A big crowd turned out the following Saturday for the Lesterville game. As a manufacturing town Lesterville was something of a rival to Clearfield and baseball lovers of the latter place were eager to see the Lesterville players humbled. By half-past two—the game was scheduled for three o’clock—the stand was well filled. Dick’s charges reached the field soon after the half-hour and began practice. They had, however, scarcely begun throwing the balls around when there was a commotion at the gate and Tim Turner was seen excitedly gesticulating toward Dick, who, near first base, was watching the team. Dick hurried across to the gate and found Tim trying to exclude a short, red-faced man in blue overalls.

“He says he wants to get in to open the big gate,” explained Tim. “He says they’re going to begin work in here. They’ve got a cart down the street there and a lot of men and——”

“Sure,” said the man in overalls. “We’re going to plow in here. Them’s the orders.”

“But you can’t do it now,” exclaimed Dick. “We’re going to play in half an hour. Those folks on the stand have paid to see the game. Can’t you wait until Monday?”

“We cannot,” replied the man emphatically. “Mr. Brent give me the contract to build the street through here and me time’s valuable. You’ll have to play your game somewhere else, I’m thinking.”

“But we can’t do that! There isn’t any other place! Look here, Mr. Brent gave us permission to use this field and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to come and break up our game like this. The other fellows have come all the way from Lesterville to play us.”

“’Tis no affair of mine, young feller.” The man tried to push by Dick and Tim, but many of the audience, attracted by the argument, had gathered around, and these, taking Dick’s side, stood immovably in the way. The contractor showed anger. “Now you fellers let me through here till I open them gates down there,” he blustered. “If you don’t we’ll break ’em down.”

“Try it!” said someone eagerly, and a laugh of approval went up.

“I’ll get the cops here if you make trouble for me an’ me men! An’ if it’s trouble you’re lookin’ for——”

“Oh, run away till the game’s over, can’t you?” asked another of the throng. “Be a sport! What’s the good of busting up the fun?”

“An’ me losin’ money while you fellers play ball, eh? What for would I be doin’ that? You leave me get to the gates.”

“Nothing doing, friend! Better back out!”

“Hold on a minute,” said Dick quietly. “Will you wait fifteen minutes, Mister—er——”

“Me name’s Mullin,” growled the contractor. “What’ll I be waitin’ fer?”

“To give us a chance to see Mr. Brent about it.”

“I got me contract, an’——”

“I know,” said Dick soothingly. “That’s all right. You’ve got a perfect right to come in here and do whatever you’ve got to do, but it’s going to put us in an awful mess. Give us time to find Mr. Brent and see what he says about it, won’t you?”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long. Say fifteen minutes. He’s probably here in town. I’ll ask his son. He’s over there in the stand.” Dick wasn’t at all certain that Morris had arrived, but he risked it. The contractor hesitated and finally nodded surlily.

“All right. I’ll give you till three o’clock. Then I’m goin’ in here, an’ if anyone tries to stop me——”

“I understand. Thank you. Tim, pass the gentleman inside until we settle this.”

“I’ll wait here,” said the contractor grimly.

Dick hurried across to the stand and searched for Morris. Presently he found him, with Louise at his side, halfway up the slope.

“Is your father in town, Morris?” he asked anxiously after he had greeted Louise.

“I don’t know. What’s wanted, Dick?”

Dick explained hurriedly and Morris whistled. “He may be at his office or he may be on his way out to the Point. He doesn’t usually stay in town on Saturday afternoons in summer. I’ll see if I can find him, though. Only thing is, it’ll take me a long time to hobble over to his office.”

“I can do it quicker, I guess. Or, hold on! I know! I’ll get Gordon to go. I’ll be back presently.”

Dick hurried down to the diamond and summoned Gordon from first base. Practice was still going on, but in a desultory way, for most eyes had been turned toward the gate. As quickly as he could Dick explained what had happened. “He will do it for you if he will for anyone,” ended Dick. “See if he won’t call off the workmen until after the game or until Monday, Gordon. Morris says he may be at his office. If he isn’t he’s gone home to the Point. Try the telephone in that case. And try to get back here by three. That chap won’t wait much longer.”

Gordon nodded and sped toward the gate just as the Lesterville team came onto the field. He was in his playing clothes, but there was no time to change them and he didn’t, as a matter of fact, give much thought to them. It was five blocks to Mr. Brent’s office in the bank building, and two of the blocks were long ones. Gordon did the distance in five minutes and leaped up the marble stairway to find a clerk just locking the outer door of the office.

