Randall slowly returned home to the barracks. His heart was hot against
Chip Merriwell, and hotter yet against the crowd who had acclaimed his
rival.
“Confounded Yankees!” he muttered. “Whatever did I come to this part
of the country for, anyway! Just because I had an uncle livin’ at
Carsonville, I reckon. I wish I had stayed down home an’ taken a chance
on the Annapolis examinations!”
The cool night air calmed down his heated anger a little, and by the
time he reached the barracks it had changed into a dull despair. It
seemed to him that no one had a chance to rival one of the Merriwells
at Fardale.
Yet Bob was not a bad sort of fellow at heart. His impulsiveness
sometimes led him into hot-headed errors, which he bitterly repented
later. He had tried to conquer himself, and to some extent had
succeeded. None the less, in this case he had given way to his
bitterness without restraint.
As he reached the door of the barracks he detected a figure lurking in
the shadow to one side. A keen glance showed him that the figure was
not in uniform, and was one of the village youths.
“Here!” cried Randall sharply. “What are you doing around here?”
“I’m lookin’ for Bob Randall,” came the surprising answer.
Randall started.
“You’re not looking for him, but at him,” he answered. “What’s your
business?”
The village youth held out a paper.
“Here’s a message I was to bring you. And the feller said that you was
to keep it under your hat.”
Randall took it in some wonder, and the youth darted off. When he
reached his room, where his roommate, Harlow Clarke, was busy over his
books, Bob opened the paper, and read the message it bore:
Come over to Dobb’s Hotel. Must see you and talk with you at once.
Don’t let any one know you’re meeting me.
YOUR UNCLE.
Randall whistled. His uncle! He had had the pleasure of meeting that
gentleman on his arrival in the North, and he had not been greatly
impressed by Colonel Carson’s rather uncouth accents and hard features.
Still, Colonel Carson was his uncle, and had come up from Carsonville
to see him, it appeared.
He turned quickly to his roommate.
“I’ve got to go over to town, Clarke,” he said. “Will you fix the rope
in the window so I can get in without running the guard?”
“Surest thing you know, old man,” said Clarke. “Will you get in before
taps?”
“I can’t tell yet, but probably not.”
“Well, get along, then. I’ll fix up a dummy that’ll fool the inspector
when he comes to look at the beds. You’ll find the rope out of the
window as usual.”
Quickly but quietly, Bob left the barracks and the academy grounds. It
was not the first time that he and his roommate had wanted to come in
after regulation hours, and by the aid of the rope and dummy this was
invariably effected without much danger of detection and punishment.
Randall found his uncle waiting for him at the hotel, and was quickly
taken to a private room.
“Glad to see ye, Bob, glad to see ye!” he cried effusively, as he
pressed Bob into a chair. “Shall I send for a drink, eh?”
“I don’t drink, thanks,” said Randall. “You must have been in something
of a rush to see me, uncle!”
“Well, might’s well admit that I was,” and Colonel Carson fingered his
goatee thoughtfully and eyed his nephew. “I hear there’s to be a game
here on Monday?”
“Yes,” and Randall’s face fell a trifle. “Franklin Academy is coming
over. It ought to be a pretty good game. Will you stay over?”
“Mebbe. Hard to say, though, Bob. I know about them Franklin fellers.
I been keepin’ tabs on their pitcher, thinkin’ to pick him up for the
Clippers next year. I wanted to see ye about that game, Bob.”
“I’m glad some one wants to see me about it,” returned Randall
bitterly. “I thought that I was going to pitch for Fardale. If I
pitched and won, I’d probably get elected captain afterward--our
captain leaves Monday night, you know.”
For some reason Colonel Carson looked perturbed.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“But it seems they’ve slated Merriwell to pitch. That means he’ll do
me out of the captaincy. Everybody seems to knuckle down to these
Merriwells over here. I can’t understand it!”
Colonel Carson looked relieved. He eyed his nephew keenly.
“I s’pose that if Merriwell pitched, it’d be a cinch for Fardale, Bob?”
