Bobby Blake on the School Nine; Or, The Champions of the Monatook Lake League
Frank A. Warner
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
They slowly and sullenly handed over the contents oftheir pockets.]
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BOBBY BLAKE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
OR
THE CHAMPIONS OF THE MONATOOK LAKE LEAGUE
BY
FRANK A. WARNER
AUTHOR OF "BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL," "BOBBY BLAKE ON A CRUISE," "BOBBY BLAKE AND HIS SCHOOL CHUMS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
R. EMMETT OWEN
PUBLISHERS BARSE & CO. NEW YORK, N. Y. NEWARK, N. J.
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Copyright 1917 by BARSE & CO.
Bobby Blake on the School Nine
Printed in the United States of America
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CONTENTS
I FLYING SNOWBALLS II A FRIEND INTERFERES III THE COMING STORM IV HELD UP V THE TRAMPS' RETREAT VI HEAVY ODDS VII PAYING AN OLD DEBT VIII THE CLOUD BREAKS AWAY IX A COWARDLY TRICK X ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL XI TOM HICKSLEY REAPPEARS XII A NEW ENEMY XIII THE MONATOOK LAKE LEAGUE XIV GLOWING HOPES XV SPOILING THE FUN XVI WHO WAS GUILTY? XVII ON THE TRAIL XVIII A HARD HIT XIX SPRING PRACTICE XX THE SUGAR CAMP XXI THE FIRST GAME XXII TO THE RESCUE XXIII THE EGG AND THE FAN XXIV AN UNDESERVED PUNISHMENT XXV OFF FOR A SWIM XXVI THE SCAR AND THE LIMP XXVII A GLEAM OF LIGHT XXVIII TOM HICKSLEY GETS A THRASHING XXIX A WILD CHASE XXX WINNING THE PENNANT--CONCLUSION
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BOBBY BLAKE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
CHAPTER I
FLYING SNOWBALLS
"Ouch!"
"That was a dandy!"
"How's that for a straight shot?"
"Thought you could dodge it, did you?"
"Have a heart, fellows! I've got a ton of snow down my back already."
A tumult of shouts and laughter rose into the frosty air from a group ofboys, ranging in age from ten to twelve years, who were throwing anddodging snowballs near the railroad station in the little town ofClinton.
Even the fact that four of the group were on their way back to schoolafter the Christmas holidays was not sufficient to dampen their youthfulspirits, and the piles of snow heaped up back of the platform had beentoo tempting to resist.
As though moved by a single spring they had dropped the bags they werecarrying, and the next instant the air was full of flying snowballs.Most of them found their mark, though a few in the excitement of thefray passed dangerously near the station windows.
Flushed and eager, the panting warriors advanced or retreated, until astray missile just grazed the ear of the baggage man, who was wheeling aload of trunks along the platform. He gave a roar of protest, and theboys thought it was time to stop. But they did it reluctantly.
"Too bad to stop right in the middle of the fun," said Bobby Blake, abright wholesome boy of about eleven years, with a frank face and merrybrown eyes.
"Bailey's got a grouch on this morning," remarked Fred Martin, betterknown among the boys as "Ginger," because of his red hair and equallyfiery temper.
"I never saw him any other way," put in "Scat" Monroe, one of thevillage boys, who had come down to the station to bid his friendsgood-bye. "I don't believe Bailey ever was a boy."
"Oh, I guess he was--once," said Bobby, with the air of one making agenerous concession, "but it was so long ago that he's forgotten allabout it."
"Perhaps you'd be grouchy too if you came near being hit," venturedBetty Martin, Fred's sister, "especially if you weren't getting any funout of it."
Betty formed one of a party of girls who bad accompanied the boys to thestation to see them off. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, thesegirls had stood huddled together like a flock of snowbirds, watching thefriendly scuffle and giving a little squeal occasionally when a snowballcame too close to them.
Fred looked at his sister coldly. He was very fond of Betty, but as theonly boy in a large family of girls, he felt it was incumbent on him tomaintain the dignity of the male sex. He had pronounced ideas on thenecessity of keeping girls in their place, and Betty was something of atrial to him because she refused to be squelched.
"Of course, girls feel that way," he said loftily. "They're afraid ofthe least little thing. But men aren't such scare-cats."
"Men!" sniffed Betty scornfully. "You don't call yourself a man, doyou?"
"Well, I'm going to be some day," her brother retorted, "and that's morethan you can say."
This was undeniable, and Fred felt that he had scored a point.
Betty was reduced to the defensive.
"I wouldn't want to be," she rejoined rather feebly.
Fred cast a proud look around.
"Sour grapes!" he ejaculated.
Then, elated by his success, he sought rather imprudently to follow itup.
"As for me," he declared, "I wouldn't care how hard I was hit. I'd onlylaugh."
