On Friday morning, the day before the game, Colonel Carson was
standing in the lobby of the Carsonville Bank. He appeared extremely
discontented.
“Not a one,” he said disgustedly. “Everybody in town is scared to bet
on them Clippings.”
“I don’t wonder,” sneered Bully Carson derisively. “They’re a bunch of
pick-ups.”
Bully Carson wore his most flamboyant attire, for he would not go to
work-out with the Clippers for another hour. From one corner of his
mouth drooped a limp cigarette.
“Too bad you can’t place a few dollars,” he went on. “It’d be easy
money.”
“Is your arm all right?” inquired the colonel.
“Never better. Hello, who’s that gink?”
The two turned to gaze at the doorway. The bank had just been opened
for business, and, as things were not very brisk in Carsonville, this
was the first customer of the day. And he was evidently a stranger.
“Must ’a’ come in on the mornin’ train,” observed Bully.
He was a well-set-up, quietly dressed man, and would have attracted
little attention save for his remarkably fine build. A soft crush hat
was pulled down over a pair of very keen but pleasant eyes, and the
lower portion of his face was hidden by a curly dark beard.
The stranger gave a single glance at the two, and walked to the
teller’s window. With a nod and a cheery “Good morning,” he drew out
a long bill book and opened it. Colonel Carson gasped and clutched
at his son’s shoulder, for the bill book appeared to be crammed with
yellowbacks.
“I have a couple of certified checks I’d like you to cash for me, if
you will.”
His voice was quiet and self-restrained.
“Certainly, sir,” replied the teller.
The stranger shoved the two checks he had taken out through the window.
The teller glanced at them, and his jaw fell. He excused himself, then
beckoned to Colonel Carson to come over.
“These are pretty large checks, colonel,” he said apologetically.
“Humph!” grunted Carson, and turned to the stranger. “Made out to John
Smith! Is that your name?”
“Aren’t those checks sufficient warrant?” smiled the stranger. “They’re
certified, and ought to be as good as gold, Colonel Carson.”
“You know me?” The bank owner looked surprised.
“I’ve heard of you,” returned John Smith pleasantly. “You see, I’m
quite a follower of baseball, though I don’t often get away from home.
I’ve heard a good deal of the Carsonville Clippers, and came over to
have a look at them.”
Bully Carson swelled visibly. His father turned to the teller.
“It’s all right, I guess. Two thousand is a big sum, but they’re
certified. Mr. Smith, meet my son. He’s the pitcher o’ the Clippers.
Goin’ to stay for the game to-morrow?”
“Perhaps,” smiled John Smith. “I’ll see what the chances are for
placing a few bets around here.”
He winked knowingly, and Colonel Carson flung Bully a warning glance.
“We got an awful tough team to go up against,” he said, tugging at his
goatee. “I’d like to bet on the Clippers myself, but durned if I don’t
think we’ll get beat.”
Bully had caught that look.
“Yes, they got a feller named Merriwell,” he said dolefully. “I dunno’s
I’ll be much good against him, either.”
“Oh, Merriwell! I’ve heard of him often,” exclaimed the stranger. “By
Jove, I’d like to get a bet down on his team, whatever it is! I suppose
I could see the two teams at work, couldn’t I?”
“Sure, I’ll take care o’ you, Mr. Smith,” volunteered Bully.
He went off arm in arm with the stranger, and Colonel Carson turned to
his teller.
“There’s an easy mark! When Bully gets through with him, he’ll be ready
to put up some real coin on them Clippings, mind my words!”
Colonel Carson’s confidence in his son was well placed. Indeed, Bully
had no easy task, for not a soul in Carsonville had any great belief
that the Clippers would be defeated the next day.
The stranger went out to the park with them, and was pleasantly
astonished by the concrete stands and excellent diamond.
“You have quite a place here, eh,” he observed. “Go ahead, boys, don’t
mind me.”
The Clippers did not appear to mind him in the least. They went
to work, and, after watching them a little time, the stranger was
evidently well satisfied. Bully Carson seemed to have difficulty in
finding the plate. His infield gave him wretched support, making wild
throws, and letting the ball tear through them.
His outfield did little better. On the whole, the stranger was anything
but well impressed by the Clippers, and did not hesitate to say as much
on the way back to town. Bully Carson agreed that they were in poor
shape, but when the stranger had left him, he congratulated his team
warmly.
“I guess that feller’s hooked,” he observed sagely, and hastened home.
After casual inquiries about town, John Smith found his way to where
the team captained by Frank Merriwell, junior, was working out during
the afternoon. As this was their first visitor, the Clippings displayed
no little curiosity, seeing that he was a stranger to them, but he held
aloof from the diamond.
