FIRST BASE FAULKNER [Illustration: Sensing a mix-up, Joe held the ball and raced for second base] First Base Faulkner BY CHRISTY MATHEWSON AUTHOR OF CATCHER CRAIG, PITCHER POLLOCK, Etc. ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES M. RELYEA [Illustration] GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright, 1916, by DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE NEW HOME 3 II JOE LOOKS FOR WORK 16 III AUNT SARAH IS SURPRISED 28 IV JOE FINDS A FRIEND 45 V HOCKEY AND JUST TALK 59 VI JOE HAS AN IDEA 74 VII PARTNERS 86 VIII MR. CHESTER YOUNG 102 IX IN THE BASEBALL CAGE 117 X STRIKING A BALANCE 130 XI HANDSOME FRANK 138 XII OUTDOOR PRACTICE 151 XIII THE FIRST GAME 161 XIV A TRY-OUT AT FIRST 178 XV BUSTER DROPS OUT 190 XVI FOLEY IS WORRIED 208 XVII IN THE TWELFTH INNING 221 XVIII EMPTY BOXES 233 XIX JOE ACCEPTS A LOAN 243 XX PURSUIT 258 XXI ON THE WEST-BOUND 265 XXII THE AMATEUR DETECTIVE 278 XXIII âBATTER UP!â 296 XXIV BUNCHED HITS 307 XXV A DOUBLE UNASSISTED 317 ILLUSTRATIONS Sensing a mix-up, Joe held the ball and raced for second base (Page 327) _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Joe found himself still in the company of Strobe 54 âHe thinks heâs a pretty swell little dresser, Foley doesâ 214 â_What!_â squealed Young. âYou ainât aââaâââââ 290 FIRST BASE FAULKNER CHAPTER I THE NEW HOME âLuckyâ Faulkner arrived in Amesville, Ohio, shortly before seven oâclock of a cold morning in the first week of January. He wasnât known as âLuckyâ then, and he certainly didnât look especially fortunate as he stepped from train to platform and blinked drowsily at this first sight of the strange city that was to be his new home. He had travelled nearly six hours in a day-coach, sleeping fitfully with his head on the arm of the car seat, and his clothes were creased, his hair rumpled and his face tired and pale under its coating of train dust. He wore a good-looking gray ulster and a cap to match, and carried a big valise whose sides bulged tremendously and which bore the inscription âJ. C. F.â in neat old English characters. On the platform he set the bag down, took a trunk-check from a pigskin purse and gazed inquiringly about him. The passengers who had left the warmth of the cars had hurried to the restaurant to make the most of the ten minutes allowed them for breakfast, and it was much too early in the day for loiterers. It was a boy of about his own ageââwhich was sixteenââwho, stopped in his mad career of dragging a mail-sack along the platform, supplied information. âHuh? Expressman? Sure! Around back. Ask for Gus Tenney.â Gus, a small, crabbed-looking negro, was loading a huge sample-trunk into a ramshackle dray when discovered. âIâve got a trunk on this train,â said the new arrival. âWill you take it to Miss Teeleâs, on Brewer Street, please? And how much will it be?â âBrewer Street? Whatâs the number, Boss?â âOne-twenty-eight.â âFifty cents, Boss.â âIâll give you a quarter. Can you get it there by eight?â âI canât tote no trunk âway up to Brewer Street for no quarter, Boss. Youâll have to get someone else to do it.â âAll right. Is there anyone else around?â âDonât see anyone, Boss. Reckon Iâse the only one here.â âWill you take my trunk up there first and let me ride along with you?â âI got to deliver this to the Commercial House first, Boss.â âHow far is that from Brewer Street?â ââMost a mile.â âAnd Brewer Streetâs near the City Hall, isnât it?â âWell, it ainât so mighty far.â âAnd the Commercial House is near the City Hall, too, isnât it?â âLook here, Boss,â said the negro peevishly, âmaybe you-all knows my business betterân I do and maybe you donât. I got to deliver this trunk right away âcause the gentlemanâs waitinâ for it.â âAll right. Donât let me keep you, then.â âWell, you give me that check anâ Iâll get your trunk up just as soon as I can, Boss.â âNo, Iâll wait for someone else. It isnât worth more than a quarter.â The negro hesitated and muttered as he gave the sample-trunk a final shove. Then: âAll right, Boss, Iâll do it. Seems like folks nowadays donât want anyone to make a livinâ, I âclare to goodness it does!â âWill you get it there by eight?â âIâll get it there in half an hour, Boss, if that old mare of mine keeps on her feet. Itâs powerful mean goinâ today, with so much snow.â The boy yielded his check, saw his trunk put on the dray, and, after getting directions from the negro, trudged across Railroad Avenue and turned eastward past the row of cheap stores and tenement houses that faced the tracks. There had been a good deal of snow since Christmas and it was still piled high between sidewalk and street. Overhead a gray morning sky threatened more, and there was a nip in the air that made the boy set his bag down before he had traversed a block and slip on a pair of woollen gloves. Behind him a door opened and an appealing odour of coffee and cooking was wafted out to him. As he took up his valise again he looked wistfully through the frost-framed window of the little eating-house and mentally counted up his change. Evidently the result prohibited refreshment, for he went on, the heavy valise dragging and bumping as he walked, and at last turned the corner and struck northward. Here, after a short distance, the buildings became comfortable homes, many of them surrounded by grounds of some extent. From chimneys the gray smoke was ascending in the frosty air and now and then the tantalising vision of a breakfast table met his sight. The sidewalks hereabouts had been cleaned of snow and walking was easier, something the boy was heartily glad of since that valise was gaining