“Did you catch her?” he eagerly asked, although it was plain from the expression of his face that he was in pain.
“She got away,” confessed Ready humbly. “Hodge, I’m to blame for this! I’m a chump—a blundering chump!”
“If it hadn’t been for you——” began Bart, but he suddenly checked himself, controlling the impulse to reproach his companion for what had happened.
“I know—I know!” muttered Ready. “Oh, I’d like to kick myself! But who ever thought that old hag was up to anything of the kind?”
“Why did she do it?” asked the druggist, as he continued to apply the lotion to Bart’s hand.
“That’s a mystery,” said Ready.
“No mystery at all,” said Hodge, at once. “It was so that I may be unable to catch in the game against the Reds. That was the trick. With a raw hand like this, I’ll be knocked out. And I know the miserable gambler who is behind the whole deal. His name is Black Elrich!”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
ON THE FIELD.
No baseball-game in Denver had ever turned out a larger crowd. The story of the betting had been told by the newspapers, and that, together with the fact that the great college man, Merriwell, was the manager, captain, and pitcher for the team pitted against the Reds, served to bring the people swarming to the ball-grounds.
The story of the strange injury of Bart Hodge had also been told by the papers, and they had said that Merriwell could not do his best in the box without Hodge for a catcher. This being the case, the majority of the public felt convinced that the Denver team would win.