CHAPTER XXVII.A DASTARDLY TRICK.
Frank went directly from the ball-grounds to police headquarters, where he told of the attempted abduction of Dick, giving a full description of Anton Mescal, and entering complaint against the man. The police fancied Mescal was an old offender under another name, and promised to do their best to lay hands on him.
When Merry reached the Hotel Metropole he found that something had happened. Mr. Carson had again encountered Black Elrich, who had expressed a doubt concerning his sincerity in the assertion that he would back Merry’s ball-team. As a result, Carson had deposited the money at once, and Elrich had covered it, with the understanding that the game was to take place within two days.
“Two days!” exclaimed Frank, as the cattleman reached this point in his report of what had taken place.
“Yes,” nodded Carson. “He said he would not object if you wished to play to-morrow, but would prefer that the game take place on the day following.”
“And you put the money up under such conditions?”
“I did.”
“The first trick!”
“What do you mean?”
“He knows my team has not played together yet this summer, and has not obtained much practise. He wished to get the game before we could put ourselves in the best condition.”
“Why, he led me to believe that you wished to play to-morrow, but that he wanted another day for advertising-purposes.”
“Which was his way of working the trick. Never mind, Mr. Carson; we’ll meet him.”
“And we’ll beat him,” put in Hodge.
“In that case, he will lose a good round sum of money,” said the cattleman.
“Five hundred does not seem much to a man like him,” said Bart.
“But five hundred is far from being all he will lose. It’s the smallest part.”
“How is that?” asked Frank.
“Why, another gambler happened to be present, and he seemed to know something about you. When I had covered Elrich’s money, this other man asked me if I was dead sure that the fellow who was going to pitch against the Reds was Frank Merriwell, of Yale. I told him I was. He wanted to know how Iwas sure. I explained that my son attended Yale, and would play with Merriwell’s team. Then what do you suppose happened?”
“Go on,” urged Merry.
“This man turned on Elrich and offered to bet all sorts of money on you, Merriwell. He said he would bet a thousand dollars even that you struck out no less than eighteen men. Elrich took him, and the money went up. Then he offered another thousand dollars even that the Reds would not get more than five hits off you. Elrich took that.”
“Whew!” whistled Frank, while Bart Hodge simply said:
“He’ll win.”
“When the second bet had been covered, the man offered to put up one thousand against two thousand that the Reds did not score at all.”
“And the offer was taken?”
“Yes.”
Bart actually laughed.
“Whoever he is, that man knows you, Merry.”
“Then,” said Mr. Carson, “he offered a bet of two thousand to one that the Reds would be beaten, and that wager was taken.”
“Five thousand dollars each!” exclaimed Frank. “That is big money on a ball-game.”
“Who was the man?” asked Hodge. “Didn’t you find out, Mr. Carson?”
“Of course, I was curious to know, and it seemed that he was no stranger to Elrich. They had met before, and Elrich called him Lake.”
“Lake?” said Frank. “I do not think I have a friend by that name.”
“I asked Charley Gans, the stakeholder, about him,” said the cattleman, “and he said the man was a race-track gambler, and that his full name was Justin Lake.”
“Justin Lake?” cried both Frank and Bart.
“That was his name,” nodded Mr. Carson.
“Well, that beats anything,” came from Hodge. “To think he’d bet on you, Frank!”
Merry laughed.
“Perhaps he did it to recoup, for he has lost enough in his time betting against me.”
“Then you know him?” questioned Mr. Carson.
“I should say so. I have had two very serious encounters with the fellow, who is just as much a rascal as Black Elrich. Last year he plotted against Yale and bet money on her defeat, but I baffled his plots. Again this year he tried the trick, carrying me out to sea on his steam-yacht, where he originally meant to leave me in an open boat, so that I would not be onhand at the New London boat-race. But once more I defeated him, and he lost a large amount of money.”
“Well, he’s betting on you this time, and he finally had Elrich at a stand, for he proposed several other wagers, which the man would not accept. He also asked me if Hodge was to catch in the game. I told him so, and, finding he could get no more bets, he politely called Elrich a mark. He declared that, with Hodge catching, there was no possible show for any team outside the big leagues to defeat you. Some reference was made to your ball called the double-shoot. Elrich sneered and laughed at it. Lake said you could throw the double-shoot, but that there was no other catcher, save Hodge, who could hold it well.”
“Compliment from a rascal!” said Bart. “No thanks for it.”
“I hate to help Justin Lake to make a winning,” said Frank; “but it can’t be helped now. There is no way out of it.”