in weight at every step. It was not, he was thinking as he trudged along, a very inspiriting morning on which to arrive in a strange place. Perhaps if the sun had been shining Amesville would have seemed less gloomy and inhospitable to him, but as it was he found nothing to like about the city. On the contrary, he was convinced that it was far inferior in every way to Akron and that he would never care for it, no matter how long he stayed there. However, he forgot to take into consideration the fact that he was tired and hungry and cold, neglected to realise that almost any city, approached from its least attractive quarter and viewed in the dim light of a cloudy Winter morning, looks far from its best. He set his valise down at a corner, rubbed his chilled fingers, and went on once more with his burden in the other hand. He was wondering now what Aunt Sarah would prove to be like. He had never seen her to remember her, although his mother had tried to recall to his recollection an occasion when Aunt Sarah had visited them in Akron. But that had been when he was only four or five years old and his memory failed him. Aunt Sarah was not a real, bona-fide aunt, for she was his motherâs half-sister. But she was the closest relative there was and when it had become necessary to break up the home in Akron it was Aunt Sarah who had written and offered to take them in. There would be practically no money left after his fatherâs affairs had been settled up and all the bills paid, and Mrs. Faulkner had been very glad to accept Aunt Sarahâs hospitality for her son. She herself had obtained, through the influence of a friend of her husbandâs, the position of housekeeper in a hotel in Columbus. Since her son could not be with her she had decreed that he was to go to Amesville, finish his schooling there, and remain with Aunt Sarah until enough money had been saved to allow of the establishment of a new home. He had pleaded hard to be allowed to leave high school and find work in Columbus, but Mrs. Faulkner wouldnât hear of it. âYou may not realise it now, dear,â she had said, âbut an education is something you must have if you are ever to amount to anything. And thereâs just one time to get it, and thatâs now. If you study hard youâll be through high school next year. Youâll be eighteen, and thatâs quite young enough to start earning a living. Meanwhile Aunt Sarah will give you a good home, dear. I shall pay her a little, as much as I can afford, so you neednât feel that you are accepting charity. You must try to be nice to her, too. Sheââshe doesnât always show her best side, unless sheâs changed since I saw her last, but sheâs as good as gold, for all her sharp tongue. And I want you to try and remember that, dear.â He recalled the words now and tried to banish the mental picture of Aunt Sarah which he had unconsciously drawn: a tall, thin, elderly maiden lady with sharp features and a sharper tongue, dressed in a gingham gown of no particular colour and wearing a shawl over her shoulders. But the preconceived vision wouldnât be dispelled, and consequently, when a few minutes later, the door of the little yellow house with chocolate-coloured trimmings opened to his ring and Aunt Sarah confronted him, he was not a bit surprised. For she was, with the exception of gingham dress and shawl, so much like what he had imagined that it was quite as if he had known her for a long time. âThis is Joseph?â she asked as he took off his cap on the threshold. âYouâre late. Iâve been expecting you for a quarter of an hour and breakfast is stone-cold likely. Come in, please, and donât keep the door open. Take your bag right upstairs. Itâs the first room to the left. When youâve washed, and dear knows you need it, come right down again. I dislike very much having folks late to their meals.â During this announcement, uttered levelly in a sharp voice, she shook hands rather limply, closed the door, pushed the rug straight again with the toe of a sensible boot and smoothed the front of her black merino gown. That black gown was the only thing that didnât fit in with his picture of her and he rather resented it as, tugging his bag behind him, he went up the narrow, squeaky staircase. That colourless gingham he had mentally attired her in would, he thought, have been less depressing than the black merino. The room in which he found himself was small, but, in spite of the cheerless weather outside, bright and homelike. There were some surprisingly gay cretonne curtains at the two windows, the paper was blue-and-white in a neat pattern, the brass knobs of the single bed shone like globes of gold, and Joe noted with approval that the gaslight was convenient to the old-fashioned mahogany, drop-front desk. On the table at the head of the bed were three books, disputing the small surface with a candlestick and a match-safe, and while he hurriedly prepared for breakfast he stole time to examine the titles. âEvery Boyâs Handy Book,â he read, âSelf-Help,â âLeather Stocking Tales.â He smiled as he turned away. On the walnut bureauââit had a marble slab and an oval mirror and a lidded box at each sideââwas a Bible. He made a quick toilet and returned downstairs. A pleasant fragrance of coffee guided him to the dining-room. Aunt Sarah was already in place and a large black cat was asleep on a chair between the windows. âThat will be your place,â said Miss Teele, indicating a chair across the table with a nod. âDo you eat oatmeal?