Rackliff had succeeded in doubling Springer's hatred for Rodney Grant. So the fellow Phil had befriended and taught to pitch was sneering about him behind his back! And everybody was saying that Grant was already a better pitcher than his instructor ever could hope to become! Springer wondered how it was possible that, even for a moment, he had ever taken a fancy to such a chap.
"He'd better not say too much about me," Phil growled to himself. "I know he is a fighter. I know he has a fearful temper. But he'll find out I'm not afraid of him."
That very night Lela Barker, coming to the post office to mail some letters, was followed and annoyed by Rackliff when she started to return home. Herbert persisted in forcing his unwelcome company upon her until, catching sight of a familiar figure passing on the opposite side of the street, she called for assistance.
Rodney Grant came running across, giving Rackliff a look, cap in hand, as he inquired the cause of the girl's alarm.
"Oh, Rod," she said, "I do wish you would walk home with me. This—this fellow has persisted in following me and forcing his company upon me."
"The onery, conceited, unmannerly cad!" exploded the Texan, evidently itching to put hands on Herbert, who bluffed the situation through with insolent effrontery, laughing as he lighted a cigarette. "What he needs is a good thrashing, and, if he wasn't a sickly, insignificant creature, it would give me a right good heap of satisfaction to hand him one."
"Bah!" said Herbert. "You're a big blowhard, that's all. It betrays lamentably poor taste on Miss Barker's part to prefer the company of a lout like you to that of a gentleman."
It was lucky for Rackliff that Lela was there and her hand fell on the arm of the boy from Texas, for otherwise Rodney might have forgotten himself. Fearing his lack of self-restraint, the girl urged him away, and they left Herbert leaning against a tree and still laughing, his cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
Half an hour later Grant, having returned, was talking baseball with several fellows who had gathered in a group near Stickney's store, when Rackliff sauntered up.
"Just a word with you, Mr. Cowpuncher," said Herbert in a loud voice. "You applied several objectionable adjectives to me a while ago, and now I want to tell you just what I think about you. You're nothing but a common, low-bred, swaggering bluffer, as the blind dubs around here are due to find out. You think you're a baseball pitcher. Excuse me while I laugh in my sleeve. You're the biggest case of egotistical jackassism it has ever been my luck to encounter. Next Saturday, when you get up against a real pitcher who can pitch, you'll look cheaper than thirty cents."
Grant surveyed the speaker with mingled amusement and disdain.
"Have you got that dose of bile out of your system?" he asked. "If it's all over, go lie down somewhere and forget yourself. That will be a relief. Being ashamed all the time sure must get tiresome."
Herbert lost his head at once. "You're a duffer and a bluffer!" he shouted shrilly. "How any decent, refined girl can have anything to do with you I can't imagine. It just shows that Lela Barker is——"
He got no further, for, brushing one of the fellows aside, Grant caught the speaker by the throat and stopped him. His face dark, the Texan shook Rackliff until his teeth rattled.
"Shoot your mouth off about me as much as you please, you miserable sneak," he grated; "but don't you dare ring in the name of any decent girl unless you are thirsting to get the worst walloping of your life!"
Rod's eyes blazed and he was truly terrible. Once before the boys had seen him look like that, and then they had realized for the first time that it was the young Texan's uncontrollable temper that he feared and which had made him, by persistent efforts to avoid personal encounters, appear like a coward. There was not a cowardly drop of blood in Grant's body, but experience and the record of his fighting father had taught him to fear himself.
Even now the fact that he let himself go sufficiently to lay hands on Rackliff seemed to spur him on, and, still shaking the limp and helpless fellow, he maintained his hold on the city youth's neck until Herbert's eyes began to bulge and his face grew purple.
Suddenly another lad pushed his way through the circle and seized Grant by the shoulders:
"Lul-let up on that!" he cried, his voice vibrant with excitement. "What are you trying to do, choke the lul-life out of a fellow that you know isn't any match for you? If you want to ch-choke somebody, let him alone and take me."
It was Phil Springer. 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. "That's right, Springer," he admitted, "I reckon I ought. I allow I clean forgot myself."
Somehow this quiet admission, which was wholly unexpected, seemed to enrage Phil still more.
"I suppose you think everybub-body around here is afraid of you now that they've found out your father was a genuine bad man," Springer sneered. "Well, you'll discover there's one person who isn't afraid. I'll fight you."
