“Oh, was that it?” inquired Fraser insinuatingly. “Strange we never heard about it before.”
“Nothing strange in it!” fiercely retorted the Texan. “Dick don’t go around any whatever telling his troubles. Any one who knows anything about him could see Saturday that he used neither speed nor curves. He couldn’t. He was a heap used up. He had a lame side that kept him from pitching at his best. He had it a week ago, too, and he won that game by setting his teeth and pitching when every ball he threw nearly cut him in two. If he hadn’t pitched against Hilsboro his side would have been all right last Saturday. That is straight goods, and any galoot who says different is a prevaricator. You hear me warble!”
“Why didn’t he tell us about his side?” asked Earl Gardner.
“Why didn’t he? Because he didn’t want to knock the confidence out of his team. That’s why he didn’t tell.”
“How did he get this lame side?” inquired Fraser, still in a sneering manner.
Buckhart took a stride and confronted Arlington’s roommate.
“I will tell you how he got it,” he snorted. “He got it while doing Chet Arlington a good turn. He was jumped on by a bunch of Arlington’s associates and knocked against the edge of a pool table. That’s how he got it, Cadet Fraser.”
“We will take your word for it,” said Fraser, backing off, as he was somewhat afraid of the fighting Texan.
“Well, it’s a right good thing that you do,” growled Buckhart.
At this point a burst of laughter caused the boys to start and turn. They saw Chester Arlington pushing into the crowd.