â âYes, maâam, thanks,â replied Joe as he settled himself and opened his napkin. Aunt Sarah helped him and passed the dish. A glass percolator was bubbling at her elbow and, after serving the oatmeal, she extinguished the alcohol flame underneath and poured a generous and fragrant cup of coffee. Joe ate hungrily and finished his oatmeal in a trice. He would have liked more, but none was offered. Then an elderly, stoop-shouldered woman entered with a quick, curious glance at Joe from a pair of faded eyes and deposited a platter of bacon and eggs before her mistress. âThis is Mildred Faulknerâs boy, Amanda,â announced Miss Teele. âYou may hand the coffee, please.â Amanda nodded silently in reply to Joeâs murmured âHow do you do?â and quickly departed, to return a moment later with a toast-rack. Joe had never seen toast served that way before and was viewing it interestedly when Aunt Sarah, having served him with a generous helping of bacon and a fried egg, and tasted her coffee, remarked: âYouâll find the food here plain but wholesome, Joseph. And I guess youâll always get enough. If you donât I want you to tell me. I donât hold with skimping on food. Howâs your mother?â âQuite well, thank you. She goes to Columbus today.â Aunt Sarah sniffed. âGoing to be a housekeeper at a hotel, she wrote me. A nice occupation, I must say, for a Teele!â âThere didnât seem to be much else,â replied Joe. âShe might have come to me. I offered her a home. But she always was dreadfully set and independent. Well, I hope she donât regret it. How was it your father didnât leave anything when he died?â âI donât know, Aunt Sarah. We always thought there was plenty of money before. But there were a good many bills, and the paper hadnât been paying very well for a year or two, and soâââââ âI told your mother when she was so set on marrying John Faulkner that heâd never be able to provide for her. Iâm not surprised.â âBut he did provide for my mother,â replied Joe indignantly. âWe always had everything we wanted.â âYou havenât got much now, have you? Giving your folks all they want while youâre alive and leaving them without a cent when you die isnât exactly my idea of providing.â Aunt Sarah sniffed again. âNot that I had anything against your father, though. I always liked him. What I saw of him, that is, which wasnât much. He just wasnât practical. Are you like him?â âFolks say I look like him,â said Joe coldly. He felt resentful of Aunt Sarahâs criticism. âSo you do, but I guess youâve got more spunk than he ever had. Youâll need it. When do you propose to start in school?â âAs soon as I can. I thought Iâd go and see the principal this morning.â âThe sooner the better, I guess. Idleness never gets a body anywhere. Will you have another egg?â âYes, please.â âIâm glad you havenât got a finicky appetite.â She added bacon to the egg and pushed the toast-rack nearer. âWill you have another cup of coffee?â Joe would and said so. It seemed to him that he would never get enough to eat, which, considering that he hadnât had anything since six oâclock the night before wasnât surprising. Aunt Sarah nibbled at a piece of toast and sipped her coffee and was silent. Joe felt that he ought to attempt conversation and presently said: âYou have a very pleasant home, Aunt Sarah.â âIâm not complaining any,â was the brief response. A minute later he happened to look up and caught her gaze. He may have been mistaken, but it seemed to him that she was regarding his performance with knife and fork quite approvingly. When he had finished, Aunt Sarah said grace, which to Joeâs thinking was turning things around, and arose. âI suppose you brought a trunk with you?â she questioned. âYes, maâam, and it ought to be here. The expressman said he would get it around by eight.â âLike as not it was Gus Tenney,â said Aunt Sarah. âIf it was it wonât get here until afternoon, I guess. Heâs the most worthless, shiftless negro in town.â But Aunt Sarah, for once, did the coloured gentleman an injustice, for even as she finished he backed his team up to the sidewalk. âYou show him where to put it,â she instructed, âand tell him to be careful and not bump the walls. And donât pay him a cent more than a quarter of a dollar, Joseph. Have you got any money?â âYes, maâam, thanks.â Aunt Sarah, who had begun to look around in a mildly distracted way for her purse, stopped and said âHmph!â Then, âWell, donât you give him more than a quarter, now!â Five minutes later Joe was unpacking his belongings and whistling quite merrily. After all, things werenât so bad, he reflected. Aunt Sarah was cross-grained beyond a doubt, but she gave a fellow plenty to eat! âAnd good eats, too!â he murmured contentedly. CHAPTER II JOE LOOKS FOR WORK âJoseph Faulkner?â inquired Mr. Dennison, the high school principal. âYes, sir.â âIâm very glad to meet you, Faulkner.â They shook hands and Mr. Dennison pulled a chair nearer the big, broad-topped desk. âSit down, please. You wrote me a week or so ago from Akron, I believe, and enclosed a letter from your principal, Mr. Senter.â âYes, sir.â âI have it here, I think.â Mr. Dennison searched for a moment in the file at his elbow and drew forth the two communications pinned together. He read Mr. Senterâs letter again and nodded. âI see,â he murmured. âNow tell me something about yourself, my boy. Your father has died recently?â âYes, sir, in November.â âIâm very sorry. I think now I recall reading of his death in the paper. He was the editor of the _Enterprise_, I believe?â âYes, sir. He owned the paper, too. That is, most of it.â âYour mother is alive, I trust?â âYes, sir.â âAnd you have brothers and sisters?â âNo, sir; thereâs only me.