To the amazement of all present, the boy from Texas shook his head, something like a conciliatory smile appearing on his face.
"You won't fightme, Phil," he retorted, "for I won't fight."
Phil himself could not understand why this refusal simply added fuel to the flame of his wrath. He felt himself a-quiver with the intensity of his emotions, and, seeing Grant so calm and self-possessed, he was obsessed by a yearning to strike him in the face.
"Oh, so you won't fight, eh? Why not?"
"We have been friends."
"We have been, but aren't any more, and we never will be again; for I've found out just what sort of a fellow you are. You think yourself a better pitcher than I am or ever can be, do you? Oh, I've heard what you've been blowing around here about me, and you needn't deny it. You've had some luck in one or two games, but you're due to get your bumps. If you've got any fuf-further talk to make about me, come and make it before my face. It's a sneak who goes round shooting off his mouth behind another fellow's back—and that's what you are, Rod Grant!"
"Now there'll be something doing, sure!" breathed Chipper Cooper, agitated by great expectations.
Still, to the increasing wonderment of the boys, Grant held himself in hand.
"I couldn't take that off you, Phil," he said, a bit huskily, "if we hadn't been friends and I didn't realize that you sure would never say it in your right mind. I'm right sorry——"
"Oh, yes," scoffed Phil derisively, "you're sus-sorry you can't work me for a chump any more. You know what I think of you, and if you've got any real sand you'll pick it up. All I ask is a square show, and I'll give you the scrap of your life. You can't frighten me with your savage looks, and I've got my bub-blinkers on you so you can't catch me off my guard and hit me. That's the way you've won your reputation as a fuf-fighter around these parts. You've never faced anybody in a sus-square stand-up scrap, but you've grabbed and ch-choked fellows like Bunk Lander and Herbert Rackliff when they weren't expecting it. I know a little something about handling my dukes, and I'll bet I can lick you in less than tut-ten minutes."
"Perhaps you can," said Grant.
"Gee whiz!" spluttered Chipper Cooper. "What do you know about that, fellows?"
It was true that Grant had never engaged in a real fist fight since coming to Oakdale, but he had once stretched an enemy prone and stiff with a single sudden blow, and since the brave part he had played in rescuing Lela Barker from drowning Phil was the first to question his courage.
Herbert Rackliff, having recovered his breath and found sufficient strength to stand without assistance, was looking on and listening in the greatest satisfaction. "Soak him, Phil!" he whispered faintly. "Go for him!"
"Perhaps you're right," said Grant again, as Springer surveyed him with marked contempt. "Anyhow, I certain am not going to fight you."
Springer seemed genuinely disappointed. "I have a mind to punch you," he declared. "Perhaps you'd brace up then and show a little manhood."
Rod retreated a step, which added to the impression that he was afraid.
"You'll be sorry some time, old chap," he said, "just as I would be if I permitted you to lead me into a wretched fight. You don't understand——"
"Oh, yes I do; I understand everything. I've gug-got you sized up for just what you are, a big case of bluff. I've cuc-called you, and your show-down is mighty rotten. Bah! If the fellows around here want to think you the whole shooting match after this, they're welcome to do so. But in order to keep your reputation as a dangerous character you'll have to do something besides jump on fellows like Rackliff and Lander."
Disdainfully he turned his back on Grant.
"You chaps can sus-see just what sort of a creature your fine hero is," he said. "Now hang around him as much as you like, and worship him. You all make me sick!"
He walked away, followed hastily by Rackliff. At the corner above the square Herbert overtook Phil, who seemed surprised as he came up.
"Oh, say," chuckled the city youth, "you did bore it into him fine! And he didn't dare put a hand on you, either. That was queer, for, my word! he's strong as Sandow. He handled me as easy as if I wasn't out of knickerbockers."
"Paugh!" said Phil. "Anybody could do that. You've sus-sucked cigarettes until you haven't as much strength as a sick kitten."
"Oh, I don't know about that," retorted Rackliff resentfully. "I guess I'm about as strong as the average fellow; but I tell you he's a holy terror—a perfect Hercules. I thought every minute he'd open on you. I don't see why he didn't, for you rubbed it in to the limit."
"He didn't dare, that's the reason why," declared Springer. "I've got him sized up now; he's the kind that strikes when the other chap isn't lul-looking."
