After Randall had taken his departure, not knowing whether to feel delighted or dejected over his uncle’s promises, Colonel Carson laughed softly.
“Oh, yes, I’ll lay some bets!” he chuckled again evilly. “But it’ll be on Franklin, all right! I guess you’re goin’ to get a pretty bad lickin’, nephew—but business is business. I see where I get revenge on that cussed Merriwell kid!”
CHAPTER XVII.
A NIGHT ATTACK.
“There’s nothing like being square, fellows. You can’t beat it, I don’t care what any one says. It’s not so much whether you win or lose, it’s simply that you feel square inside. That’s what Davy Crockett meant when he said: ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead!’ Davy didn’t care a snap about dying—he knew he was right, and he won out!”
“Lecture on history by Frank Merriwell, senior,” laughed Chip. His father smiled as he watched the lights of the train flashing up the valley.
“It’s a fact,” he went on, turning to Chip and Billy McQuade and Clancy, who had accompanied him to the train. “I’m not preaching, and you know it.”
“But Davy Crockett died in the Alamo,” interjected Clancy doubtfully.
“Sure,” flashed back Frank Merriwell, senior. “That’s why he won, that’s why he’ll live forever, Clancy. He knew he was right—get that? Defeat is no sign of failure, not a bit of it. This Colonel Carson, of Carsonville, has been winning consistently until you fellows turned the trick on him. Now he’s started in to reap the whirlwind.”
“He reaped it, all right, when Chip pitched to-day,” said Billy Mac. “He reaped a few double shoots he didn’t expect—or, rather, the Clippers did.”