CHAPTER XXVITHE SCHEME.
As Clarence Carr left Vanderbilt Hall he seemed to be in even higher spirits than usual. Swinging briskly down the drive with a smile on his face and humming a little tune under his breath, he passed through the ornate gateway and turned to his left down Chapel Street.
He had good reason to be satisfied with the evening’s work. He had been even more successful than he had hoped. The ball had been started rolling, and there was nothing left for him now but to watch it carefully and make sure that it kept on its way.
It took but a moment to reach the New Haven House, where he paused in the lobby, keenly scrutinizing the occupants of the comfortable leather-covered chairs.
“Not here,” he murmured under his breath. “But I hardly expected he would be.”
Without delay, he passed on to the bar, and he had scarcely stepped inside the doorway before his eyes fell upon the figure of the man for whom he was looking.
He was rather under medium height, and very fat. The striking, violet-colored waistcoat covered a vast expanse of rotundity, and across the front was looped a massive gold chain which looked almost like a cable, hanging pendant from which, at the point where it passed through the buttonhole, were half a dozen fobs, lockets, and diamond-studded trinkets.
In the scarf of violet silk, which just matched the waistcoat, sparkled a large diamond. On several of the pudgy fingers were a plentitude of rings—also set with diamonds. But the most remarkable feature of the man was the face which topped the barrel-like figure, and which had the grotesque appearance of being set directly upon the broad, check-clad shoulders without the usual formality of a neck.
It was smooth-shaven, round, and jolly, merging imperceptibly into the bat-wing collar by a series of double chins. The eyes were small, deep-set and blue, and had in them an expression of such infantile innocence as to be almost incongruous. This, together with the soft, smooth, pink-and-white skin, gave him the look of a plump, good-natured cherub, who had allowed his taste for rather vivid colorings and effects in the matter of dress to run riot.
But J. Harry Edgerton was very far from living up to his appearance. There was nothing whatever of the innocent cherub about his personality, though he had often found it expedient and profitable to allow that impression to prevail. It had been invaluable in leading strangers to stay with him in a stiff poker game, under the impression that the pouting, childlike look of dismay as he surveyed his hand was a true reflection of the cards themselves. Too late they would discover that Edgerton was simply bluffing, and they would retire from the game sadder, wiser, and poorer men.
J. Harry had thus acquired a manner which was in perfect accord with his looks, and gradually this had become so fixed a habit that he rarely put it aside, except in moments of great excitement or tension, when his true self came to the surface. At other times he was the bland, jolly, good-tempered and careless individual which his appearance implied. A good deal of a sport, to be sure, but full of bright, witty stories, which he narrated in a droll way that was irresistible, and altogether a most desirable fellow to take a hand at poker or make a fourth at bridge.
His small, bright eyes lit up and a wide smile wreathed his fat countenance as he saw Clarence Carr advancing toward his position at the end of the bar.
“Well, well,” he chuckled, holding out a plump, pink hand. “My old college chum! How are you, Clarence, old boy? What’ll you take?”
Carr grinned as he clasped the bejeweled fingers.
“Glad to see you, old sport,” he returned. “Make it a rye high ball.”
“Scotch for me,” nodded the stout cherub to the waiting attendant. “And say—bring them over to a table. I want to rest my bones.”
“Didn’t know they needed resting, Harry,” smiled Carr, as they crossed the room to a little table in the corner. “They’re so bolstered up and supported with blubber, you know.”
With a sigh, Edgerton relapsed carefully into a creaking chair.
“Same old joker, I see,” he chortled. “Wait till you tip the scales at three hundred odd and you’ll feel the need of resting something. Whether it’s bones or not, I can’t say.”
The drinks being set before them, each man poured out a generous three fingers and filled the glasses with carbonated.
“Here’s how,” remarked Carr, raising his glass.
The stout man nodded and took a long swallow.
“Fair stuff,” he remarked, setting the glass down on the table.
Then he looked keenly at his companion, his fat lips pursed up a little.
“Well?” he questioned significantly.
Carr took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth deliberately.
