REMORSE.
As they were passing Priley's Hotel Casper Silence hailed them.
"Pull up, Toots," said Merry. "Let's see what he wants."
The colored boy stopped the horses, and Silence came out.
"One point, Mr. Merriwell," he said. "We haven't decided on the umpire
for that game."
"It's generally understood that the home team furnishes the umpire, I
believe," returned Frank.
"That's a matter of accommodation. In this case it won't be any
particular accommodation for us."
"Is that so?"
"That's right. If you don't mind, we'll furnish the umpire."
"What if I do mind?"
"Why should you?"
"I happen to have a good man who will officiate for us. He knows the
game, and I know him."
"But I don't know him," protested Silence.
"I give you my word that he is square."
"I've been told such things before. I've had plenty of experience, Mr.
Merriwell, and I know the sort of square umpires to be found through the
country."
"I've had a few experiences myself," returned Frank, "and I confess they
were not pleasant ones. I've been up against crooked umpires more than
once. Nevertheless I promise you I'll supply a man who is thoroughly
honest and conscientious."
"It doesn't satisfy me. You'll supply one of your friends, of course."
"That's right," nodded Frank.
"I shall have to object, sir," said the proprietor of the Rovers. "It
would be the most natural thing for your friend to favor you in close
decisions."
"It might seem a natural thing, but I've often observed that the most
conscientious umpires are so very careful that frequently they give
their own friends the worst end of a deal."
Silence shrugged his shoulders and laughed languidly.
"I don't think that happens very often," he said, "and I wouldn't expect
it to happen in this case. If it should, you'd be sore. On the other
hand, if your friend gave you all the close points, we'd be sore. Let's
get around that. Let's take a man who will have no particular interest
in either team. Let's have an umpire from somewhere outside of your
town."
"No," returned Frank firmly; "I'll furnish the umpire. I did not seek
this game. You came to Bloomfield looking for it, and if you're not
satisfied with the arrangements I'll make, you can easily cancel the
engagement."
"I don't want to cancel it. All I want is an umpire who'll give both
teams a fair show. Now I understand they have such a man here in
Wellsburg--a chap who is capable of handling a game right up to the
mark. His name is Bowers."
Merriwell laughed.
"I happen to know this Bowers," he said. "I've seen him work, and the
recollection is hardly a pleasant one. He does know the game, but he can
be influenced. That's putting it in a mild fashion. I have reasons to
believe that Bowers deliberately tried to give my Farnham Hall team the
short end of a game played here in this city. No, sir, I'll not accept
Bill Bowers."
"Well, we can find some one else."
"Don't put yourself to the trouble. I've told you I would supply the
man, and I've guaranteed his honesty. If you don't like that, you're at
liberty to cancel."
"Why not have two umpires? We'll furnish one, and you may furnish the
other."
Under most circumstances Frank would have accepted this proposition
without demur. Just now he had a feeling that Silence was determined to
obtain some advantage in the umpire. He knew Greg Carker to be honest
from his head to his feet, and therefore he resolved not to yield a
point to the proprietor of the Rovers.
"There'll be only one umpire, Mr. Silence," he said. "It's useless to
argue over that point."
Casper Silence frowned.
"You're an obstinate young man!" he exclaimed. "I think we'll have to
call that game off."
"Oh, very well," smiled Merry, "we'll cancel the engagement now, and
I'll step in here and telephone the Wellsburg _Herald_ to that effect."
"That's right, Frank," put in Gallup, "don't fool with 'em a bit."
Silence gave the Vermonter a queer look.
"You seem rather anxious, my friend," he drawled. "No doubt you'd like
to have the game canceled. You appear to be frightened. No, we won't
cancel it, Merriwell; we'll accept your umpire. But I want to give you
fair notice now that we'll stand for no partiality on his part. We'll
have a fair show, or we'll make trouble. If he tries to rob us, he'll
get thumped."
It was Frank's turn to laugh.
"I wouldn't advise you or any of your players to attempt to thump any
one on Farnham Field," he said. "If you do, you'll precipitate a riot,
and I don't believe you'll like what'll happen. Don't threaten me, Mr.
Silence. I don't like it, and I may take a fancy to cancel the game
anyhow."
"Oh, go ahead!" sneered Silence. "I know you're frightened! Cancel it if
you like, and I'll tell the facts to the Wellsburg _Herald_. I want you
to understand that this game means something to me."
"Indeed! Why, yesterday you entered into an agreement to play in
Bloomfield with the greatest reluctance. You didn't seem to think it
would pay you."
"It won't pay as far as the gate receipts go. Of course we expect to
take the entire gate money, but I'm not fussing about that. I've made a
little wager on this game, and I propose to win it."