“But I’ll agree to take something out of his hide in case I meet him,” Hodge declared. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on him for some time.”
Lake, however, was not found around the hotel.
The story of the great betting on the ball-game that was to take place within two days spread swiftly through the city, so that it became the talk in sporting circles.
Frank was very sorry that anything of the sort had happened, but still his conscience was clear, as he had rigidly refused to be driven into wagering money with a man like Elrich. When the other members of Frank’s team heard about it, they all expressed satisfaction.
“Why, it’s the greatest ad we could have had!” laughed Jack Ready. “I’ll wager my loveliest pair of drop-stitch hose that we draw the biggest crowd ever seen at a ball-game in this city. And how I will surprise the populace. La! la!”
“Jiminy!” gurgled Gamp. “Th-th-th-things are beginning to git lively right off!”
“Money! money!” sighed Carker, shaking his head dolefully. “It is the root of all evil! It stirs up contention and strife! It arouses greed and envy! Ah, will the day ever come when all men shall be equally rich and equally poor?”
“Lot on your knife—I mean not on your life!” exclaimed Rattleton promptly.
That evening Hodge and Ready were walking along one of the principal streets of the city when an old woman stopped them at a corner, croaking:
“Young gentlemen, I can tell your past and future. I am Gipsy Mag, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Let me read your palms, and all the mysteries of your lives shall be revealed to you.”
“Tell me, pretty maiden, are there any more at home like you?” warbled Ready.
“I have no home,” she answered. “My home is the whole world. For a quarter I will reveal to you many things.”
“That’s cheap enough,” nodded Jack. “Here is your fourth part of an honest American dollar. Now, go ahead and tell me lots of lovely things.”
The old woman’s eyes were fastened on Bart.
“Let me tell his fortune first,” she urged.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Hodge. “I do not care for it.”
“It’s a mash, old man,” chuckled Ready. “You’ve hit her hard, my boy. If you don’t submit to her demands, I’ll tell the gang about your mash. Put up your fin and let the fair lady read your palm. Come on.”
He playfully grasped Bart’s wrist and held up his hand for the old fortune-teller to examine.
Not wishing to appear grouty, Hodge submitted.
The old woman firmly grasped the back of Bart’s hand, over which she bent, mumbling something. Then of a sudden she poured from a small vial something upon Hodge’s hand that immediately began to smart and burn like fire.
Bart gave an exclamation of surprise and anger,snatching his hand away. The old woman flung aside the vial.
“It’s the oil of success!” she cried. “Hereafter you will succeed in everything you undertake.”
“It’s a trick!” exclaimed Hodge hoarsely. “The stuff burns.”
“That will stop in a moment,” laughed the gipsy. “It will do you good.”
“Grab her, Jack!” exclaimed Bart. “She has done something to put my hand out of commission.”
But the old woman turned and ran with surprising speed through a doorway and disappeared into a saloon. Ready jumped after her, but, as he entered the saloon by one door, he saw her disappear through another that led onto a side street. He rushed after her, but she had vanished when he reached the street.
“Well, by the powers!” gasped Jack. “She’s vanished like a witch!”
When he returned to the point where he had left Bart, he saw the latter just disappearing into a drug store. Jack hurried after. As he entered, he heard Hodge saying to the druggist:
“An old woman threw something on my hand that burns like fire. I believe it was acid. Give me something quick to relieve me.”
The druggist sprang to obey, after taking a single look at Bart’s hand.
“Vitriol, or something like it,” declared the druggist, as he quickly applied to the hand something to soothe it. “But it’s queer she threw it on your hand. Vitriol-throwers usually aim at the face.”
Bart saw Jack at his side.
“Did you catch her?” he eagerly asked, although it was plain from the expression of his face that he was in pain.
“She got away,” confessed Ready humbly. “Hodge, I’m to blame for this! I’m a chump—a blundering chump!”
“If it hadn’t been for you——” began Bart, but he suddenly checked himself, controlling the impulse to reproach his companion for what had happened.
“I know—I know!” muttered Ready. “Oh, I’d like to kick myself! But who ever thought that old hag was up to anything of the kind?”
“Why did she do it?” asked the druggist, as he continued to apply the lotion to Bart’s hand.
“That’s a mystery,” said Ready.
“No mystery at all,” said Hodge, at once. “It was so that I may be unable to catch in the game against the Reds. That was the trick. With a raw hand like this, I’ll be knocked out. And I know the miserable gambler who is behind the whole deal. His name is Black Elrich!”