"I guess you're right. I called him a bluffer, too. It was first rate of you to step in and take my part."
"I didn't do it on your account."
"No?"
"Not at all. I was itching for an excuse to get at him, and you provided one, that's all."
Herbert was somewhat taken aback by this frank confession.
"Well," he said slowly, "anyhow, you showed him up to that bunch of lickspittles. They were surprised."
"I fuf-fancy so. This whole town has got the notion that Rod Grant is simply it. They thought he would fight at the drop of the hat."
"What would you have done if he'd taken you up?"
"Whipped him," answered Phil confidently. "I've taken boxing lessons. What does he know about scientific fighting? I had made up my mum-mind to take care that it was a regular fight by rounds, with seconds and a referee to see fair play. I'd certainly fixed him that way, all right."
Still, to his annoyance, Rackliff seemed doubtful. "Perhaps you would, but if he'd ever got in one wallop——"
"Oh, you make me tut-tired!" exclaimed Springer.
"Well, even if you didn't butt in on my account, I'm much obliged, just the same. You're all right, Spring, old fel, and if I can do you a good turn I will. Perhaps I'll have the chance. Gee! I want a whiff. Have a smoke?"
"No," declined Phil. "I'm going home. Good night."
He left Herbert there, lighting a cigarette and coughing hollowly.
Passing Hooker's home on his way down into the village Thursday evening, Rackliff saw a light in the carriage house, which led him to fancy he might find Roy there. In this he was not mistaken; Hooker was puttering over his motorcycle by the light of a lantern. Hearing a footstep on the gravel outside, he looked up and perceived the visitor entering by the open door.
"Hello," said Herbert.
"Hello," grunted Hooker, without any effort at cordiality or welcome.
"Tinkering with that old thing again, I see," coughed Rackliff.
"Thanks to you, I am."
"Thanks to me?"
"Yes; it has been out of order ever since you used it last. Baseball practice doesn't give me much time to work on it by daylight, and so I'm trying to get her running now."
"Take my advice and pay somebody to remove the thing. It's the biggest old lemon I ever saw. All it's worth is its price as junk. Gee! I'm feeling rotten." He sat down on a box, coughing again.
Indeed Herbert did not look well, and there seemed to be something of an alarming nature in the sound of his cough. His thin cheeks were flushed and feverish.
"You don't have to worry yourself about it," returned Roy warmly. "It's mine, and I presume I can do anything I please with it."
"Awful touchy to-night," muttered Rackliff. He lighted a cigarette, but the first whiff threw him into a most distressing fit of coughing and he flung it out through the open door. "Can't seem to get anything out of a smoke," he complained. "Cigarettes don't taste good, and they raise the merry dickens with this old cough of mine. I've got a beastly headache, and I suppose I ought to be in bed, but I've got to go down to the postoffice. Expect a letter from Newbert to-night."
"So you're corresponding with him, are you?" said Roy, wiping his greasy hands on some cotton waste.
"Sure. Why not? We were chums, you know."
"And of course you still think him the greatest pitcher that ever happened?"
"He's just about the greatest in his class; you'll find that out Saturday. Watch how he shows Cowboy Grant up. Say, Springer rather showed that fellow up, too, didn't he?"
"How do you mean?"
"You know; the way he made him pull his horns and take water."
"Who says Phil Springer made Rod Grant take water?"
"I do. I was there and saw it. Your Texan hasn't got any nerve. He's the biggest case of fake to be found in seven States. He's strong, I'm not denying that; but when he saw that Springer really meant business he didn't dare do a thing."
"I've heard the fellows talking about it," said Hooker, "but I don't believe Grant was afraid of Phil Springer. A fellow who would take the chances he did to save Lela Barker from drowning couldn't be frightened by Springer."
"I've heard about that, too, and, as near as I can make out, Grant took those chances because he had to."
"Had to? Why——"
"He had to after he got caught by the current and carried over the dam with the girl. There couldn't be any backing out then. I'll bet he never would have jumped into the water at all if he'd stopped a moment to consider the danger. According to the story I've heard, it was really that big lout, Bunk Lander, who did the great act of heroism and saved both Grant and the Barker girl; but of course Grant got most of the credit. Anyway, I know that some fellows have lost a bit of their confidence in the cowpuncher since Springer faced him down; they're due to get the rest of it shaken out before the game ends Saturday."