"Is it possible you found some one in Wellsburg who was willing to back
us against your professional team?" questioned Merry.
"Oh, yes, I found some one in Wellsburg who was willing to do that,"
answered the man, again glancing toward Gallup.
Ephraim was worried, for he feared that Silence would break his
agreement not to tell about the bet. He frowned and shook his head a
bit, without being observed by Frank.
"I've promised you a square deal, Silence," said Merriwell. "If you'll
take the trouble to inquire, you'll find plenty of people in this little
city who will assure you that I always keep my word. We're due home at
dinner, and we'll have to drive along. Good day, sir."
Toots chirruped to the horses, and they were off.
"I don't fancy going back on an agreement with any one," observed
Merry, "but I'm rather sorry that we made arrangements to play that
team. Those men are professionals, and they're not in our class. It's
evident Silence is a gambler. Gambling ruins any sort of a game. The man
who bets money is liable to take 'most any questionable advantage in
order to win. Betting is bad business anyway you look at it. It ruins a
man's fine principles."
"Yeou don't think that allus happens, do ye, Frank?" asked Gallup.
"Don't yeou believe some decent fellers bet occasionally?"
"Oh, yes, occasionally. But the man who gets into it in a small way is
pretty sure to keep it up. If he wins, it baits him on to repeat. If he
loses, he feels that he must take another chance to get even. I saw many
bad results of gambling both at school and at college. At Yale lots of
young fellows who had no right to do so made bets on baseball, football,
and other games. In most instances the money they risked had been
supplied by their parents. They knew their parents would not countenance
gambling, yet they gambled. It was not honorable. No man has a right to
risk money on which any other person has a claim. Now, for instance,
you, Ephraim, would have no right to risk your money on an uncertainty
of this sort. You're married. You have a child. Both your wife and child
have claims on the money you possess. Were you to wager that money and
lose it, you would be robbing them of their just rights. I presume
you've thought of this matter?"
"Never thought of it that way," mumbled the Vermonter huskily. "S'pose I
should put my money into some sort of business and lose it. Would that
be robbin' Teresa and the youngster?"
"That's a different thing. Business is business. No man has a right to
plunge into a reckless venture, but if it seems legitimate and he has
investigated it carefully, he cannot be blamed if the venture proves a
failure. The best and shrewdest men sometimes fail in business
enterprises. I've never yet seen a genuine gambler who was thoroughly
upright, conscientious, and respected by decent people. I have seen
gamblers who were honest to all appearances, but they were not
respected. There's something degrading in gambling. The man who gambles
is compelled, as a rule, to associate with a class of men who have no
standing in respectable society. He places himself on their level. Now,
you, Ephraim, would not care to be estimated on the same level as Casper
Silence. He's not a man you would invite to your home, introduce to your
wife, and dine with at your table."
"Not by a blamed sight!" growled the Vermonter.
"Another bad feature of gambling is the effect on the individual who
indulges in it. It spoils his taste for legitimate money making. If he's
successful for a time as a gambler, the regular methods of making money
seem tame and insipid to him. Very few, if any, thoroughbred gamblers
ever accumulate a fortune or a competence and retain it. Once the germ
of gambling gets into their blood, they never quit. Let them make a
small fortune, and they're determined to double it. Let them make a
large fortune, and they still pursue gambling for the excitement there
is in it. In the end, nine out of ten go broke. If others depend On
them, they bring hardship and suffering upon those dependent ones. Most
gamblers die poor."
"It's logic, begobs!" put in Mulloy.
"You both know," pursued Frank, "that the loss of a few hundred dollars
on a baseball game would not mean a great deal to me. I might have made
a wager with Casper Silence. Had I lost the bet, it would not have
brought immediate hardship or deprivation on any one. It was not the
mere loss of a hundred or a thousand dollars that restrained me. It was
the principle of the thing--I looked at that. I figured this thing out
years ago, and that's why I've been opposed to gambling. More than once
I've been tempted to set aside my scruples when some blatant,
loud-mouthed chap has challenged me and shook his money in my face. Such
a thing stirs my blood. It's mighty unpleasant to have one of these
chaps accuse me of lacking nerve. I have one consolation, however. It's
not a sign of nerve or courage to be led into anything wrong through the
taunts of another. Usually it's a sign of cowardice. The boy who does a
hazardous and unwise thing simply because a companion dares him to do it
is the one who lacks nerve. He lacks nerve to say, 'No, I won't.'"
"I guess yeou're right, Frank," confessed Gallup dolefully. "By hemlock!
I've been dared into a lot of tomfool things in my day. Next time
anybody tries it on me I'm goin' to remember what yeou've jest said.
I'll say no, by thutteration, and I'll say it mighty laoud, too!"