“Who is he--one of the umpires?” inquired Frank.
“Search me,” returned Billy Mac. “He’s a new one in this burg.”
“It’s a scout for the Phil-l-ladel-l-lphia Ath-l-letics,” chirruped
Chub Newton from second. “He’s l-l-lookin’ for recruits.”
“What’s that?” cried McCarthy excitedly, taking Chub seriously.
“Sure, he’s goin’ to sign you on, Dan,” grinned Spaulding.
McCarthy did not see the joke. He advanced to take his turn at batting,
and, when Frank handed him a stiff inshoot, he fell on it and knocked
the ball through Chub’s hands. Then Merry began teasing him, but he
refused to bite, until he caught one on the nose and lined it out.
“Wow? Mebbe that’ll show him what Dan McCarthy can do!” he yelled, as
the ball zipped.
When he discovered that he had been victimized, he turned on Chub.
“You blamed little yapper!” he said. “You’d be a whole lot s’prised to
find that he _was_ a big-league scout, wouldn’t you?”
“Yah!” piped Chub jubilantly. “L-l-line her out again, Dan!”
The stranger hung around for an hour, speaking to no one, but watching
the practice intently. Finally he drifted off in the direction of town.
Once back in the town, he began inquiries as to Colonel Carson’s
whereabouts. That individual was not hard to find. In fact, he was on a
still hunt for the stranger, and finally encountered him near the bank.
“Well, Mr. Smith, how’d the two teams strike you?”
“The Clippers didn’t look up to much, to my mind,” said the stranger
easily. “Of course, I may be mistaken, but Merriwell’s crowd seemed
to be pretty good. Why, one of those fellows lammed the ball a mile,
Carson!”
“Yes,” and Colonel Carson fingered his goatee, “them fellers can hit,
Smith. Placed any bets yet?”
“Well, no,” replied the stranger. “I rather thought I might induce you
to put up a little money.”
“I ain’t very flush right now,” said the colonel cunningly. It was not
the first time that he and Bully had worked together to good advantage.
“Still, I dunno as I’d mind placin’ a little on the Clippers, seeing’s
they belong to me.”
“Ah, you’re a true sport!” cried Smith heartily. “Oh, by the way--I
have some friends here by the name of McQuade. Perhaps you know where
Mr. McQuade lives, colonel?”
“Well, yes. He lives in the cemetery, right now, Smith. He’s been dead
quite a spell.”
“Dead! You don’t say!” The stranger was visibly perturbed. “Poor
McQuade! He never had much head for business. I suppose he died poor?”
“He died owin’ me two thousand,” said Colonel Carson grimly. “I got a
mortgage on his place over by the river, right in my safe. I’m goin’ to
foreclose, too.”
“Well, well! Did he leave any family?”
“Son an’ widder,” jerked the other. “Son’s ketchin’ on Merriwell’s
team.”
John Smith glanced around. The town constable stood at a little
distance, and the stranger pointed at him.
“That’s the constable, isn’t it, Carson? Well, let’s bring him into
your office, and if we can make a little bet, he could be stakeholder.
Eh?”
Colonel Carson grinned to himself, and agreed with some show of
hesitation. With the constable following, they entered the bank and sat
down in the owner’s private room.
“Look here, Carson,” said the stranger affably. “I’ve been thinking
this thing over. McQuade used to be an old friend of mine, and I hate
to think of his widow and son being left out in the cold. I tell you
what I’ll do. I’ll set two thousand dollars against that mortgage you
hold.
“If you win, the money’s yours. If the Clippers are beaten, then I get
the mortgage. How does that sound?”
“No good,” stated Carson firmly. “The McQuade place is worth a heap
more’n that sum, Smith. I got that mortgage cheap.”
The stranger looked disappointed.
“Well,” he remarked, replacing the bill book which he had taken from
his inner pocket, “I don’t know that I’m very anxious to bet against
the Clippers, anyway. I’d risk the sum for the sake of McQuade’s
family, out of pure sentiment, but---- Well, I’ll hang about town and
see if I can’t get a bit of money down on your team. After all, it’s
safer.”
He rose, with a gesture of dismissal to the constable.
“Hold on!” cried Colonel Carson. “You ain’t in earnest, Smith?”
“Why, of course!” said the stranger. “Merriwell’s team is untried and
green. After all, I might be foolish----”
“Set down, set down,” and the colonel reached out to his safe. “I’ve
got that mortgage right here. I reckon I’ll take a chance, Smith.”
And once more he grinned to himself.