"I suppose you're mighty confident again that Oakdale will get beaten?"
"It's a certainty this time, Hook. Let me give you a little tip. You lost some money on that game with Barville, and this is the chance to win it back. Bet on Wyndham Saturday and you'll even up your mistake before."
"My mistake! It wasn't my mistake; it was yours. Besides, you didn't keep your word about making good any loss I might suffer. You put me in a nasty hole, Rackliff."
"I don't see why. To hear you talk, anybody might think you were ruined instead of merely getting hit for less than a fiver. Never knew a fellow to put up such a squeal over a little money."
Hooker's cheeks were flushed and he faced Herbert, his undershot jaw seeming to project still further than usual.
"I lost more than that," he said.
"What? You did? Why, you only gave me four dollars and——"
"I lost something more than money."
"You didn't tell me about it."
"I haven't told anyone—but my mother. I had to tell her the other day. When you wanted me to bet on that game I told you I didn't have any money."
"Yes."
"But I knew where my mother had some money put away in a drawer—some money she had been saving up a little at a time to buy the material for a new dress. I went into that drawer and took that money. You were so positive that I could not lose that I—well, I stole the money."
"Dear me!" said Herbert, grinning and coughing behind his thin hand. "What did the old girl say when she found it out?"
"She never suspected me," said Roy. "She couldn't think I would do such a thing. And I—I lied about it. When she discovered the money was gone and became distressed over its loss, I lied."
"You would have been a fool if you'd owned up."
"I was a fool to touch a cent of that money, in the first place. I was a fool to listen to your blarney, Rackliff. Just because I was idiot enough to believe in you, I made myself a thief and a liar. Oh, I've been punished for it, all right. Never knew I had a conscience that could make me squirm so much. Some nights I slept mighty mean."
"Paugh! You make me laugh. It wasn't anything to take a few paltry dollars like that. You're mother'll never know."
"She knows now."
"What?"
"I told her."
"You did?"
"Sure."
"Well, you are a big chump! What made you do that?"
"I had to. You can't understand how rotten I felt when I saw her crying over the loss of that money. I was ashamed and sick—oh, sick as a dog! I made up my mind I'd pay it back, every cent."
"And so you can if you'll just get hold of another fiver and bet it on Wyndham."
"I've paid it back already, all but fifty cents. Why do you think I stayed out of school to work at any old job I could get? I'm not particularly stuck on work, but I couldn't go on feeling that I was a thief—that I had stolen from my own mother. That's what you brought me to, Rackliff."
Herbert sneered. "That's right, blame it all on me and let yourself out entirely. Now let me tell you something, my bucko: it was your over-weening conceit, your jealousy of Springer and Grant, your itching desire to see them get their bumps, that led you, as much as anything else, to bet against Oakdale in that first game. You were sore on Eliot, too, because he didn't put you in to pitch—and you couldn't pitch a little bit. When I bet against Oakdale, I did so on judgment; you did so because of prejudice and spite. Now, don't put on any virtuous frills with me, for I'm not feeling good to-day, and you make me tired."
The insolence of the fellow infuriated Hooker, who, nevertheless, knew there was no little truth in what he had been told. Restraining himself with an effort, Roy attempted to retort sarcastically.
"So you bet onjudgment, did you? Well, you must confess your judgment was mighty poor. And, to make the thing safe, you made arrangements to betray Oakdale's pitching signals to Barville.Ididn't know anything about that—until after the game. If I had known in advance——"
"Now what would you have done?" asked Herbert, snapping his fingers. "If you had found out about that after your money was wagered on Barville, I presume you would have warned your dear friend Eliot and sacrificed everything! I've noticed that you have kept mighty still about it since you did find out."
"Yes, I've kept still, because you failed in your crooked scheme, and because—well, because I wasn't anxious to have it known that I bet the way I did, and I knew you'd retaliate by peaching on me if I breathed a word concerning you."
Herbert laughed and coughed at the same time. "Just so. Wise boy. I certainly should have done just that. Let me tell you now that things will be fixed doubly solid for the game next Saturday, and——"
"Look here," cried Roy, facing the visitor threateningly, "if you attempt to repeat that trick in Wyndham I'll expose you sure as shooting. I mean it. You can't frighten me. You can tell that I bet against my own team if you want to, but——"
"I presume you're perfectly willing that I should tell how you came by the money? Oh, I guess you'd keep still even if I tried the same trick over again."
