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Rockspur Eleven

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<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII. IN THE CLUB-ROOM.</h2></div> Nearly all the members of the newly-formed Rockspur Athletic Club, of which Dick Sterndale was the president and ruling spirit, had gathered in their recently-rented rooms in the loft of a two-story-and-a-half wooden building next to the post-office. The upper floor of the building had been partitioned off into two rooms for some purpose, one being a small and the other a large room. The walls were ceiled up with plain boards, and the rafters of the sloping roof remained unhidden from view; but to the village boys it seemed an admirable place to meet their requirements for a gymnasium and club-room, having been obtained for them through the energies of Sterndale, who had organized the club and raised the needed funds. It had long been Sterndale’s ambition to form in Rockspur an amateur athletic club and build a club-house that should be appointed to meet the requirements of such an organization. It had seemed like a wild and foolish dream, but still he clung to it; and now, for the first time, he was revealing his desire in this line to his companions, who listened attentively and with growing enthusiasm. “By jingoes! that’s great!” cried Jotham Sprout, when[70] Dick had finished. “I’d never thought of that myself. Fellers, let’s go ahead and build that club-house.” “Yes, let’s!” grunted Thad Boland, who was lolling in a lazy position on a wooden bench against the partition. “It won’t cost more than two or three thousand dollars, and we’re all millionaires, so that’ll be a mere nothing to us.” “I didn’t think about what it would cost,” admitted Bubble, with a crestfallen air. “But of course it wouldn’t be as much as that.” “Such a club-house as Sterndale has been talking about would cost twenty-five hundred dollars, at least,” put in Rob Linton. “It’s no use to think of such a thing.” “Bub-bub-bub-but it’s a pup-pup-pup-perfectly lovely dud-dud-dud-dream!” sighed Danny Chatterton, opening his eyes and slowly looking around. “I just hu-hate to wake up.” “Go to sleep again,” advised Walter Mayfair. “You’ll never be missed.” “It’s a splendid plan,” came, with enthusiasm, from Dolph Renwood, who was sitting on a rough table, the edge of which he was notching with his jack-knife. “It’s a pity it can’t be carried out, and I’m not so sure but it can be.” “HOW?” shouted all the others, as one person. “If we could get the leading citizens of the town interested, they might contribute to a fund to——” “Contribute to your Aunt Hannah!” grunted Thad Boland,[71] derisively. “I don’t think you know much about the leading citizens of this town, Mr. Renwood.” “But you must have some rich men who are public-spirited and can afford to help along such a worthy move? Now, there is Mr. Tuttle, for instance. They say he has dead loads of money.” “Old Tut-Tut-Tuttle!” exploded Chatterton, contemptuously. “Why, he lul-lul-lul-let his own bub-bub-brother die on the pup-pup-poor-farm! He’s mum-mean enough to sus-skin a louse for its hide and taller!” “Well, there is Eben Snood,” ventured Dolph. “He pretends to take great interest in the welfare and advancement of the town.” “Snood is worse than Tuttle,” asserted Rob Linton. “Before he will let go of a cent he’ll squeeze it so hard that it looks as if it had been run over by a railroad train.” “I don’t think,” said Sterndale, “that we can expect any assistance from the people of the village till we show that we are in earnest by starting the fund ourselves.” “Hey?” gasped Old Lightning. “Well, I’ve got seven cents and a fish-hook that I’ll contribute, if you’re going to take up a collection.” “We’ll not begin by taking up a collection,” Dick declared. “Then hu-how can we begin?” asked Danny, earnestly. “By saving the money we take at the gate when we play football, baseball, or anything of that sort; by getting[72] up athletic contests that will call out paying crowds to witness the sport; and by holding a series of entertainments in the Town Hall this winter. In that way we might be able to obtain the beginning of a fund that would in time become large enough for us to accomplish our purpose and build a club-house.” “It’s too long to wait, b’ys,” murmured Dennis Murphy. “Av we raised the money thot way, we moight get it in toime to build an ould men’s home fer some av us, an’ we’d be lucky at thot.” “That’s right,” nodded Leon Bentley. “I believe in getting some benefit from the money as we receive it, and I’m in for using it up. I want to spend my share.” “We haven’t heard from you, Smith,” said Sterndale, addressing a grave-looking lad, who had been listening without speaking. “What do you think?” “I think it is a great scheme, if it can be carried out,” answered John Smith. “I believe we should talk this over and investigate it fully. It does seem rather visionary now, but it may be practical.” “I tell you I don’t take any stock in it!” exclaimed Bentley, rather pettishly. “We can’t hold an organization together long enough to carry out the scheme. Why, just see how this Don Scott affair has broken us up already. We don’t know where to get a good man to fill Scott’s place. Something else may come up