The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ had a vicious-looking beast, all head and jaws, under his arm.

      “Dog!” roared Cas, insulted. “This’s a blooded bull-terrier pup. ’Course I’m going to take him. We can’t win the pennant without Algy.”

      “Algy? Is thet his name?” burst out Mac, who had already exhausted his patience. “Thet’s a fine name for a mongrel brute. He’s uglier than a mud fence.”

      As Mac concluded, a rat ran across the platform. Algy saw it, and with a howl wriggled out of his master’s arms and gave chase. The platform was crowded with people, of whom ladies made up the greater part. Algy chased the rat from under the trucks and between the trunks right into the crowd. Instantly a scene of great excitement prevailed. Women screamed and rushed frantically into each others’ arms; some fell over their grips; several climbed upon trunks; all of them evinced a terror that must have had its origin in the movements of the escaping rat, not the pursuing pup. And the course of both animals could be marked by a zigzag line of violent commotion in the crowd.

      Presently a woman shrieked and seemed to sit down upon a moving object only to slip to the floor. Algy appeared then with the rat between his jaws.

      “It was a cinch he’d get it,” yelled Cas. He gathered up the pup and hid him under his coat.

      “Line up! Line up!” shouted Mac, as the train whistled.

      The players stepped into a compact, wedge-shaped formation; and when the train stopped in the station, they moved in orderly mass through the jostling mob. Ball players value a rest to tired legs too much to risk standing up, and even in the most crowded stations always board the train first.

      “Through to the Pullman!” yelled Mac.

      Chase was in the seventh heaven of delight. He had long been looking forward to what the players called “on the road.” and the luxurious Pullman suited his dreams of travel. He and Winters took a seat opposite a very stout old lady who gazed somewhat sourly at them. Havil and Thatcher were on the other side of the aisle; Cas had a seat in the forward end; Mac was behind; and the others were scattered about. There were some half-dozen passengers besides, notable among whom was a very tall, thin, bald-headed man sitting in front of Havil. Chase knew his fellow-players too well by this time to expect them to settle down calmly. “On the road” was luxury for ball players. Fast trains, the best hotels, all expenses paid—these for a winning baseball team were things to appreciate. Chase settled back in the soft cushioned seat to watch, to see, to enjoy every move and word of his companions.

      “Where will we sleep?” he asked Winters.

      “Never on a sleeper?”

      Chase smiled and shook his head. Then Enoch began to elaborate on the beds that were let down from the ceiling of the car, and how difficult they were to get into and out of, especially the latter in case of fire, which broke out very frequently on Pullmans.

      “An’ if anybody yells ‘Fire!’ you skedaddle to the fire-escape,” concluded Enoch.

      “Fire-escape? On a train? Where is it?” queried Chase, wonderingly.

      “Don’t you know where the fire-escape is?” asked Enoch, in innocent surprise. His round owl eyes regarded Chase in a most kindly light. “Well, you ask the porter. He’ll take an’ show you.”

      Straightway Chase forgot it in the interest of other things. The train was now in smooth, rapid motion; the fields and groves and farms flashed by. He saw the conductor enter the car and stand by Cas. Cas looked up, and then went on calmly reading his paper.

      “Tickets,” said the conductor, sharply. Cas paid not the slightest attention to him.

      “Tickets,” repeated the conductor, getting red in the face. He tapped Cas not lightly on the shoulder.

      “Wha-at?” demanded Cas.

      “Your ticket! I don’t wish to be kept waiting. Produce your ticket.”

      “I don’t need a ticket to ride on this bum road.”

      The conductor looked apoplectic. He reached up to grasp the bell-cord. “Your ticket, or I’ll stop the train and put you off.”

      “Put me off! I’d like to have a tintype of your whole crew trying to put me off this train.”

      Mac came into the car, and divining how matters stood, hurried forward to produce his party ticket. The conductor, still in high dudgeon, passed on down the aisle.

      “Good-evenin’, Mr. Conductor, this’s fine weather for travellin’,” said Enoch, in his soft voice. The conductor glanced keenly at him, but evidently disarmed by the placid round face and kind round eyes, replied in gracious affirmation.

      Enoch whispered in Chase’s ear, “Wait till the crew finds Cas’s bulldog. Don’t miss thet!”

      * * * *

      Some thirty miles out of Findlay, the train stopped at a junction. A number of farmers were lounging ’round the small station. Enoch raised the window and called one of them.

      “Hey! What’s the name of this place?” he asked of the one who approached, an angular, stolid rustic in overalls and top boots.

      “Brookville, mister,” was the civil reply.

      “Brookville! Wal, I swan! You don’t say! Fellow named Perkins live here?”

      “Yep. Hiram Perkins.”

      “Hiram—Hiram Perkins, my ole friend.” Enoch’s round face beamed with an expression of benign gratitude, as if he would, were it possible, reward the fellow for his information. “Tell Hiram his ole friend Si Hayrick was passin’ through an’ sends regards. Wal, how’s things? Ploughin’ all done? You don’t say! An’ corn all planted? Do tell! An’ the ham-trees grown’ all right?”

      “Whet?” questioned the farmer, plainly mystified, leaning forward.

      “How’s yer ham-trees?”

      “Never heerd of sich.”

      “Wal, dog-gone me! Why, over in Indianer our ham-trees is sproutin’ powerful. An’ how about bee’s knees? Got any bee’s knees this spring?”

      The rustic stretched his long neck. Then as the train started off Enoch put his head out of the window and called: “Rubber-neck! Rubber-neck!”

      The stout lady in the opposite seat plainly sniffed her disgust at these proceedings on the part of a grown man. His innocent round stare in no wise deceived her. She gave him one withering glance, adjusted her eyeglass, and went on reading. Several times following that, she raised a hand to her face, as if to brush off a fly. But there was no fly. She became restless, laid aside her magazine, and rang for the porter.

      “Porter, close the window above. Cinders are flying in on me.”

      “Window’s closed, ma’am,” returned the porter.

      “Something is most annoying. I am being stung in the face by something sharp,” she declared testily.

      “Beggin’ yo pardon, ma’am, you are mistaken. There’s СКАЧАТЬ