his library was soon exhausted, and after that he continued to call just the same. Of course he always saw Morris, and equally of course Louise appeared at some period of his visit. I think that eventually Morris began to have doubts as to being the chief attraction. At all events he very frequently left Dick for his sister to entertain and it wasn’t apparent that Dick mourned his absence. Louise was good to look at and jolly and sympathetic, and there was no reason why Dick should not have been quite satisfied with her company.

On the morning in question, the morning of the Wednesday following the Springdale game, Morris had, after offering to race Dick on crutches to the gate and back and having his proposition declined, wandered away toward the tennis court, leaving Dick and Louise on the front steps, which, at nine o’clock in the morning, were shaded and cool. Dick had brought up the subject of the athletic field and both Morris and Louise had had their say. Morris, who was an ardent football enthusiast and played a good game on the High School team, had bewailed the fact that, with practice commencing in another three weeks or so, no place had been provided for it. Louise had reminded him gently that the doctor held out slight hope of his being able to play this Fall and Morris had briefly and succinctly informed them that the doctor was an old granny and didn’t know what he was talking about. When he had gone Louise said:

“You know, Dick, both Morris and I begged papa not to take the field, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He said the school could find another place to play on without trouble. He seems to think that all we need is a back yard or a vacant lot! I don’t think papa ever saw a game of baseball or football in his life.”

“It is too bad that he has to cut that field up,” replied Dick, “but I don’t see any reason why he should consider us any. He’s been very good to let us use it so long. And he’s never charged us a penny, you know.”

“May Scott told me yesterday that her father had told her that the field might not be cut up after all. It seems that the mayor or whoever it is that has the say about such things doesn’t want papa to put the street through there unless he builds it up to some grade or other. I don’t understand about it. And papa doesn’t want to do that.”

“Yes, I heard something of that sort. I believe the matter is to come up at a meeting this week. It’s the board of aldermen, I think, who are against it. It seems that the city has established a new grade out there and the present grade is several feet below it. I suppose it means that your father would have to do a good deal of filling in if he put the street through. Otherwise the city wouldn’t accept it.”

“It sounds awfully complicated to me,” said Louise. “I just wish father would change his mind about it. I almost wish the—the aldermen would tell him he couldn’t do it!”

“Perhaps they will,” laughed Dick. “But in that case your father would probably build to the new grade. So there isn’t much hope, I fear. No, I guess it’s up to us to move to new quarters. It’s a queer thing that in a town of this size there isn’t a place we can use.”

“I know. And that field they’re talking about now is so hard to get to! Of course, there’s the trolley, but it’s been such fun to walk out to the games and have the field so near home. Your team plays a game this afternoon, doesn’t it, Dick?”

“A sort of a game. We’re going to play a team called the Live Wires at four o’clock. They’re fellows in the mills and I guess they haven’t played together much. It’ll be sort of a practice affair for us. Tom Haley can’t play and Curtis Wayland is going to pitch for us. You haven’t been to any of the games, have you?”

“No one has asked me,” she laughed. “Morris has been laid up and——”

“Would you care to go Saturday? We play the Hemlock Camp fellows. I guess they have a pretty good team.”

“I’d love to!”

“Then I——” Dick paused and frowned. “The trouble is,” he went on apologetically, “I’ll have to be on the bench a good deal of the time. Perhaps you’d rather not go.”

“I shouldn’t mind. Just come and see me now and then, Dick.”

“Really? Then I’ll get Gordon or one of the fellows to call for you about half-past two.”

“Indeed?” asked Louise coldly. “Why Gordon—or one of the fellows, please?”

“Why—why—because,” stammered Dick, “I thought probably you’d rather not—That is, I get along so slowly, you know——”

“Dick Lovering, you were going to say you thought I wouldn’t want to walk with you! Weren’t you?”

“Well, something of the sort. You see——”

“No, I don’t see at all,” she responded with suspicious sweetness. “I shall be very glad to go to the game with you, Dick, but I refuse to be palmed off on ‘Gordon or one of the fellows!’”

“Then I’ll be here for you at two-thirty, Louise. It isn’t very far, after all; only three blocks, you know.”

“I ought to know,” she said dryly, “since I can see the top of the grandstand this minute. I may decide, however, that I want to go by way of the Common, Dick.”

Dick smiled doubtfully. “We-ell, that’s all right. I’m game! Now I guess I’d better be getting along.”

“The car just went in,” said Louise. “You’ve got nearly a quarter of an hour yet. How are you getting along with your pupil?”

“Finely! I tell him two or three times a week that we’ll never be able to do it, and he doubles up his fists and glares at me and wants to fight—almost. He’s an awfully stubborn little chap and he’s simply made up his mind that he’s going to get into school this Fall, and I think he will, too. He will if I can keep him mad!” And Dick, smiling, went swinging off to catch the car.

That game with the Live Wires wasn’t as easy for Clearfield as Dick and Gordon and most of the others expected it to be. Of course Way wasn’t much of a pitcher, and that had to be reckoned with, but even allowing for that the Live Wires showed up a lot better than anticipated. From a financial standpoint the game was a huge success, in spite of the fact that the admission had been lowered to fifteen cents to entice the mill workers to attend. Attend they did, and “rooted” so lustily and incessantly for their team that poor Way was more than once up in the air. Young Tim Turner played in right field and Jack Tappen went over to left in place of Way. Tim didn’t do so badly, since out of three chances he got two flies and only muffed the third because the crowd hooted so loudly.