“I think it’s going to work,” he returned in a somewhat lower tone. “Tempest and Kenny pretty near came to blows this afternoon. In fact, Kenny was so mad that, for a while, he proposed leaving the team altogether. That scared me when I first heard about it, but luckily Dick Merriwell talked him into staying.”
“Humph!” grunted Edgerton. “I should think that would have been the best thing possible. There’d be no question then about the result of the game.”
“No, of course not,” Carr said quickly; “but in that case the odds would be in Harvard’s favor instead of being five to six against her as they are now.”
Edgerton nodded comprehendingly.
“I see,” he returned, taking another sip from his glass. “That’s true enough. I’m not very well up on this football business, so I have to trust to you. But are you sure you can work this boy so there’ll be enough of a split in the team to make any material difference in their playing.”
Carr nodded.
“I think so,” he answered. “He’s got a pretty hot temper, though he has kept it under control until now. He’s a bit sore, too, that he wasn’t elected captain instead of this Tempest. If the latter only keeps on with his bullyragging, even a little, the game is ours. Already the team is taking sides in the quarrel. Some are for Tempest, some for Kenny; and that means reduced efficiency in their playing. I can keep the quarter back stirred up, all right, and by Saturday they ought all to be at sixes and sevens.”
“Don’t he suspect your game?” queried the stout man.
Carr laughed.
“Trust me for that,” he returned. “He thinks I’m all for Yale winning. He hasn’t a notion that there’s any motive in what I’ve said to him, except the natural dislike of a man to see a good fellow thrown down.” His face clouded swiftly and his heavy brows drew down into a frown.
“Blow me if I’m stuck on the job, though, Edge!” he went on in a petulant tone.
The fat fellow’s smooth forehead puckered anxiously.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. “Not getting cold feet, I hope.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” Carr exclaimed; “but the boy is such a decent fellow and thinks I’m all to the good. I feel like a snake when I think of what I’m trying to bring about. If Yale loses, it will be blamed on him, in a way. Why, I believe the fellow really likes me!”
“Tut, tut!” clucked Edgerton impatiently. “Never let your sympathies get control. It’s better not to have any; but if you must, why, keep them under, Clarence—keep them under. We’ve got to pull this through, or where will we be? Don’t let’s have any more talk like that. What’s the boy to you, anyhow? You’ll never see him again.”
“Oh, I suppose not,” Carr said petulantly. “But I can’t help feeling the way I do. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to back out. I can’t afford to. That last slump in the Street left me high and dry. But if it wasn’t for that I’d never put my hand to a dirty deal like this.”
An expression flashed across the fat fellow’s face which was far from cherubic.
“Cut it out, Clarence,” he snapped; “cut it out! Stop thinking about it, or the whole thing will slump. Take a brace, for goodness sake! There’s nothing to be so squeamish about. You’ve been in lots worse things than this.”
“I know that,” returned the broker quickly. “Don’t worry, I tell you. I’m not going to back out. I’ve simply got to follow it through to the end, or we’ll both be stony.”
The placid look returned to Edgerton’s countenance and, with a sigh of relief, he picked up his glass and drained it.
“That’s right,” he murmured, setting it down; “that’s sensible. And now about the bets. When can we start placing them? That’s where my work begins, and I don’t want to be losing valuable time. How about to-morrow?”
“Better wait until Thursday,” Carr returned thoughtfully. “That’ll give you plenty of time, and I’ll be able to see how things go on the field to-morrow afternoon. Of course, they won’t let me watch the practice, but I can sound Kenny afterward. I’ve got him now so he loosens up and confides everything to me.
“Well, Thursday it is, then,” chuckled Edgerton, his good humor quite restored. “That’ll give me two full days to make a killing in New York, and Saturday morning to do a little placing here. Let’s have another drink. Same for you?”
The broker nodded, and Edgerton struck the bell sharply. The high balls were ordered and swiftly brought. By the time Carr had finished, his life took on a rosier hue. His momentary scruples had quite vanished, and he flung himself into the game with renewed zest, laying out an effective campaign for the morrow.