“Mr. Brent?” he gasped.

“Gone home,” replied the clerk, looking curiously at Gordon’s attire and perspiring countenance. “He left about five minutes ago. You might catch him before he gets the trolley.”

Gordon raced off again and fortune was with him. Only a block down F Street he descried Mr. Brent in front of him walking briskly toward the car line and tapping the pavement with his cane. Gordon overtook him just over the Main Street crossing. Morris’ father turned at the boy’s breathless hail.

“Ah, that you, Merrick? How do you do! Want to see me?”

“Yes, sir, please!” gasped Gordon. “Mr. Brent, they’re trying to get into the field, sir, to start work on it this afternoon. And we’re playing Lesterville and there’s a big crowd there, sir——”

“You mean that Mullin is starting work there? Well, that’s all right, my boy. I told him to.”

“Yes, sir, of course, but—but couldn’t he wait until Monday, sir? We are going to play Lesterville, and they’re here and there’s a lot of folks paid to see the game.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it? Why, I don’t know, Merrick. What does Mullin say? It’s his affair now. He has the contract for the work, you see.”

“He says he won’t wait, Mr. Brent. But if you told him to——”

“But really, Merrick, I haven’t any right to interfere!”

“It—it’s your field, sir! And you said we could use it!”

Mr. Brent frowned. “I said you could use it until I was ready to put the street through, Merrick. Wasn’t that it?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose so,” replied Gordon dejectedly. Mr. Brent drew his big gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, snapped it open, frowned at it and snapped it shut again.

“As a matter of fact, Merrick, if the city council hadn’t held me up on that business you’d have lost your field weeks ago. You ought to be thankful for that. We’re late on starting that work as it is and I prefer not to have any more delay. I’m sorry, but you boys will have to play your game somewhere else.” He smiled, dropped his watch back to his pocket and turned toward the car line.

“There isn’t any other place, sir,” said Gordon sadly.

“No other place? Why, there must be lots of places! I’ve seen boys playing ball all sorts of places. There’s a back-lot behind my offices, now. I’ve seen them playing there day after day—and making a lot of noise, too. Come now, Merrick, you’re fibbing a little, aren’t you?”

“No, sir, really,” Gordon answered earnestly. “You can’t play a real game of baseball on a small lot, sir. I guess—I guess you’ve never seen one, Mr. Brent.”

“Seen a game of ball? N-no, I suppose not. I thought all you needed was an empty lot or a back-yard, Merrick. You say there isn’t any other place?”

“No, sir. We’re going to lease a piece of ground out toward the Point, but we haven’t got it yet, and, anyway, it isn’t ready for playing on.”

“Too bad,” said Mr. Brent sympathetically. “But, really, Merrick, you ought not to ask me to stop work in order that you can play baseball. That—that’s a little too much, eh?”

“I suppose so, sir,” acknowledged Gordon dejectedly. “Only—we thought—maybe a half a day wouldn’t make much difference——”

“A half a day might make a lot of difference. Minutes count, my boy. You’ll learn that some day. No, no, I can’t interfere with Mullin. It’s his job. If he wants to accommodate you, all right, but you mustn’t expect me to interfere in his affairs, Merrick. Sorry. I’d like to oblige you.”

Gordon stared at the pavement. Mr. Brent coughed, turned away and hesitated. “Well, good-day, Merrick,” he said finally.

“Mr. Brent!” Gordon raised his head, his cheeks rather red. “Mr. Brent, you said once that—that if I ever wanted a favor—you——”

“Hm; yes, I know I did.”

“Well, sir, I’d like awfully to have you do this for us.”

“Think that will square accounts, Merrick?”

“Why—why, you don’t owe me anything, sir,” stammered Gordon, “but you said——”

“Yes, and I’ll keep my word.” Mr. Brent sighed and looked regretfully down the street. “All right. Come on, then. I’ll walk over with you and see what can be done.”

“Thank you,” Gordon murmured as he fell into step beside the man. “It—it’s awfully good of you, sir.”

“H’m,” replied Mr. Brent dryly. “You evidently don’t value your service to me very highly, Merrick. It doesn’t occur to you, apparently, that you might ask a good deal more than this in return for what you did for Morris.”

“I—I never meant to ask for anything,” murmured Gordon.

“Hm. More fool you, then!”

