“You’re no worse off than I am,” said Fernald. “I am broke. Lost my good money on this beastly ball game.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” said Knox. “I thought you were sure of winning if you could get that stuff into the Fairhaven catcher.”
Buckhart grasped the arms of his chair and every muscle grew tense.
“I should have won,” growled Fernald. “That ragged bummer upset my calculations. He’s as good a catcher as Buckhart—or better.”
“You can’t blame me if your game miscarried,” said Knox. “I followed directions, and I saw Buckhart drink the water, which I brought him myself. I want my money now. I can’t help how much you lost, you’ll settle with me.”
“And you’ll both settle with me!” roared the Texan, as he leaped like a panther through the open window and lighted on the sidewalk outside.
“Here’s one for you!”
Saying which he struck Knox a blow that sent the fellow spinning, wheeling instantly on Fernald, who seemed electrified by the occurrence.
“Had me drugged, did you?” snarled the Westerner. “You get yours next!”
Fernald was not exactly a weak man, but his astonishment prevented him from meeting the assault of the enraged boy. Brad’s hard fist landed on the man’s chin and sent him backward a step. The Texan would have followed up this blow with another, but at that juncture Dick and Ray Garrett came round the corner, having returned from the steamer. Merriwell seized his excited friend by the wrist and held him, while Garrett promptly stepped between the man and boy.