â âI see. I rather expected your mother would call with you, Faulkner. Itâs the customary thing. We rather like to meet the pupilsâ parents and get in touch with them, so to speak. Possibly your mother, however, was not feeling well enough to accompany you this morning.â âShe isnât here, sir. Sheâs in Columbus. You see, father didnât leave much money and so sheââshe took a position in Columbus and sent me here to live with an aunt, a Miss Teele, on Brewer Street. Mother wants me to finish high school. I thought Iâd ought to go to work, but she wouldnât let me.â âDear, dear!â said Mr. Dennison sympathetically. âMost unfortunate! Well, I think your mother is quite right, my boy. Youâll be better fitted to face theââerââthe responsibilities of life if you have supplied yourself with an education. Hm! Yes. Now, let me see. I gather from what your former principal writes that you have been a very steady, hard-working student. You like to study and learn, Faulkner?â âYes, sir. That is, I like to study some things. And, of course, I want to learn. Mr. Senter said he thought there wouldnât be any trouble about my getting into the junior class here, sir. Iâve only missed about seven weeks.â âI see.â Mr. Dennison thoughtfully folded the letters in his hands, observing Joe the while. What he saw prepossessed him in the boyâs favour. Joe was large for his age, sturdy without being heavy, and had the healthful colouring and clear eyes of a youth who had divided his time fairly between indoors and out. You wouldnât have called him handsome, perhaps, for his nose wasnât at all classic, being rather of the tip-tilted variety, and his chin was a bit too square to meet the Greek standard of beauty. Perhaps it was the chin that had suggested spunk to Aunt Sarah. Anyhow, it suggested it to Mr. Dennison. In fact, the whole face spoke of eager courage, and the gray eyes looked out with a level directness that proclaimed honesty. For the rest, he had light-brown hair, so light that one hesitated at calling it brown, but had to for want of a better description, a forehead that matched the chin in breadth and gave the face a square look, and a mouth that, no matter how serious the rest of the countenance was, seemed on the point of breaking into a smile. On the whole, summed up the principal, a healthy, honest, capable appearing boy, and one likely to be heard from. âYes,â said Mr. Dennison after a momentâs silence, âyes, I think the junior class is where you belong. At least, weâll try you there. I donât want to set you back unless itâs quite necessary. You may have to work hard for a month or so to catch up, but I think you can do it. How old are you, Faulkner?â âSixteen, sir, on the fourth of last August.â Other questions were asked and answered and the answers were entered on a filing card. Then: âCan you start in tomorrow?â asked the principal. âYes, sir, Iâd like to.â âVery well. Then in the morning report in Room D to Mr. Whalen. School takes in at eight-thirty. Here is a list of books and materials youâll need, many of which you doubtless have already. Any books or stationery you need can be obtained at the outer office. Books may be purchased outright or rented, as you please. Thatâs all, I think. I hope youâll like us here, Faulkner. You must get acquainted with the other boys, you know, and then youâll feel more at home. Come and see me in a day or two and tell me how you are getting on. And if thereâs anything you want to know or if thereâs any help you need donât hesitate to apply to Mr. Jonson, my assistant, or to me.â Mr. Dennison shook hands again and Joe, armed with the printed list of books and materials, expressed his thanks and passed out into the corridor. A gong had sounded a moment before and the stairways and halls were thronged with students. No one, however, paid any attention to Joe and he left the big building and walked across the town to Main Street and turned southward, his eyes busy as he went. The sky was still gray and Main Street was ankle-deep in yellow-brown slush, and Amesville did not, perhaps, look its best even yet. But the buildings, if not so fine as those of Akron, were solid and substantial for the most part, and the stores presented enticing windows and leavened the grayness with colour and brightness. It seemed, he decided, a busy, bustling little cityââhe had already ascertained that it boasted a population of twenty-five thousand and the honor of being the county seatââand it didnât require any great effort of imagination to fancy himself back in Akron. Joe not only observed but he studied, and for a reason. To let you into a secret which he had so far confided to no one, Joe had no intention of allowing his mother to pay Aunt Sarah for his board and lodging for very long. He meant to find some sort of work that he could perform before and after school hours. What it was to be he did not yet know, although there was one job he expected to be able to secure if nothing more promising offered. He was fairly certain, although his mother had not taken him into her confidence to that extent, that hotel housekeepers did not receive munificent wages, and he realised that his mother, used to having practically every comfort money could buy, would find it hard enough to get on without having to send a part of her monthly salary to Aunt Sarah. The job that he felt pretty certain of obtaining was that of delivering newspapers. Joe was well enough acquainted with the newspaper business to know that it was always difficult for circulation managers to find boys enough to keep the routes covered. He had had some experience of the kind, for when he was in grammar school he had delivered the _Enterprise_ all