There was no more conversation. Mr. Brent walked briskly and it was but a minute or two after three when they reached the field. It was evident that they had got there none too soon, for the big gates halfway along the board fence were open and a wagon with a plow in it was drawn partly through it. That it was not all the way through was due to the fact that the audience, or a good part of it, had gathered at the point of attack and was doing its best to repel the contractor’s men. Shouts and jeers and laughter came from the scene. At the ticket gate young Tim Turner, afraid to leave his post of duty, was peering longingly toward the turmoil. Mr. Brent strode more quickly.

“Hm,” he said, “I don’t see that I was needed much, Merrick.”

Mullin, the contractor, very red of face and angry of eye, was berating the jeering crowd with the rough side of his tongue. Five laborers, two of them clutching the bridles of the horses, looked ready and eager for a fight. At sight of Mr. Brent a cheer went up from the crowd inside the gates, and Dick, anxious-eyed, fell back from where he had been vainly trying to avert trouble. Mr. Brent walked up to the contractor.

“Get out, Mullin,” he said. “Leave it until Monday.”

Mullin scowled hard. “An’ who’ll pay me for the time I’ll be losin’, Mr. Brent?” he demanded angrily.

“I will,” was the reply. “You ought to have seen, anyway, that the field was being used. Get your team out now. I’ll settle for your loss.”

“That’s all right, then,” replied the contractor. “All I wants is me rights. Back ’em out, Jerry.” And amidst the jeers of the spectators Mullin and his men retired, the gates were closed again and barred and, laughing and jostling, the defenders hurried back to secure their seats before others appropriated them, leaving Dick and the ball players and a few still curious ones at the gate. Among the latter was Morris, and it was Morris who, grinning broadly, came forward on his crutches.

“Good stuff, dad,” he said approvingly.

Mr. Brent viewed him without enthusiasm. “You here?” he asked. “Where is your sister?”

“In the stand, sir. I——”

“You’d better go back and look after her, it seems to me,” said Mr. Brent grimly. Morris’s grin faded and, with a wink at Gordon, he hobbled back toward the seats.

“We’re awfully much obliged, sir,” said Dick. “If it hadn’t been for all these people, who had paid to see the game——”

“Of course. I understand. You needn’t thank me. Thank Merrick.”

The players went back to their places, Lesterville to the diamond to finish her warming up, and Clearfield to the bench. Gordon was left practically alone with Mr. Brent, even Dick deserting him. From beyond the fence came the angry bellow of the contractor’s orders. “Leave the team here, Jerry,” he was saying. “We’ll be back Monday, an’ I’d like to see the man that’ll be stoppin’ me then!”

“Wouldn’t you like to see the game, Mr. Brent, now that you’re here?” asked Gordon at last. He ought to be with his team-mates, but he didn’t want to walk away and leave Mr. Brent standing alone there by the gate. The latter, who had been looking curiously at the renewed activity of the Lesterville players, now glanced at his watch, grunted and nodded.

“I might as well stay awhile,” he replied. “Where do you pay?”

“You needn’t pay, sir. We’re glad to have you see the game.”

“I prefer to pay,” was the reply as Mr. Brent followed Gordon toward the stand. “Here, son!” He had caught sight of Tim Turner at the ticket gate and walked across to him. “What’s the price?”

“T-Twenty-five cents, sir,” stammered Tim.

Mr. Brent found two dimes and a nickel among his change, handed them to the awed Tim and went on. “Where’s Morris?” he asked. “I’ll sit with him a few minutes.”

Gordon didn’t know where Morris was, but he called to Dick and Dick pointed him out. Then Gordon piloted Mr. Brent up the stand and by dint of much moving and shoving a place was made for him and Gordon, muttering his thanks again and getting a non-committal nod from Mr. Brent, took himself off.

“I’m so glad, papa,” said Louise gratefully. “It would have been horrid if they couldn’t have played the game, wouldn’t it?”

“Would it?” Mr. Brent smiled and settled his cane between his knees. “Who are those young fellows out there, Morris?”

“Those are the Lesterville players, sir. They’re warming up for the game.”

“Warming up, eh? Then the game hasn’t begun yet?”

“No, sir. They’re coming in now, though. It will start in a minute.”

“Need all this room for a game of ball, do they?”

“Why, of course, papa,” replied Louise. “Sometimes they hit the ball way over by the further fence there!”

“That so? Well, let’s see ’em do it!”