It was quite a tight game up to the fifth inning, with both pitchers suffering badly at the hands of the opposing batsmen and both infields guilty of many stupid errors. But in the fifth Clearfield landed on Kelly, the Live Wires’ pitcher, and batted around before they were stopped, adding seven runs to the six already accumulated. In the seventh the opposing team returned the compliment and had Way dancing out of the path of liners and giving bases on the least provocation. But the infield steadied down then and only three runs came over for the Live Wires. The final score was fourteen to eight and Dick, who had acted as gateman in Tim’s absence, turned over nearly seventeen dollars to himself as treasurer. So, on the whole, the game was a success.

When Dick got home after the game his mother told him that a Mr. Potter, from the Reporter, had called to see him and would be back about eight. Gordon came over after supper and was still there when the representative of the newspaper repeated his call. Mr. Potter, a wide-awake, energetic young man of twenty-five or six years, professed his pleasure at finding Gordon on hand. “Because,” he said as he took a chair in the Loverings’ little parlor, “I want to talk about another game of ball between your team and the Point. I wrote the story of the last game, by the way. I don’t know whether you saw it?”

“Yes, we read it,” said Dick. “It was awfully good, I thought.”

“I used to do that sort of stuff in Hartford. Well, say, fellows, how about another game? Anything doing along that line?”

“Yes, we’re to play the Point again later. There hasn’t been any date set yet, though.”

“Well, that’s good. I mean I’m glad you’re going to get together again. Folks who saw that game enjoyed it. There’s nothing like a game of ball to bring folks out and give them a good time. Now, Stevens—he’s my boss on the Reporter, you know—Stevens wants to get up a rousing good game for the final one, see? You and what’s-his-name out at the Point set a date; make it some Saturday, of course; and let me know and the Reporter will whoop things up. How would it do if we got the retail tradesmen or someone to offer a prize? Say a silver cup or a phonograph or a set of books or something? What the Reporter wants to do is to stir up some excitement; see? Get a big crowd there, have the Mayor throw out the ball, get folks pulling for the home team and all that sort of thing. Great scheme, eh? What do you fellows think?”

The boys looked both doubtful and perplexed.

“Why, I don’t know, Mr. Potter, that we want to make a—a Roman holiday of it,” objected Dick. “We started up the team just to have some fun, you see.”

“Well, you’ll have your fun, won’t you?” asked the newspaper man eagerly. “Don’t mind winning a prize and making a little money, too, do you? Look here, fellows, I’m keen on this. I want to make it go. To tell the truth, it was my idea. I put it up to Stevens and he fell for it. This town needs livening up. Say, honest, we could have the finest sort of a hullabaloo without half trying!”

“I don’t see why not, Dick,” observed Gordon, thinking a good deal of the money side of the project.

Dick shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds sort of like a four-ring circus, doesn’t it?” He asked. “Still, I don’t mind. I dare say it would amuse folks.”

“Amuse ’em! Say, I’ll guarantee to have ’em talking nothing but baseball in a week! I’ll get ’em so they’ll be offering fancy prices for the first row in the grandstand!”

The boys laughed. There was something infectious in the man’s enthusiasm and the proposed affair began to loom up as a huge and very amusing lark.

“Do you really think you can do it?” asked Dick.

“Watch me! I’ll run a story to-morrow on the first page that negotiations are under way looking to a deciding game, see? And I’ll hint that there is so much feeling between the two teams that the outcome is doubtful. Then——”

“That’s hardly truthful, is it?” asked Dick.

“Well, maybe I can get around that,” was the untroubled reply. “I’ll say that the folks at the Point are so certain that their team will win that they’re willing to offer any sort of inducement for a third game.”

“You’ve got some imagination,” laughed Gordon.

“Have to have in my business,” replied Mr. Potter with satisfaction. “You trust me to work up the excitement, fellows. Stevens says I can go the limit. We’ll print your score-cards for you, and—that reminds me. How about a band? Ought to have a band there, oughtn’t we?”

“Bands cost a good deal,” Gordon objected.

“What of it? Why, say, we’ll have three or four hundred folks to see that game! We’ll get ’em in from the country and over from Springdale and Corwin and from miles around. It might be a good idea——” Mr. Potter paused and stared into space a moment. Then he nodded vehemently. “That’s the scheme! I’ll get the store-keepers to shut up shop that afternoon. Maybe Toppan will declare a public holiday.”

Mr. Toppan was the Mayor, and the boys stared in amazement.

“Why—why he wouldn’t do that, would he?” gasped Gordon. “Not just for a ball game?”

“Sure, he would, if the Reporter got after him hard. Say, you see that Point fellow, whatever his name is, and let me know by day after to-morrow. And don’t put it off too long. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot. Folks want to see baseball now. In another three weeks it’ll be about out of season. Well, that’s all. Glad to have met you fellows.” Mr. Potter shook hands briskly. “We’ll give Clearfield a ball game she won’t forget! Good-night. I’ll see you again in a day or two.”