one Summer and part of a Winter, until, in fact, a chronic condition of wet feet caused his mother to interfere. His father had not at any time approved of the proceeding, for Mr. Faulkner had been a man of position in Akron and it had seemed to him that in carrying a newspaper route Joe was performing labor beneath him and, perhaps, casting aspersions on the financial and social standing of Mr. John Faulkner. Joe had had to beg long for permission and his father had agreed with ill-grace. The fun had soon worn off, but Joe had kept on with the work long after his chum, who had embarked in the enterprise with him, had given up. It didnât bring in much money, and Joe didnât need what it did bring, since his father was lavishly generous in the matter of pocket-money. It was principally the fact that his father had predicted that he would soon tire of it that kept him doggedly at it when the cold weather came. Getting up before light and tramping through snow and slush to toss twisted-up papers into doorways soon became the veriest drudgery to the fourteen-year-old boy, and only pride prevented him from crying quits. When, finally, wet boots and continual sniffling caused his mother to put her foot down Joe was secretly very, very glad! But delivering newspapers wasnât the work he wanted now, unless he could find none other, and, as he went down Main Street just before noon, his eyes and mind were busy with possibilities. To find a position as a clerk was out of the question, since he wouldnât be able to work during the busiest hours. Some labor that he might perform after school in the afternoon and during the evening was what he hoped to find. And so, as he passed a store or an office, he considered its possibilities. He paused for several minutes in front of one of the big windows of Miller and Tappenâs Department Store, but finally went on with a shake of his head. If it had been before instead of after the holidays he might have found employment there as an extra hand in the wrapping or shipping department, but now they would more likely be turning help away than taking it on. A drug store on the corner engaged his attention next, and then a brilliantly red hardware store across the street, a hardware store that evidently did a large business in athletic goods if one was to judge by the attractive display in one broad window. But Joe couldnât think of any position in one or the other that he could apply for. Further along, a handsome new twelve-story structure was nearing completion, and he stopped awhile to watch operations. It was the only âskyscraperâ in sight and consequently stuck up above the surrounding five- and six-story edifices like, to use Joeâs metaphor, a sore thumb! It was a fine-looking building, though, and he found himself feeling a civic pride in it, quite as though he was already a settled citizen of the town. Well, for that matter, he told himself, he guessed Amesville wasnât such a bad place, after all, and if only he could find a job that would bring him in enough to pay Aunt Sarah for board and lodgingââââ But at that moment the noon whistle blew, a bell struck twelve somewhere and Joe turned back toward Brewer Street. Aunt Sarah had enjoined him to be back before half-past twelve, which was dinner time, and he recalled her assertion that she disliked having folks tardy at meals. So his search for employment must wait until later. His walking had made him hungry again and he viewed veal chops smothered with tomato sauce and the riced potatoes piled high in the blue dish and the lima beans beside it with vast approval. There was a generous plate of graham bread, too, and a pyramid of grape jelly that swayed every time Amanda crossed the floor. He satisfied Aunt Sarahâs curiosity as to the interview with the high school principal while satisfying his own appetite. Aunt Sarah said âHmph!â and that sheâd heard tell Mr. Dennison was a very competent principal. Thereupon she went into the past history of the Amesville High School and its heads, and Joe, diligently addressing himself to the viands, told himself that his Aunt Sarah seemed astonishingly well informed on the subject. Later he discovered that Aunt Sarah was well informed on most subjects and that when it came to town news she was better than a paper! âI had Amanda bake an apple pudding,â she informed him presently, when his appetite began to languish. âI guess boys usually like something sweet to top off with. Do you eat apple pudding?â âYes, Aunt. Most any kind of pudding. But donât youââdonât you go to any trouble about me, please. IââI can eat whatever there is. Iâve got a fine old appetite.â âHmph! Well, I guess you wonât go hungry here. Not that I intend to have things much different from usual, though. I donât hold with humouring folksâ notions about food. Food is food, I say, so longâs itâs nourishing and decently cooked. Your mother, though, was always a great one for strange, outlandish dishes and I suppose youâll miss âem. Well, all I can say is plain foodâs what I was brought up on and Iâve never seen anyone hurt none by eatinâ it. Iâve noticed that folks who like messed-up dishes generally have dyspepsia and are always doctoring themselves. Amanda, bring in the pudding.â Aunt Sarah seemed slightly surprised when, the apple pudding partaken of, Joe announced that he thought heâd go and have a look around town. âWell,â she said, âyouâre old enough to look after yourself, I suppose, but for goodnessâ sake, donât go and get run over or anything! Main Streetâs getting to be something awful, what with these automobiles and all. Seems like a body just has to take his life in his hands when he goes there nowadays. If those awful things donât run you down they scare you to death, and if they canât do any worse to you they spatter you with mud. Gracious sakes, I havenât dared shop on the other side of Main Street for âmost a year!