"I wouldn't. Try it and see! I've paid the money back, and you can't keep me still that way. I'm pitching on the team now, and I want to see it win."
"Too bad you're going to be so keenly disappointed. You won't do any pitching against Wyndham, that's a cinch. Eliot has been forced to take you up as a makeshift since losing Springer, but you'll be used only in the minor games. Grant will do all the heavy work in the big games, and get all the glory. The first time I heard you talk, Hook, I thought you had some real spirit; but I've found out that you're just a common weak-kneed, aspiring sycophant, ready to feed on crumbs and lick the hand that flings them to you."
"I've heard about enough from you!" snarled Hooker. "I think you'd better get. I don't want to put my hands on you, but I shall if you stay any longer and shoot off your face. I think you and I will call it quits, Rackliff; I want no further dealings with you. And let me tell you before you go that if I find out you're up to any of your tricks Saturday I'll put the fellows wise. You can't frighten me into keeping still."
Herbert rose and walked to the door. "You poor, fawning dub!" he said. "You'll be blacking Eliot's boots next. I'm glad to be done with you. But don't forget what I said, it's fixed so Wyndham's dead sure to win Saturday. I'm going to bet every cent I can raise on it."
"Well, I'm glad I'm done with him!" muttered Roy, closing the door as Herbert went coughing down the gravel drive.
Rackliff turned through Lake Street toward the square in the center of the village, muttering to himself about Hooker, whom he now thoroughly despised as a "soft thing" and a "quitter." As he approached the Town Hall a low whistle like a signal reached his ears, and he saw a dark figure standing in the shadows near one corner of the building.
"It must be Springer," said Herbert. "Now we'll find out if he has any sand or is a quitter, too."
It was Springer, who spoke in a low tone as Herbert turned and drew near. "I thought it just as well for us not to meet where we would be seen," said Phil, "so I watched for you here, being pretty sure you'd come this way. There's a bub-bunch of the fellows down at Stickney's."
"Good!" returned Herbert. "I hope they've got their mazuma with them, for I've got my cash at last, and I'm on the warpath. It'll be just like finding money for me if they'll only give me a chance at them."
"You're just as confident as ever that Wyndham will win?"
"My boy, I tell you it's a cold cinch; it's fixed so that Wyndham can't lose."
"What do you mean by 'fixed'?"
Rackliff hesitated; recalling his late interview with Hooker, he decided that it would be unwise to tell Springer too much.
"Never you mind what I mean, old sport," he returned. "Leave it to me. I wasn't born yesterday. What these Joshuas around here have won off me already will serve nicely as bait. I'm bound to get them this time, and, as we're friends, I'm letting you in on the deal. After the rotten way you've been treated, it should make you feel well to get the chance. I'll place your loose coin on Wyndham, and not a soul need know about it until you're ready for him to know. Perhaps by and by, when this old baseball team is all to the punk, you'll feel like coming out openly and informing them that you've added to your bank account by betting against them; but, if you don't happen to feel that way, you can keep still and enjoy the fruits of your cleverness—which should be some satisfaction for the raw deal that's been handed out to you."
The fellow's words and manner were suave and seductive, and, if Phil had wavered, he now put his hesitation aside.
"Oh, I'm ready to take a ch-chance," he declared. "I want to see them done up, and I'm not at all averse to winning some money through their defeat. Wyndham has always had rather the better team at baseball or football, and I see no reason to believe she won't have this year."
"And every reason for believing she will have, considering the fact that a dandy like Dade Newbert is going to pitch for her. Wait till you see him in action; it will open your eyes. How much money have you got?"
Springer moved until the light of the street lamp in front of the postoffice over the way shone upon him, plunging his hand into his pocket and bringing up a lot of silver.
"Here's five dollars in ten-cent pieces," he said; "and I've got two dollars besides."
"Seven plunks, all told. But say, I hope you didn't get this chicken feed the way Hooker got his that he let me have to bet on the Barville game."
"Eh? How did he get it?"
"Stole it; swiped it off his own mother. What do you know about that, Bo?"
"Stole it!" cried Phil. "Well, you nun-needn't think I got mine that way! I'm no thief!"
