  Halloween was two days gone and no further investigation had been made of the old church by the river. Brad had gone to Mr. Hatfield’s home, fully intending to tell him of seeing Pat and his pals flee in panic from the building. He never had been able to make his report. Mr. Hatfield, it developed, had been called out of the city on an important business trip. In his absence, Den 2 was under the direction of Mr. Holloway. The Cub leader, Brad learned, expected to be back in Webster City in time for the Friday night basketball game with the Purple Five. “We really shouldn’t play that outfit, knowing what we do about ’em,” the Den Chief confided to Dan. “Think we should tell the other Cubs what we know?” “It wouldn’t do any good, unless we cancel the game,” Dan replied after thinking the matter over. “Mr. Hatfield seemed to want us to treat Pat and his bunch with good will. So I suppose, if he were here, he’d advise us to go ahead with the game just as if nothing had happened.” “Then we won’t say anything about the church affair,” Brad decided. “It would only stir up bad feeling. The Cubs have it in for Pat as it is—and for good reasons too!” Though the Den Chief had tried to keep his feelings from the younger boys, he was not too happy about the coming game. Pat and the Bay Shore boys smarted under the first defeat they had suffered from the Cubs. The second game in the series might be bitterly fought. As for trying to pin evidence on Pat that he and his gang were responsible for the trouble at the Christian Church, he scarcely knew where to start. Any accusation he or Dan might make, would, of course, be denied. “How about going out there again and trying to get in?” Dan proposed. “Let’s wait until Mr. Hatfield gets back,” Brad turned him down. “With the accusation standing against us that we once broke into the place, we’ve got to be cautious. If anyone should see us there, they might misunderstand.” So matters stood. Basketball practice went on each night after school. And outwardly at least, the Cubs were friendly with the Purple Five. On the Friday set for the game, the Den 2 boys called a 15-minute practice session after school in the gymnasium. “We’re only going to shoot a few baskets and run through a couple of team plays,” Brad instructed the group. “I want to be sure you fellows have it down pat. We’ll run through Play B first. Chips, get in there, and start it off.” Chips, who slouched on a bench, moved sluggishly. “You’ll have to get more pep than that unless we want to be licked tonight,” Brad said, passing him the ball. “Say, what’s the matter with you anyhow?” “I feel awful,” Chips admitted in a weak voice. “Sort of sickish all over.” “Look at his face!” Dan directed. Chips’ cheeks and forehead were flushed. Even more alarming, the back of his neck was blotched with little red spots. “I itch too,” Chips said miserably. The Cubs who had clustered about him, backed hastily away. “O’my gosh,” Brad groaned. “You’re coming down with something, for sure. Get home as fast as you can, Chips, and into bed! Have your mother call a doctor.” “What about the game?” “Let us worry about that. You beat it home.” Within an hour, the Cubs knew the worst. Chips had a mild case of the measles! He would be out of the game and confined to his home for more than a week. The Cubs were too discouraged even to discuss the situation. Chub now would have to go into the game as a forward. That meant that Dan would be shifted to guard, given the task of trying to hold Pat to a minimum of baskets. “We’re sunk,” he admitted privately to Brad as they laced their tennis shoes in the dressing room. “Probably,” the Den Chief agreed. “Let’s do our best though. And if we’re licked, let’s take it like good sports.” An even larger crowd had gathered in the gymnasium than for the first game of the series. Fred jubilantly reported that despite a poor advance ticket sale, thirty-seven dollars had been taken in at the door. “One man paid a dollar,” he told the Cubs. “Said he wanted to help with the organization’s defense fund.” “And we have to give Pat and his chislers half of the receipts!” Red remarked bitterly. “It’s unfair!” In glancing over the audience, Dan noticed many neighbors and other persons he knew. However, on the front row he observed a tall, thin man rather poorly dressed, whose face he did not recognize. “Who is he?” Dan asked Brad, pointing out the stranger. “No one I ever saw before. I don’t think he was here last game.” “See how he keeps watching Chub,” Dan directed the other’s gaze. “I guess it must be because the kid’s so unsure of himself.” “Chub does his best, Dan.” “Oh, I know that. I wasn’t criticising him. It’s not his fault he was thrust into this game.” The Cubs were convinced that without Chips to bolster their team, they would be whitewashed. However, each player was determined not to give up without a struggle. Sharp at seven o’clock the whistle sounded and the game began. The Cubs were heartened by the arrival, albeit late, of Mr. Hatfield. Having come directly