â Joe didnât confide to her his real errand, just why he didnât exactly know. Perhaps he had a dim notion that Aunt Sarah wouldnât approve of his engaging in work that might keep him away from home at strange hours of the day or night. She watched his departure doubtfully from the front door and when he was almost to the corner of the next street called after him to go to Rice and Perryâs and get himself a pair of overshoes. âTell Mr. Perry theyâre to be charged to me, and see that he gives them to you big enough. If you donât watch him heâll fit you too snug and then theyâll wear out right away!â Joe didnât obey instructions, however. Somehow he wasnât yet ready to become indebted to Aunt Sarah, and, besides, he didnât need overshoes to get around today. His boots were heavy-soled and as nearly waterproof as any âguaranteed waterproofâ boots ever are. During the afternoon he made several inquiries for work. A photographer declined his offer to do errands after three oâclock in the afternoon, a haberdasher failed to discern the benefits to accrueââto himââfrom giving employment to the applicant, and four other merchants of different trades answered to similar effect. Just before dusk Joe sought the office of the Amesville _Recorder_. CHAPTER III AUNT SARAH IS SURPRISED The _Recorder_ was an evening paper and came off the press at half-past three, and for that reason Joe had made it first choice over its morning rival, the _Gazette_, which was delivered in the early morning. Fortunately, he found the circulation manager still on duty when he reached the office, and although that gentleman, who wore a nervous, harassed look, scowled upon him fiercely at first, the scowl gradually faded as Joe stated his mission. Unknown to him, Joe had timed his application extremely well, since one of the carriers had that very afternoon been given his dismissal, and it didnât take more than four minutes to secure what he was after. The route was not a long one and paid less than Joe wished it did, but the manager promised to give him something better if he proved satisfactory and the opportunity occurred. Joe was supplied with a list of subscribers on Route 6, told to be on hand promptly next afternoon at three-thirty, and took himself away well satisfied. The work would bring him only three dollars a week, which was much less than he believed himself capable of earning, but the route would take but two hours from the time he left the newspaper office and he would be through well before supper time. Besides, Joe had no intention of delivering papers very long. Sooner or later, he believed, a better chance would offer. Until then, though, Route 6, with its resultant three dollars a week, would be a heap better than nothing. He told Aunt Sarah about it at the supper table and Aunt Sarah, instead of expressing disapproval, appeared much pleased. Only, she insisted, the work mustnât be allowed to interfere with his studies. Joe assured her that it wouldnât, since he would have his evenings free. After supper he went upstairs, opened the mahogany desk and wrote a long letter to his mother. He tried to make it sound very brave and cheerful, but I donât think Mrs. Faulkner had much difficulty in reading between the lines and reaching the conclusion that Joe was a little bit homesick and lonely and that he missed her a lot. He told about his interview with Mr. Dennison and about the employment he had secured. âIt pays only three dollars,â he wrote, âbut it wonât take more than an hour and a half or two hours and I wonât have to work on Sunday because the _Recorder_ doesnât have any Sunday edition. Iâm going to pay two and a half of it to Aunt Sarah every week and so you wonât have to send her very much, will you? Iâd give it all to her, but I guess Iâd better keep a half-dollar out for pocket-money. Then you wonât have to send me any money. After a while Iâm going to get something to do that will pay me more and maybe then you wonât have to send Aunt Sarah a cent. Aunt Sarah looks like she would bite my head off if I brought any dirt into the house on my shoes and she talks mighty crusty, but I guess sheâs a pretty good sort after all. She had Amanda cook me a bully apple pudding for dinner today. Iâm pretty sure she did it on my account, because she didnât touch it herself. Amanda is a funny old woman who does the cooking and so on. Sheâs about sixty, I guess, and hasnât but three or four teeth and sort of mumbles when she talks. When I say anything to her she looks scared and beats it. âMr. Dennison gave me a list of the books I have to have and Iâve got them all but one. I can rent that and it wonât cost much. Iâve still got nearly four dollars of what you gave me and you donât need to send me any more. I guess Iâm going to like this place very much when I get used to it. Aunt Sarah wanted me to get a pair of overshoes and charge them to her, but I didnât like to, and besides my boots are all right without overshoes. Maybe Iâll get a new pair of rubbers some time. The ones I brought with me are sort of leaky. But I wonât need any other things like clothes or shoes or anything for almost a year, I guess, so youâre not to worry about me.