“It’ll be a cinch, anyhow,” exclaimed Randall. “If I got in the box I’d
draw rings around those fellows.”
“Well, I’m talkin’ about Merriwell. He’d do considerable more, wouldn’t
he?”
Randall hesitated.
“Yes,” he replied unwillingly. “I’m bound to say that his very name
seems to scare Franklin out of its boots. Why?”
Colonel Carson tugged at his goatee slowly.
“Well, I figure on gettin’ you in the box, Bob,” he said reflectively.
“I want to do a little bettin’ on that game. If it wasn’t for
Merriwell, I think that Franklin pitcher might have a chance to win.”
“He couldn’t do it,” exclaimed Randall quickly. “If I got a chance at
him I’d show him up!”
The older man’s eyes narrowed suddenly.
“I don’t s’pose you’d throw the game?” he snapped out.
Randall flushed and sat up. He looked hard at his uncle, but the latter
was smiling. Bob sank back, with an uncertain laugh.
“I pretty nearly thought you were in earnest, uncle! Of course, I know
you’d never think of such a thing, though. No, if I can win that game
I’m pretty sure to get the election that will follow it.”
The colonel tugged at his goatee once more. He seemed to get all kinds
of inspiring thoughts from that patch of gray hair on his chin. Just at
present his thoughts were anything but inspiring, however.
“I’ve got him placed,” he was reflecting inwardly. “He thinks that
Franklin feller is no good. Now, if I can keep Merriwell out and let
Bob pitch, I can go ahead and place some bets on Franklin. I hate to
see Bob get the spots licked off him, but business is business.”
Aloud, however, he expressed himself quite in an opposite fashion.
“Well, nephew,” he said pleasantly, “I’d like to see ye get a fair
chance. It don’t seem to me like that feller Merriwell gives any one
else a show, does he?”
“You wouldn’t think so if you were here at Fardale!”
“I don’t need to be here to tell that. If you go on the mound Monday
afternoon, you’re pretty sure to win, eh?”
“Dead certain,” said Randall. “We’ll have a bang-up team, and we’ll
hand it to Franklin pretty hot, uncle.”
“Glad to hear it, nephew, glad to hear it. I’ll see to it that
Merriwell does not do ye out o’ your chance.”
“You’ll--what? What do you mean?”
“None o’ your business,” and Colonel Carson, with a dry chuckle, pulled
out his watch. “I got you placed, Bob. You go right ahead and ’tend to
business. I’m a-goin’ to help out one o’ my kin when I get the chance,
that’s all.”
“But what influence have you with Captain Crockett and Coach Trayne?”
Colonel Carson gave Bob a look of commiseration. Was it possible that
his own nephew was so green?
“Not much, I reckon. But I got some influence with Merriwell. There’s a
train out o’ here in twenty minutes, Bob. It’ll get me to Carsonville
before midnight. I reckon I’d better take it, to make sure. I got a
heap o’ things to see to.”
Randall looked at him in astonishment.
“But I thought you’d be here for the game, uncle!”
“I reckon I will be,” laughed the colonel quietly. “Now, you lay mighty
low, Bob. Don’t say nothin’ to any one about seein’ me, or about what I
said. But as sure’s you stand here, nephew,” he went on impressively,
“you’ll be the one to pitch in that game on Monday, mind my words!”
“I’d like to know how you’re going to work it!” said Randall, in some
wonder. “If you do, you’re a wizard!”
“Well, some folks have called me worse’n that,” said Colonel Carson,
with a chuckle, as he reached for his suit case. “You’ll be pitchin’,
and I’ll be here, and I’m a-goin’ to lay some whoppin’ good bets, let
me tell you!”
After Randall had taken his departure, not knowing whether to feel
delighted or dejected over his uncle’s promises, Colonel Carson laughed
softly.
“Oh, yes, I’ll lay some bets!” he chuckled again evilly. “But it’ll
be on Franklin, all right! I guess you’re goin’ to get a pretty bad
lickin’, nephew--but business is business. I see where I get revenge on
that cussed Merriwell kid!”