later, and the eleven and the club may disband.” “Dud-don’t be forever cuc-cuc-croaking, Bent!” exclaimed[73] Chatterton. “You’re always expecting something bub-bad to happen.” Ford, the deaf-mute, was the only member of the party who had not expressed an opinion of some sort. He sat there among them, looking on, his eyes bright and keen, apparently enjoying their society, if not their conversation. Renwood flipped his jack-knife, causing it to strike, point first and stand up in the soft wood table. “If other men of the place would take an interest,” he said, “I believe I could interest my father.” “By George! that’s a handsome knife, old man!” Bentley observed, reaching over and taking it. “Pearl-handled and four-bladed. Got your initials on the handle, too. I’d like to have a knife like that. How much did it cost?” “I don’t know. Father gave it to me.” “Well, my old man wouldn’t think of giving me a knife like that. He thinks any kind of an old toad-sticker is good enough for a boy.” Bentley seemed to regard the handsome knife with longing eyes, then he placed it on the table again beside Dolph. “This Scott affair is unfortunate, to say the least,” admitted Sterndale; “but I have no idea that it will cause the breaking up of the eleven. He is only one man.” “Mr. Renwood seems to think there are other men on the team who had better get off, or who will be fired off,” said Bentley. [74]“How do you know I think so?” asked Dolph, quickly. “Why, haven’t you said as much?” “No. I may have said that some were not much good, but I said nothing about their getting off or being fired off. If anybody is fired, it will be his own fault.” “Of course it was nobody’s fault but Scott’s that he got off the team?” “Surely not. He’s a hot-headed fellow, and he needs to be kept in his place. He’s had his own way all his life, and he’s spoiled. He insulted me, the coach of the team, on the field, and I should have demanded an apology if he had remained on the eleven. He made it plain that it would be impossible for him and me to pull together on the same team, and I’m sure we shall get along just as well without him.” There was a quick step outside the door, and Don Scott himself came into the room. The lowering expression on his dark face told that he had overheard Renwood’s words, and his flashing eyes indicated that again he was aroused. Fixing his eyes on Dolph, he walked straight up to the table on which the city lad was seated. “You are right, Renwood,” he said, in a voice that quivered from the tensity of his feelings, “you and I could never pull together on the same team. That is settled at last for all time, and I now give notice that I will withdraw from both the eleven and this club. Just as long as you are a member of either I shall stay out.” Don Scott had come there to say something entirely[75] different, but again that day his passions were aroused, as he had overheard Dolph’s final speech. “I presume you are at liberty to withdraw if you like,” said Renwood. Don turned to the captain of the eleven. “You may choose between us, Sterndale!” he cried. “I belong in Rockspur, I am one of the village fellows, and this chap is an outsider. I don’t believe he really cares a rap whether Rockspur has a winning team or not. He simply likes to show off what he knows, or what he pretends to know. If he took a notion, I’ll bet he’d throw a game to Highland in a minute, and I——” Renwood sprang down from the table and seemed on the point of striking the insulting speaker; but, with a curl of his scornful lips, Don folded his arms, saying: “Strike! You are safe, for you know I can’t hit you back, having promised your sister that I would not fight with you. Strike!” Dolph’s fist fell at his side. “Take back your promise!” he panted. “I demand it! You have insulted me, and you must give me satisfaction!” With a show of contempt, Don half-turned his back on the quivering city youth. “I’ve had my say,” he declared. “You may take your time to think it over, Sterndale.” Then he walked out of the room, and they heard him descend the stairs. [76]For some moments all in the room seemed to remain motionless and breathless. Dennis Murphy broke the silence. “D’yer moind now, thot b’y is a hot birrud!” he said. “I couldn’t hit him!” grated Dolph, still shaking. “He took refuge behind his promise to my sister. But he’ll have to face me! I’ll force him to do it!” Then came comments and remarks from all quarters, and it was some time after Scott’s departure before the boys cooled down. As he resumed his position on the table, Renwood discovered that his knife was missing. “What’s become of my knife?” he asked. “It was here on the table.” “Didn’t you put it into your pocket?” asked Bentley. Dolph shook his head. “No; I left it lying on the table. Scott came in just a moment after you put it back there.” However, he felt through his pockets, but did not find it. Then the boys searched for the knife, looking under the table and into all sorts of corners. Again Renwood searched his pockets, turning them wrongside out one by one, but with no better success than before. The knife was not found. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div class="chapter"> [77] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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