Bob Randall slipped quickly inside, shut the door swiftly behind him, and stood as if listening. On his high, dark, and undeniably handsome face there was a look of mingled worry and anger. His eyes seemed haggard, and Bully Carson chuckled to himself as he recalled what his father had said about Randall brooding over a fancied injury. It was quite plain that Randall was in good shape to be worked on.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Bully. “What you listenin’ for?”
Randall dropped into a chair, wiping his brow.
“I thought old man Dobbs had seen me come in,” he explained nervously. “You see, I got held up at school, couldn’t get away earlier, and had to sneak past the guards. I came in the hotel by the back entrance.”
“How’ll you get back to your room?”
“Easy,” said the Southerner. “Rope to the window. I won’t want to be seen around here, though, or I might get reported. Old Dobbs knows me by sight.”
Carson nodded, and flung himself into a chair.
“I hear you got beaten to the captaincy of the nine,” he observed. “That kid Merriwell seems to cop out everything.”
[236]
Randall’s face flushed.
“What did you want to see me about?” he said, with a scowl.
“About Merriwell,” Bully stated calmly. “Of course, he’s got you slated to pitch against the Clippers Saturday?”
“Yes he has—not!” Randall lost his temper, and slipped into his Southern dialect as usual when he became excited.
“I wouldn’t pitch if he did! I’ve had enough of these heah Yankee ways! I’m goin’ to leave Fahdale, Cahson, for wheah a man doesn’t hog it all because his fatheh is a big athlete! I cain’t swallow it and I won’t!”
“Good for you!” said Bully approvingly. “He has certainly treated you mis’ably, old hoss. You ought to be captain of the Fardale team right now! It ain’t fair treatment, I say.”
“I reckon not! These low-down Yankees truckle to him abjectly, Cahson. You-all haven’t any idea of what goes on heah! When we played Franklin last Satuhday, that fellow held out the best men on the team until I was beaten. Then he showed up, put ’em in, and managed to win with luck.”
Randall leaned back, trying to collect himself. Bully chuckled quietly. It was evident that his cousin had worked himself up into a riotous state of mind.
Randall was honestly convinced that his version[237] of the Franklin game was the true one. Had he pitched and won, he would have been elected captain. He pitched, and was being knocked out of the box when Merry arrived in the ninth inning and saved the game.
All Fardale knew that Merriwell had been held prisoner, and that Clancy and Billy Mac had rescued him, all three appearing in the nick of time. Yet Randall only accepted that as a story put forth by Merry.
He had brooded by himself, had pointedly avoided Chip on the baseball field, and gradually managed to get himself into a badly overwrought condition. Twisting every little incident, seeing everything in the light of his jealousy and bitterness, it was not hard for him to convince himself that he was the victim of a cleverly executed plot.
His state of mind was a bad one, and would require some severe and sharp correction before his angle of vision could be straightened. Fortunately for himself, he had not attempted to convince any one else on the subject.
“That’s right,” Bully encouraged him, playing his cards cunningly. “He’s done you dirt, Bob, for a fact. You ought to get even with him.”
“What chance have I?” Randall asked bitterly. “I’m all alone here.”
“Oh, I dunno about that. Pop and me, we figure to stand by our kin, Bob. Didn’t he try to[238] help you by keepin’ Merriwell out o’ that Franklin game?”
Randall nodded, forcing himself into a strained calmness.
“Yes, and I want you to thank him for me, old man. It was no use, though.”
“Virtue is its own reward,” quoted Bully. “We done our best. Now, pop would like to see you pitch against the Clippers on Saturday, Bob. O’ course, we mean to beat you, but I ain’t goin’ to be in the game, and pop would like to——”
“No chance,” broke in Randall, with renewed bitterness. Then he glanced up, half suspiciously. “Why is your father so interested?”
“Because he likes you, Bob.”
Bully was too wise to persuade Randall along crooked lines. He sneered at his cousin, in his own mind, for being a “goody-goody” fellow.
“I’d like to even up with Merriwell, Bob,” he went on cautiously. “We’d like to have you pitch Saturday ’cause you’re a better pitcher than Merriwell. We’ve got a new pitcher for the Clippers, and if we beat Fardale at its best, there’ll be all the more glory in it.”
“I suppose Colonel Carson intends to do some betting?” Bob queried keenly.
“Oh, a little, mebbe. Not much. Now see here, Bob: This guy Merriwell ain’t used you right, to my notion. He’s played dirty against you, and he’s got all Fardale persuaded that he’s a little[239] tin god on wheels, with a bell to his neck. There ain’t n............