"I should hope not. I'm not eager to chum with a fellow of that sort, and I've cut Hooker out; told him what I thought of him and quit him for good. He's too cheap for me." Herbert coughed behind his hand, his air one of great virtue and uprightness.
"These dimes came from my ten-cent bank," explained Springer. "I've been saving them one at a tut-time as I could spare them, and I had it pretty near full. When I mum-made up my mind to bet—or let you bet for me—I got enough to fill the bank and break it open; and that's why there are so many of them. Here they are; you can count them if you want to. And here's two dollars more."
Rackliff accepted the money and pocketed it "Don't suppose you want a receipt?" he asked, laughing.
"Nun-no," faltered Phil, suddenly realizing that Herbert could deny the whole transaction if he saw fit to do so, and that there would be no way of proving it had ever taken place. In spite of the fact that circumstances and mutual sympathies had led him into taking up with the city boy, he did not feel that a fellow of Herbert's stamp was wholly to be trusted.
"Nun-no," mocked Rackliff with an intonation of resentment. "I swear that was weak! I believe you are shaky. If so you'd better take your money back—quick."
"No, no," objected Springer. "It's all right. It was ju-just my rotten stammering, that's all. I wish I could break myself of it."
But suddenly Herbert grew very dignified. "We'll do this thing in a business-like way," he declared. "You don't know much about me, and a really square chap never gets haughty when he's asked to give some proof of his squareness. Just come over under the lamp."
Protesting, Phil followed; and the city boy, heedless of those protests, brought forth a pocket-notebook and pencil, scribbled an acknowledgement of the money on a leaf of the book, dashed his name at the bottom, tore the leaf out and handed it over.
"I insist," he said. "Now everything's all right. This is a wicked world, and every fellow who's dead wise has a right to take precautions. You say there's a bunch down by Stickney's, eh? Well, I think I'll meander down that way and see if I can't prod them into making a few wagers. Good night, old fel; sleep tight and don't worry about the chink you've let me handle. It will be an investment that'll pay a hundred per cent. in double-quick time."
It was a delightfully warm spring night, and there on the platform of Stickney's store, where the softened light from within shone upon them through a huge window, the boys had gathered. They were chatting, jesting, chaffing one another, and occasionally playing pranks, which once or twice started a squabble. As Rackliff sauntered up Chub Tuttle was complaining that nearly a pint of peanuts had been stolen from his pocket.
"Why don't you put Sleuth onter the case?" laughingly drawled Sile Crane. "He'll ketch the thief, for he's sartainly got Sherlock Holmes beat to a frazzle."
"My deduction is," said Piper, loudly shuffling his feet to drown the noise as he stealthily cracked a peanut, "that there are scoundrels in our very midst who would feel no compunction in swiping plugged money from a contribution box. Doubtless," he continued, deftly snapping the shelled kernels into his mouth, "the hands of those scoundrels are even now at work."
"Sleuthy's right," said Chipper Cooper, swiftly stowing away a handful of the peanuts which he had skillfully removed from Piper's coat pocket while the latter was speaking; "there are villyuns among us. Anyhow, there's liable to be one in a minute, unless we move." Apparently this concluding remark was caused by the appearance of Rackliff, who came strolling into the light of the window and paused.
Herbert looked them over. "Several prominent members of the great Oakdale baseball team, I observe," he said. "Been talking of the coming game, I presume."
"Several prominent members of the great Oakdale baseball team, I observe," said Rackliff."Several prominent members of the great Oakdalebaseball team, I observe," said Rackliff.
"Several prominent members of the great Oakdale baseball team, I observe," said Rackliff."Several prominent members of the great Oakdalebaseball team, I observe," said Rackliff.
"You're presuming, as usual," returned Cooper.
"That remark is very stale; I think I've heard you use it before. Your efforts at wit are painful. I suppose you're pretty confident, after beating both Barville and Clearport? Now I'm confident myself; I have confidence——"
"You look like a confidence man," interrupted Chipper.
"I have confidence," pursued Herbert, trying to ignore the little chap, "that Wyndham will win; and I'm ready to back my conviction with real money."
"Dinged if I didn't think yeou'd got abaout enough of it bating against Oakdale!" exclaimed Crane.
"Wonder where he gets so much money?" said Fred Sage.
