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Updated: June 23, 2025
I can show you how to start her and stop her, and, if you can ride an ordinary bicycle, you'll find it a cinch to ride this. Come on. Afraid?" "Oh, no," said Rackliff, rising and snapping aside the butt of his cigarette, "but I should hate to get very far away and have it stop on me."
His head jerked round toward his shoulder, Rodney Grant looked into the eyes of his friend of a short time past, and suddenly he released his hold on Rackliff, who, gasping and ready to topple over, was supported by one of the other boys. "If you want to choke somebody, take me!" repeated Phil savagely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Grant took a long breath.
When it comes to cutting a dash well, Rack can cut it, you bet. I'll see if he's around." Springing out, Newbert strode to the door and rang. After a time, as he was growing impatient and had prepared to ring again, the door opened a foot or so, and a tall, thin, hopeless-looking woman surveyed him inquiringly. Newbert asked for Rackliff.
Never before in all his life had he felt so much like a contemptible criminal, a dastardly traitor to his team, against which, through the agency of Herbert Rackliff, he had wagered money. It was not, however, the fact that he had made such a wager that troubled him most, although at this moment, deep down in his heart, he was sincerely ashamed of that.
"How does it happen you have the impression that Barville will beat us, Rackliff?" inquired Roger Eliot mildly. "Well, now, I don't mind answering that," beamed Herbert. "Barville has got a surprise for you. I'm not supposed to mention it, but I can't keep it any longer. They've got a new catcher, a friend of mine, and " "I suppose you think he can play the whole game," scoffed Phil Springer.
Thus watching and thinking of the fellow's qualmless treachery to his own school team, Roy felt the first sensation of revulsion toward Rackliff. At the close of the game there was another boy on the field who was quite as glum and downcast as Hooker himself.
Phil was struck dumb for the moment, and before he could recover Hooker, having heard their voices, came running out to the carriage house, calling to Rackliff. Springer followed the drenched and complaining city youth into the shelter of the building, where Roy recognized him and seemed to betray embarrassment.
"My poor, poverty-stricken comrade!" murmured Herbert, preparing to light a fresh cigarette. "I sympathize with you. Follow my lead, and you'll wear diamonds." Thereafter Rackliff took great interest in Hooker's motorcycle more interest than the languid, indifferent fellow had seemed to show over anything else except his cigarettes.
Got a new catcher, you know." "No. I didn't know." "Yep. He's a corker. Knows the game from A to Z, and he's coaching Sanger. You should see them work together. By the way, he comes from a town near Boston. Part of the city, isn't it Roxbury? He knows more baseball than any fellow in these parts." "What's his name?" asked Rackliff, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Copley."
Remembering instructions, and following them faithfully, Rackliff speeded up the engine or slowed it down, as he desired, and soon his confidence rose. One of the street crossings gave him a bump that nearly threw him off, but he was prepared for the next, and took it easily.
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