"Well," said d.i.c.ky, "I spouse I've _got_ to take him. But he'll lose the game for us."

He turned to Marmaduke.

"I'll tell you what, Marmy," he said, "you can be the spectators--a whole pile of them--in the grand stand. Wouldn't you like to be a grand stand? That's great. Isn't it, fellows?"

"Sure," they all said, grinning, but Marmaduke didn't want to be any spectator, not even a grand stand. He wanted to be doing things, not watching. Lose that game, would he? No, he'd show them, he'd win it instead. He'd hit that ball clean over the fence--so far they'd never find it. But whew! That wouldn't do. He'd better not hit it quite so far or he'd lose his dandy Rocket ball.

But they had to give in and let him play before he would give them that ball. Then the two captains told their men to take their positions.

"I'll pitch," declared d.i.c.ky, "'n Reddy'll catch. Skinny you play 'first,' and Marmaduke out in the field. You kin go to sleep, too, for all I care--for you can't catch anything even if you had a peach basket to hold it in."

"Play ball!" shouted Fatty, and they all took their places, d.i.c.ky's team in the field, and Fatty's at the bat.

Marmaduke had to stand way out, and he didn't have much to do for a while, for the other team either struck out, or hit the ball towards d.i.c.ky, the pitcher, or Skinny at 'first.' Once a ball did come his way "Hold it!" shouted d.i.c.ky, but Marmaduke was so excited that he threw himself right at it, and the ball rolled between his legs.

"Aw! didn't I tell you?" said d.i.c.ky in disgust, and all on the other team shouted:

"b.u.t.terfingers!"

And, as every boy in the world knows, it is a great disgrace to be called "b.u.t.terfingers."

When the first inning was over the score stood six to five, and Fatty's team was ahead.

In the next inning the ball never once came towards Marmaduke, way out there in the field. All he could do was to watch the other boys catch the "pop-flies," stop the grounders, or run back and forth between first base and home. It was hard, too, when Marmaduke wanted so much to be in the thick of it.

Before long the score stood seventeen to fifteen, still in favor of Fatty's team. At last they were put out, and it was Marmaduke's turn to bat. If he could only knock a home run it would bring Skinny in and tie the score.

"Strike one!" called Sammy, who was catching.

Marmaduke swung at the next one too wildly.

"Strike two!"

And then, sad to tell,--

"Strike three!"

He was out--no doubt about it!

"Aw!" exclaimed d.i.c.ky, "what'd I tell you--you ought to be fired."

Marmaduke felt very much ashamed as he took his place out in the field again, with the score thirty-six to thirty against them.

Just then the Toyman and Jehosophat came up the road on their way back from Sawyer's Mill, and the Toyman stopped his horses to watch the game for a minute. Marmaduke gritted his teeth and clenched his hands.

He would have to do well now when they were looking on.

Before he knew it, two of the other team were out. Then, all of a sudden, he heard a loud crack. Looking up, he saw the ball sailing through the air. It wasn't sailing towards d.i.c.ky or Skinny. It was coming straight in his direction!

He formed his hands in the shape of a cup and waited. He was going to hold that ball--if it ever got there. And, sure enough, it fell in his outstretched hands. My! how that Rocket ball stung and burned! But he hung on for dear life.

"b.u.t.terfingers!" he heard Fatty call to "rattle" him. And that settled the matter, for, if he hadn't heard that word, he might have dropped the ball after all, but he was so determined to make Fatty take it all back that he made his fingers tight as a vise around the ball--and it stayed--it stayed there!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He formed his hands in the shape of a cup and waited."]

When he came in to take his turn at bat, d.i.c.ky patted him on the shoulder.

"Good boy, Mary!" he said, and Outfielder Green felt as pleased and proud as before he had been ashamed. But he felt even happier a little later.

It was the last half of the last inning. Reddy and Skinny each made one run and d.i.c.ky made two, and now the score stood thirty-six to thirty-five. Fatty's team was only one run ahead, and d.i.c.ky was on first with Marmaduke at the bat.

Now was Marmaduke's chance to win the game--the chance of a lifetime!

Fatty twirled the ball in his hand. Though he was fat, he could pitch like a regular pitcher. At least his motions were just as funny. He would curl up his fingers in a strange way to make what he called a curve. Then he would hold the ball up to his chin and look wisely over at first base, watching d.i.c.ky. Then he would curl his arms around his head several times, and at last he would let the ball fly.

Marmaduke tried hard to hit it, but he just tipped it.

"Foul!" called the catcher.

And Marmaduke missed the next one and the next. He had only one chance left now. And Fatty twisted himself up almost in knots, to make an extra fine curve, I suppose, for Marmaduke's benefit. Six times he did this before he let the ball go.

It came towards the home-plate and Marmaduke, as fast as an arrow. He gritted his teeth, and gripped his hands tight around the bat, and hit at that Rocket ball harder than he ever had in his life; and all the time his ears were listening for the "crack!"

Of course, it all happened very quickly, more quickly than we can ever tell about it in words, but--to make a long story short--he heard that crack!

He had hit it! And away the Rocket ball flew towards the dead chestnut tree, up, up, by the old crow's nest, and plop! right in the nest it dropped.

And d.i.c.ky came racing home, and Marmaduke not far behind him, his face red with excitement and his eyes shining.

And how the team cheered him now, and patted him on the back, and said "Good boy, Mary!" again, and how happy he felt!

There was a nice ending to it too, although the dandy Rocket ball was lost in the old crow's nest. For, when he told them about it all at the supper-table that night, Father turned to the Toyman, and, reaching into his pockets, where some money jingled, said:--

"So the home-team won, did they? though they lost the ball? Well, Frank, there are some more 'dandy Rockets' where that came from, aren't there?"

The Toyman was quite sure there were, and Father added,--

"And that baseball glove, that big catcher's mitt that Marmaduke always wanted--do you 'spouse that's still in the store?"

Again the Toyman seemed rather hopeful, and the promise was fulfilled on the following Sat.u.r.day. And many a time the hard Rocket ball and lots of other b.a.l.l.s, too, thumped in that big leather mitt.

VII

THE FAIRY LAMP

Once in about every so often, it seems, little boys just _have_ to get sick. Sometimes it is their own fault; sometimes the fault of the weather; and sometimes there doesn't seem to be any reason at all--except maybe germs. And who ever saw a real live germ walking around, except, perhaps, doctors looking through microscopes? And, besides, germs are too tiny to make a real big boy with pockets in his trousers, and a reader, and a geography, go to bed.