â He spent all of an hour over that letter and used four sheets of Aunt Sarahâs old-fashioned blue-ruled paper, and when it was finished and ready for the mail his watch told him that the time was half-past nine. He was opening his door to go downstairs and say good-night to Aunt Sarah when he heard her coming up. âI hope youâll have enough covers,â she said as she came to the doorway. âIf you havenât youâll find another comfortable on the closet shelf. Breakfastâs at seven, but if youâre very sleepy tomorrow I guess it wonât matter much if you donât come down right on time. Amanda can keep something hot for you. âTwonât hurt her a bit. I suppose youâll be wanting a bath every morning, and I havenât any objection to your having it, only remember the waterâs metered and donât let the plug slip out. Itâs awful the way they charge for water nowadays! First thing we know theyâll be putting the air on a meter, too, just as likely as not! Well, I hope you sleep well and get rested, Joseph. Good-night.â âGood-night, Aunt Sarah.â Joe hadnât had any intention of doing what he did then, but writing to his mother had left him a little bit lonesome, andââwell, acting on the impulse of the moment, he kissed Aunt Sarah on the cheek! I fancy he was almost if not quite as surprised as Aunt Sarah when he had done it. That Aunt Sarah was surprised was very evident. Indeed, something very like consternation was expressed on her countenance. â_Hmph!_â she snorted. âHmph! Well, I declare!â Joe, embarrassed himself, drew back over the threshold, smiling uncertainly. Aunt Sarah, at a loss for further words, stared a moment, said âHmph!â again in more thoughtful accents and turned away. But when she had gone a few steps she paused. âI told Amanda to boil you a couple of eggs for breakfast,â she announced, âbut maybe you donât care for eggs. Some folks donât.â âIndeed, I do. Thanks.â âWell, all right, then. I donât hold with humouring folks with finicky appetites, but if thereâs anything youâd rather have than the eggsâââââ âThere isnât, really. The eggs will be fine!â âHumph! Good-night.â Aunt Sarahâs door closed softly down the hall and Joe smiled as he shut his own. âI donât believe she minded it at all,â he murmured. âI guessââI guess sheâs never had very many kisses!â His first day of school passed without special incident. Several fellows spoke to him at recess and satisfied their curiosity about the newcomer, but none of them appealed greatly to Joe and he made no effort to pursue the acquaintances. At half-past three he was on hand at the _Recorder_ office, received his bundle of papers, slung them at his side by a strap which he had bought on the way from school, and started out. His route began nearly a mile from the newspaper building and it would have saved time if he had taken a car on Main Street. But to do that every day would cost him thirty cents, and thirty cents taken from three dollars leaves quite a hole! So he tramped the distance instead. He had already studied his route on a map in a copy of the city directory and so had little difficulty. He did, however, manage to leave out a block and had to go back to it, but that wouldnât happen the next time. The district was one well over on the west side of town and was inhabited for the most part by factory workers, although there were a few blocks of more prosperous patrons. As a general thing the sidewalks were ill paved and held pools of slush or water, and Joeâs âwaterproofâ boots belied their reputation by the time he had tossed the last of his papers on the final porch. But damp feet didnât trouble him greatly and he made up his mind to change to a pair of slippers as soon as he got home. It was quite dark by the time he reached the little house in Brewer Street and Aunt Sarah had begun to be concerned, and when he entered the front door, she appeared quickly from the sitting-room. âI was beginning to think one of those automobiles had got you,â she said tartly. âItâs âmost six oâclock.â âIâm sorry to be so late,â replied Joe, âbut it took longer today than it will the next time. I missed some houses and had to go back.â âWell, I suppose I donât need to get anxious about you, butâââââ Aunt Sarah paused, her gaze on his feet. âJoseph Faulkner, look at your boots!â âYes, theyâre sort of damp, arenât they?â âSort of damp! Land sakes, theyâre sopping wet! You go right upstairs this very minute and take them off and change your socks and dry your feet andââand donât you dare come home tomorrow without those overshoes I told you to get yesterday! First thing I know youâll be down with pneumonia! Tramping around through the slush with nothing on but a pair of fancy shoes!â âTheyâre supposed to be waterproof, Aunt,â said Joe meekly. âSupposed to be! Maybe they are supposed to be, but they ainât. Now, donât stand there arguing, but do as I say, Joseph. I may not be your mother, but I guess I know wet shoes when I see them! And I donât see why you didnât get those overshoes like I told you to yesterday.â âI didnât feel that I could afford them,â said Joe defensively, âand I didnât just like to take them as a gift.â âLand sakes, you neednât be so proud, Joseph Faulkner! I guess Iâm your motherâs own half-sister, ainât I? And if that doesnât give me the right to buy a pair of overshoes for youââHmph! I never heard such foolishness. You take those wet shoes off directly and Iâll bring you up a cup of ginger-tea. Fine thing it would be to have you sick on my hands the very first week youâre here!