“You know what there is in this letter, Curly?” Frank asked.
“Pretty nearly,” was the reply. “Uncle Alvah is afraid, from something he has heard, that you’re going to have Jode Lenning in your team. If that is your plan, he sincerely hopes you’ll reconsider; for the move would arouse resentment in Gold Hill, and might lead to the canceling of the game. You know, of course, that Lenning’s past record is all against him, that he’s a vicious young scamp, and so forth, and so forth. Isn’t that about what the colonel wrote to you, Chip?”
“Just about,” Frank answered glumly.
“I heard, although I don’t know how straight I got it, that some of the Ophir chaps refused to play with Jode, and that he’s out of the game for good. Is that right?”
“There were objections when I tried to get Lenning on our nine, and Blunt and Handy aired their grievance right in front of Lenning. That fixed it. Lenning couldn’t go on when he saw how those two felt about it.”
“What’s the matter with Blunt and Handy?” demanded Darrel, his voice quivering with anger. “Are they so all-fired righteous that they can’t associate with a fellow who’s trying to live down his past?”
Darrel’s attitude set Merriwell to wondering. He had suffered at his half brother’s hands more than any one else, and yet here he was, apparently championing his cause and taking his part.
“It’s hard to tell what’s biting Blunt and Handy, Ellis,”
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 said Frank. “Looks like they’re trying to make out that they’re ready for harps and halos, while they’re only convincing people that they’re snobs, with little, two-by-four dispositions that are anything but heavenly.”
“Well, even at that, the feeling against Jode is pretty general, isn’t it?”
“There are more than Blunt and Handy against his playing ball to-morrow, but the rest have the decency to keep their objections to themselves.”
“Isn’t there any possible chance for getting Jode into the game, Chip?”
Darrel spoke earnestly, almost eagerly.
“Do you mean to say, Curly,” asked Merriwell, “that you’d like to see him play against Gold Hill?”
“I’d like to see him give a good account of himself on the diamond. He has squared away, and is trying to make something of himself. I think it would help him to brush up against fellows who used to be his friends, and corral a little of the good feeling that breaks out in a snappy, well-fought game of ball.”
“Well, I’ll be darned!” muttered Merriwell. “What would the colonel say if he heard you talk like that?”
“I don’t know as that would make any difference. I think a heap of the colonel, Chip, but I haven’t reached the point where he does my thinking for me. I’m not sore at Lenning. We have had our differences, and I’ve managed to come out on top. Jode is the under dog, and now that he’s trying to be white, I’d like to help him.”
“Put it there, Darrel!” cried Merriwell heartily, thrusting out his hand. “I wish Blunt and Handy were here to absorb your sentiments. Hearing you talk like that ought to make them feel pretty small.”
“The colonel wanted me to come over to Ophir to-night,” went on Darrel, “in order to get that letter into
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 your hands. You know the sort of a fellow Uncle Alvah is. He’ll crowd a chap mighty hard if he’s given half a chance. He’s more bitter against Jode than he ever was against me—and I reckon you know what that means. I’ve argued with him to give Jode another chance, but he’s as hard and set in his way as the rock of Gibraltar. You can’t budge him. There’s only one thing that might pull him over a little in Jode’s direction, Chip.”
“What’s that?”
“You know how wrapped up the colonel is in every sort of sport? Well, his biggest favorite of all the sports is the national game. He’s the most inveterate fan that ever came down the pike. What’s more, he’s too good a sportsman to be much of a partisan. Naturally, he likes to see the Gold Hill fellows win; but to-morrow, if an Ophir chap makes a star play, you’ll find the colonel cheering himself blue in the face. Simmer the thing right down, and it’s the game itself he loves—the man in the box with the clever ‘wing,’ the chap who makes a running catch with all the odds against him, the fellow who steals and slides to the bag, keeping the base on a close decision. You understand what I mean, Chip, a heap better than I can tell it. That’s what gets under the colonel’s skin. A little, snappy baseball, and he’s sure to bring his best side uppermost.”
“I don’t get you exactly,” said Merriwell. “What has the colonel’s love for baseball to do with Jode?”
“If Jode’s in the game, and makes good with a few star plays, it will start the good suggestions to working in his favor. See what I mean?”
By a queer twist of the imagination, Merriwell began thinking of the thermometer which Clancy had manipulated on the veranda of the Ophir House, two or three days before. The colonel’s very words, in commenting
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 on the thermometer incident, recurred to Frank: “Start a train of suggestions properly, and, if they lead in the right direction, you can mold nearly any one to your will.” Was that foolish little joke of Clancy’s to bear fruit in the affairs of Jode Lenning?
“I see what you mea............