“It must be fixed,” nodded Fernald. “Either that or I’ll be compelled to hedge.”
“Then you’ve bet on the game already?”
“Yes. I didn’t tell this fellow, Buckhart, about it, but I’ve backed Rockford to win. I hate to hedge on this game. I’d almost as leave see Rockford beaten.”
“No! no!” exclaimed Hammerswell, “not that! If Fairhaven loses she’ll go to the bottom of the list. I know how you feel. I know you’d like to see Rockford lose her first game under another manager; but you can’t have any friendly sentiment toward Fairhaven and this chap Buckhart, who trapped you.”
The Rockford man shook his head.
“I am between two fires,” he confessed. “I’d like to fix Buckhart, somehow. I’ll do it, too! I don’t know just how to get at him.”
“A little dope in his coffee,” whispered Hammerswell.
“He doesn’t take coffee. Those chaps over there are temperance cranks. Every man on the team drinks water.”
“Then a little dope in a glass of water—that’ll do it.”
“I believe I can get a drug into him all right,” said Fernald. “I stand in with the head waiter here at the Corndike. He’s a poker player, and I have divided winnings with him in more than one game we have played together. I did the crooked dealing and gave him the hands to win.”