â Joe went up, smiling to himself, and obeyed directions. Only, when Aunt Sarah passed a steaming cup of ginger-tea in to him he didnât play quite fair. He gave it a trial, to be sure, but he didnât like it, and if Aunt Sarah had been listening she might have heard one of the guest room windows cautiously raised. Let us hope that the ginger-tea had no ill effects on Aunt Sarahâs shrubs! Damp feet did not affect Joeâs appetite, and, watching him eat, Aunt Sarah dared hope that he was not in for a serious illness! By Saturday he had settled down into his new life. He was relieved to find that the few weeks away from school had not put him far behind and during that first week he proved to his own and Mr. Dennisonâs satisfaction that he really belonged in the junior class. He found much to like about the school. For one thing, the building, which was fairly new, was quite a model school structure, with big, broad rooms lighted by an almost continuous row of high windows through which the sunlight fairly streamed. Sunlight in classrooms makes for cheerfulness, and cheerfulness for better work, and better work for more cheerfulness! That, at least, was the way Joe summed it up. The fellows seemed an average lot, some nice, some rather objectionable, some neither one thing nor the other. The same was probably true also of the girls, but Joe, having no sisters of his own, was shy of girls and didnât attempt to decide as to whether they were nice or otherwise. At home he and Aunt Sarah settled down into a very pleasant companionship. Although her voice remained as acid as ever, it was evident to Joe that she was prepared to be fond of him, and that, used as he was to affection, was sufficient to make him fond of her. She was sometimes fussily anxious about him, but she didnât try to govern his movements, and that he appreciated. Aunt Sarahâs bark, he soon decided, was far worse than her bite. The newspaper route occupied his afternoons between school and supperââwhich was more like dinner, since he had only a light lunch in the middle of the dayââand required no great effort. On Monday he collected two dollars and a half for the five days he had worked and handed the amount over to Aunt Sarah. His board and lodging was, he learned, to cost three dollars a week. âThat,â said Aunt Sarah, âwas the arrangement your mother made. I told her she didnât need to pay a cent unless she was set on it, but she wouldnât let you come unless Iâd take some money. So I reckoned that three dollars would be about right. Iâve never taken a boarder and I donât pretend to know. If that seems too much, though, Iâd like you to tell me.â âIt doesnât seem enough, Aunt,â replied Joe. âIâll bet I eat more than three dollarsâ worth of food, and that doesnât leave anything for the room.â âI wasnât calculating to charge for the room. The roomâs there and it might as well be used. I just meant to charge for what you ate, Joseph, and I guess you wonât eat moreân three dollarsâ worth of food a week.â But that was on Monday, and today was only Saturday, and Joe had a whole morning to dispose of as he liked. He had been given a fine new pair of skates Christmas before last and had learned at school that there was fair skating on the river and on one or two ponds around town. After breakfast he got his skating boots and skates out of his trunk and looked them over. The only thing missing was a new lacing, and so he went across to Main Street in search of the article. But the shoe store in which he had purchased the overshoes didnât have a leather lacing suitable and sent him to Cummings and Wrightâs, further down the street. This, he discovered, was the brilliantly-red hardware store he had noticed one day. One side of it was given over to athletic goods and when Joe entered two boys were in conversation across a counter near the door. âYou canât get to work too early, Sam,â he heard one of them say as he drew near. âStart them going about the middle of February. Of course there isnât a whole lot to be done in the cage, but you can get in a lot of batting practice, and your pitchers can find themselves, andâââââ He broke off and walked along behind the counter to where Joe was standing. âGood morning,â he said cheerfully. âIs there something you want?â He was a well-built chap of seventeen, with red-brown hair, very blue eyes and a smile that won Joe on the instant. âI want a lacing for this boot, or a pair of them, please. They told me at Rice and Perryâs that you kept them.â âWe surely do, and you can have one or two, just as you say.â He turned away and pulled a box from the shelves. âThere you are. Five cents apiece.â âIâll take just the one, I guess.â âAll right. They say the skatingâs best at Proctorâs Pond. Have you tried it?â âNo, I havenât. I was going down to the river, because I thought I could find that. Where is this pond, please?â âTake a Fair Grounds car at Myrtle Street. Or you can walk it in twenty minutes. Youâll find it better than the river, I guess. Youâre a stranger here?â âIâve been here just a few days.â âThat so? I thought Iâd seen you around somewhere.â He had taken one of the skating boots and, despite Joeâs protest, was replacing the broken lace with the new one. âI know now; I saw you at high school, didnât I?â âI guess so. I started there Tuesday. IââIâve been living in Akron.â âAkronâs a nice town. Youâll like Amesville, though, when you get acquainted. Have you met many fellows at school yet?â âN-no, I havenât. That is, some have spoken to me, but I donât really know anyone yet.â âYou must, then. Start in by knowing me. My nameâs Pollock.â He smiled winningly and reached a hand across. Joe smiled back and clasped it. âThanks. Mine is Faulkner.â âSam!â called Pollock.
{'title': 'First Base Faulkner by Christy Mathewson', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}