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[77] 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[78] 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.
[79]
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.
[80]
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 t............