"He's bluffing," was the opinion of Jack Nelson. "He's dead broke, but he wants to make believe that he's a dead game sport, and so——"
"If you think I'm dead broke," said Herbert, "and you can raise five or ten bones to wager on Oakdale, just produce the currency and watch me cover it. I have about twenty-five dollars I'd like to put up on Wyndham."
"Twenty-five dollars!" spluttered Tuttle. "That's some wealth for one fellow to be packing around."
"Go on," advised Crane, waving his long arm at Herbert; "don't bother us. We're tired takin' your spondulicks away from ye; it's too easy."
"You're quitters," declared Herbert with a cutting sneer. "There isn't one of you who has a real drop of sporting blood in his veins, that's what's the matter. You've won my money, and now, being pikers and quitters, you don't propose to give me a chance to win it back. You know Wyndham's going to put it all over you Saturday, and you're shivering in your shoes. I don't blame you for being frightened, as you haven't one chance in a hundred to take that game. It wouldn't surprise me if you were beaten about twenty or thirty to nothing; I sincerely hope it won't be worse than that."
Crane rose to his feet in the midst of this speech, which was far more provoking and insulting than cold type can convey.
"Looker here, yeou," cried Sile; "I've got some money I won batin' with you, and, by thut-ter! you'll find I ain't afraid to give ye all the chance you want on that Wyndham game. If you've really got twenty-five dollars, mebbe we can raise a pool, same as we done before, and cover the whole of it. I'll put in my share anyhaow. Who's the next feller?"
"I am!"
"Count me in!"
"I'm another!"
"Same here!"
"Me, too!"
It seemed that they were all eager to contribute to the pool, and Herbert, smiling with self-complaisant satisfaction, felt that he had cleverly accomplished his purpose.
Shortly before nine o'clock on Saturday morning a touring car, containing three youths, not one of whom was over eighteen years of age, whirled up before the door of Mrs. Conway's boarding house in Oakdale and stopped.
The occupants of the car did not belong in Oakdale; they came from Wyndham, and the machine was the property of the father of the oldest one, who was at the wheel. This was Orville Foxhall, second baseman of the Wyndham nine. At Foxhall's side sat a husky, raw-boned, long-armed chap, Dade Newbert, the pitcher on which Wyndham placed great dependence. The chap in the tonneau was Joe Snead, too fat and indolent to take part in any game of an athletic nature.
"This is the house, Dade," said Foxhall; "this is where your friend boards, all right."
"Humph!" grinned Newbert. "It doesn't look swell enough to suit Herb's style. He's the real warm article, as you'll realize when you see him. 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.
"Yes, he boards here," answered the woman in a mechanical tone of voice; "but he isn't up yet."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Newbert. "Isn't up? Well, that's like him; won't pull himself away from the mattress until he has to. He's a luxurious brat."
"I'm afraid Mr. Rackliff may not be feeling very well this morning," said the woman. "He has a very bad cold and coughs terribly. I told him last night that he should consult a doctor, and I heard him coughing the greater part of the night."
"Well, well! Sorry to hear it. I'm an old friend of his, and I've come over by appointment to take him back to Wyndham with me. You tell him that——"
A harsh cough came echoing down the stairs and a voice called:
"That you, Dade? Come right up. It's all right, Mrs. Conway; let him come, please."
Herbert, in silk pajamas, was standing at the head of the stairs, looking ill indeed. He put out a limp hand, which Newbert grasped, crying:
"By Jove! you are sick. Now, that's tough."
"Come into my room," invited Herbert, leading the way. "It's a pretty bum joint, but it's the best in the house—the best I could find in this wretched hole of a town. I'm mighty glad to see you, old pal, though I may not appear to be. Oh, blazes! but I have got a headache!"
"What have you been doing?" asked the visitor, as Herbert keeled over, with a groan, on the bed. "Been hitting the pace? Been attending too many hot suppers? Oh, but you're sure to sport wherever you go!"
"Hitting the pace around this graveyard!" mumbled Herbert dismally. "What are you talking about, old fel? Why, everybody dies here nights at nine o'clock; there's not a thing doing after that. It's the most forsaken, dismal place imaginable after that hour. I'm dying of dry rot, that's what's the matter." He finished with a cough that seemed to wrack him from head to feet.