from a train, he still had his suitcase with him. Both teams played cautiously at the start of the game. Pat and the other members of his team evidently were determined not to be tripped up on rules a second time. To avoid personal fouls, the Purple Five boys quite outdid themselves. Once when Pat brushed hard against Dan as they both rushed for the ball, the Bay Shore boy actually muttered: “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to hit you.” Surprisingly, with roughness eliminated, the Cubs held their own fairly well. Pat made two baskets, and then was unable to score as Dan kept hard on him. Repeatedly, the Cubs had chances for baskets themselves. Team plays worked well, even without Chips. But Chub fumbled time after time at the critical moment. Once he shot and the ball hung on the rim, only to drop outside. The half finally ended: 6 to 2 in favor of the Purple Five. “If we only had you in there as forward, Dan,” Brad said regretfully. “Chub tries, but he just can’t find the basket.” During the second half, Fred was put in as a substitute for Chub. He and Midge, between them, managed three baskets. In the last quarter, Dan from far down the floor made a wild pass for the netting. The ball looped high and with a swishing sound, dropped cleanly through the mesh. That brought the score: 6 to 6. Likewise, it aroused the Purple Five. Bearing down, they began to play roughly again. Foul after foul was chalked against the Bay Shore players. Each time, when a free throw was allowed, the Cubs’ failed to make the single point. Pat had become chained lightning itself. He eluded Dan and time after time dropped the ball close, if not through the basket. When the final whistle blew, the score stood: 10 to 6 in favor of the Purple Five. “I tried, but I couldn’t hold Pat down,” Dan confessed, as he sank down on a bench to catch his breath. “You did fine, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I was proud of you. And of all the Cubs. Except for a few minutes toward the end, it was a good, clean game.” The Cubs hid their disappointment over loss of the game. They congratulated the Purple Five on the victory, and Dan made a point of speaking to Pat. “You’re just too good,” he said with a grin. “It takes a better guard than Dan Carter to hold you.” Pat seemed surprised by the praise. “You were pretty fair yourself,” he replied. “I missed a lot of baskets because of good guarding.” “Chips may be back for the third and deciding game of the series,” Dan went on. “Now that both teams have a victory, that contest should be a honey.” Hot cocoa was being served the Cubs upstairs in the church dining room. Mr. Hatfield invited Pat and his teammates to join the other boys. “Thanks,” Pat answered, looking rather embarrassed. “I-I guess we won’t. Next time, maybe.” “Then we’ll count out your share of the receipts—” “Skip it,” Pat growled. He moved quickly away. In leaving the gymnasium, Dan saw Chub talking to the strange man who earlier had drawn his attention. As he came up, the two separated. Chub waited for him, his face troubled. “Anything wrong, Chub?” Dan inquired. Chub shook his head. “Only that I lost the game for the Cubs.” “No such thing,” Dan said cheerfully. “Was it your fault Chips came down with the measles? Anyhow, I thought you played your very best game.” “Did you?” Chub brightened. “I tried awfully hard.” “Anything else bothering you?” “Well, that man—he was asking me such funny questions.” “I noticed him during the game,” Dan returned. “He paid a lot of attention to you.” “It gave me a queer feeling, talking to him.” “Queer? How so?” Chub shrugged and could not explain. “He kept calling me Charles for one thing, just as if he knew me well. I never saw him before, but I had the strangest feeling as if I’d really known him a long while.” “Did he tell you his name?” “No, but he asked me a dozen questions. He wanted to know where I lived, the school I attended—everything. The last question was the funniest of all. He said: ‘Chub, are you happy here in Webster City?’” “What did you tell him?” “I didn’t answer. You came up just then, and he went off.” “Don’t let it bother you, Chub,” Dan said. “The guy must have been a screw-ball.” “He was real nice, Dan. I—I liked him ever so much.” “Well, don’t keep your mind on it,” Dan said, linking arms with the boy and pulling him toward the stairway. “Come on, let’s have some hot cocoa.” Chub went willingly enough. In fact, as they entered the dining room together, he failed to notice that the stranger still loitered in the outside vestibule. Dan however, had seen him. He observed too that the man’s gaze was following Chub’s every move. “Who can he be?” he speculated. “Why is he so interested in Chub?” Dan gave himself a mental memo to try during the next few days to learn more about the stranger. Meanwhile, why let it bother him? Following his advice to Chub, he brushed the matter entirely from his mind, and joined the other Cubs at the cocoa table. |
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