A low, snarling laugh caused Hammerswell to start and turn his head. Chester Arlington was there, and he regarded the Maplewood manager with a singular look that caused the man to be seized by a strange feeling of uneasiness and apprehension.
“Don’t think you have this game yet,” said Arlington. “No game is won until it’s ended. The best batters on Merriwell’s team are up now. Look out for a Garrison finish. It takes but one run to tie the score, and two will win the game.”
“Get away from me, you crook!” snapped Hammerswell. “I don’t want you round me!”
He gripped the bat and half lifted it in a threatening manner.
“You’ll never frighten any one with that stick,” said Chester. “Put it down, Hammerswell. Don’t try any funny business with me.”
“If you two are going to quarrel,” said Fernald, “I will just step aside.”
“Oh, I’ll not quarrel with this treacherous Smart Aleck,” declared Hammerswell as Fernald walked away.
“You’d better not,” said Chester in a low tone. “You’re wise in not quarreling with me. I know too much about you. Wait, Benton Hammerswell; your time is coming, and you will get what’s due you.”
“I tell you to move on!” grated the enraged man. “I don’t like that kind of talk, and I won’t listen to it.”
“You can’t help listening,” retorted Chester. “You know I am telling the truth when I say you are a scoundrel, a fraud, a cheat, a——”