"You're sick," said Newbert, with a show of sympathy. "You've got a cold, and it has settled on your lungs. You're none too strong, Herb, and you'd better look out. I guess you won't be able to take in the game to-day."
"Yes, I will!" cried Rackliff suddenly. "I wouldn't miss it for a fortune. Oh, I've got money bet on that game, Dade."
"Well, Orv Foxhall is outside with old man Foxhall's bubble. Great car, that. And you should see Orv drive her. Oh, he does cut it out some! He had 'em staring when he ripped up through the center of this old town. We nearly ran a team down back on the road; was going better than fifty when we came round a curve and grazed the old jay's wheel-hubs. I'll bet that Reuben's hair stood on its hind legs. Ho! ho! ho!"
Herbert sat up. "It won't take me long to dress," he said. "I'll go back to Wyndham with you."
"You haven't had any breakfast."
"Don't want any. Haven't had an appetite for three days. I caught this rotten cold riding a motorcycle back here from Clearport after the game last Saturday. I wouldn't mind if this cough didn't tear me so."
"It's tough," said Newbert. "Can I help you? Going to take a dip?"
"Boo! No, I won't bathe this morning; haven't got the nerve for a cold plunge, and a warm one might fix me so I'd catch more cold. Just you make yourself comfortable as you can while I'm getting into my duds."
Three times while dressing Herbert was compelled to sit down to rest, and Newbert declared that his friend seemed to be pretty nearly "all in."
"I certainly am," agreed Rackliff; "I'm up against it. Never was knocked out like this before. Why, I can't even smoke a cigarette, it makes me bark so. You can imagine how tough that is on me. Sometimes I'm half crazy for a smoke—I'm shaking all over; but when I try it I just have to quit by the time I've taken three whiffs."
"You've smoked too many of those things, that's what's the matter. Used to hit 'em up myself; thought it real devilish. Never took any real satisfaction in it, though."
"That was because you didn't inhale; they're no good unless you do."
"They're no good if you do; give me a cigar every time."
"You got my last letter all right?" asked Herbert, selecting a necktie from his abundant supply.
"Oh, sure. I've put all the bunch wise, too. They're wondering how I got hold of the information, but I didn't give you away, old pal. I reckon mebbe Foxy and Snead suspect now, but they won't say anything."
"You've got to win," said Herbert, carefully knotting his tie at the mirror. "My old man is kicking over being touched up for cash so often; says he can't see how I spend so much in this quiet place. I've bet every sou of the last amount he sent me on your old baseball team, and if you don't take this game——"
"We will, don't worry about that. We could have done so anyhow, but of course you've helped make it a dead-cold certainty. If you've got any friends here who——"
"Friends!" sneered Rackliff; "friends among these country yokels! Don't make me laugh, for it might start me coughing again."
"But you said you let a chap in on the Barville deal. He——"
"He wasn't a friend of mine," said Herbert scornfully; "he was only a chap I wanted to use. I've let another dub into this deal, but I didn't do so simply to befriend him—not on your natural. Perhaps you've heard of him—Phil Springer. He expected to be the star slab artist on the great Oakdale nine this season, but he unwisely coached another fellow to assist him as second-string pitcher, and now the other man has pushed him into second place—and he has quit, dead sore. He's an egotistical yap, and it simply killed him to death to have his pupil step right over his head."
"What's your idea in boosting him by putting him next to a winning proposition?"
"Perhaps I can use him, too. At any rate, he can pitch some, and by keeping him raw and working him the way I am, I'm weakening the pitching staff. See?"
"Oh, yes," muttered Newbert. "I swear you're a clever schemer, Herb."
"Thanks. You see, I induced this man Springer to let me have seven bones to bet against Oakdale, and now, no matter how much they may happen to need him, as long as he has his money at stake, they can't coax him into the game to-day. They may try to do that if you fellows get to batting Grant good and plenty. Oh, I've taken pains to forestall in every direction, for I've simply got to make a killing on this go. How's the weather?"
"Fine, but you'll need to wear an overcoat in the auto. I didn't take one, but it's rather cool whistling through the air at the rate Foxy drives. Besides, you've got to look out for that cold. Better wear a cloth overcoat now than a wooden one by and by."
"Don't talk that way," shivered Herbert. "I'm not anxious to shuffle off."
He brought his overcoat from the wardrobe, and Newbert helped him into it, after which they descended the stairs together.