Betty saw an opening.
"You wouldn't dare let me throw one at you," she challenged, her eyesdancing.
Fred went into pretended convulsions.
"You throw!" he jeered. "A girl throw! Why! you couldn't hit the--theside of a house," he ended lamely, his invention failing.
"I couldn't, eh?" cried Betty, a little nettled. "Well, you just standup against that post and see if I can't."
Fred was somewhat startled by her prompt answer to his taunt, but itwould never do to show the white feather.
"All right," he responded, and took up his position, while Betty stoodsome twenty feet away.
The laughing group of boys and girls gathered around her, and Bobby andScat began to make snowballs for Betty.
"No, you don't!" cried Fred. "I know you fellows. You'll make soakers.Let Betty make her own snowballs."
"What do you care, if you're so sure she can't hit you?" said Bobbyslyly.
"Never you mind," replied Fred, ignoring the thrust. "You leave all thatto Betty."
The boys desisted and Betty made her own missiles.
"How many chances do I have?" she asked. "Will you give me three shots?"
"Three hundred if you like," replied her brother grandly. "It's all thesame to me."
He stiffened up sternly against the post. Somewhere he had seen apicture of Ajax defying the lightning, and he ho
ped that he looked likethat.
Betty poised herself to throw, but at the last moment her tender heartmisgave her.
"I--I'm afraid I'll hurt you," she faltered.
"Aw, go ahead," urged "Mouser" Pryde, one of the four lads who wereleaving for school.
"Aim right at his head," added "Pee Wee" Wise, another schoolmate whowas to accompany Bobby and Fred to Rockledge.
"You can't miss that red mop of his," put in Scat heartlessly.
"N-no," said Betty, dropping her hand to her side. "I guess I don't wantto."
Fred scented an easy victory, but made a mistake by not being satisfiedto let well enough alone.
"She knows she can't hit me and she's afraid to try," he gibed.
The light of battle began to glow in Betty's eyes, but still she stoodirresolute.
"I'll give you a cent if you hit me," pursued Fred.
"My! isn't he reckless with his money?" mocked Pee Wee.
"He talks like a millionaire," added Mouser.
"A whole cent," mused Bobby.
Fred flushed.
"Make it a nickel, then," he said. "And if that isn't enough, I'll giveyou a dime," he added, in a final burst of generosity.
"Have you got it?" Betty asked suspiciously. She knew that Fred wasusually in a state of bankruptcy.
"I've got it all right," retorted her brother, "and what's more I'mgoing to keep it, because you couldn't hit anything in a thousandyears."
Whether it was the taunt or the dime or both, Betty was spurred toaction. She hesitated no longer, but picked up a snowball and threw itat the fair mark that Fred presented.
It went wide and Fred laughed gleefully.
"Guess that dime stays right in my pocket," he chuckled.
"Never mind, Betty," encouraged Bobby. "You were just getting the rangethen. Better luck next time."
But the next shot also failed, and Fred's mirth became uproarious.
"I might just as well have made it a dollar," he mocked.
But his smile suddenly faded when Betty's third throw caught him righton the point of the nose.
Fortunately the ball was not very hard. It spread all over his face,getting into his eyes and filling his mouth, and leaving him for themoment blinded and sputtering.
The girls gave little shrieks and the boys doubled up with laughter,which increased as the victim brushed away the snow and they caughtsight of his startled and sheepish face. Betty, in swift penitence, flewto his side.
"Oh, Fred!" she wailed, "I hope I didn't hurt you!"
To do Fred justice, he was game, and after the first moment ofdiscomfiture he tried to smile, though the attempt was not much of asuccess.
"That's all right, Betty," he said. "You're a better shot than I thoughtyou were. Here's your dime," he added, taking the coin from his pocket.
"I don't want it," replied Betty. "I'm sorry I won it."
But Fred insisted and she took it, although reluctantly.
"Too bad you didn't make it a dollar, Fred," joked Pee Wee.
"Couldn't hit you in a thousand years, eh?" chuckled Scat.
"Oh, cut it out, you fellows," protested Fred. "I didn't dodge anyway,did I? You've got to give me credit for that."
"That was pretty good work for short distance shooting," remarked BobbyBlake, molding a snowball. "But now watch me hit that rock on the otherside of the road."
"Look out that you don't hit that horse," cautioned Betty.
But the snowball had already left Bobby's hand. He had thought that itwould easily clear the scraggy old horse that was jogging along drawinga sleigh. But the aim was too low, and the snowball hit the horse plumpin the neck.
The startled brute reared and plunged, and the driver, a big hulky boywith pale eyes and a pasty complexion, had all he could do to quiet him.
He succeeded at last, and then, grasping his whip, jumped over the sideof the sleigh and came running up to the boys, his face convulsed withrage.
