“You’ve got the idea,” said Merriwell, as the train pulled in. “Well, so long for the present, everybody. Good luck to you on Monday, Frank! I’ll try to run down from Bloomfield to see that game, but I can’t promise. I’ve got some important affairs on with Dick—you’ll learn about them later.”
He handed his grip to the porter and sprang up the steps. The eleven-o’clock express was already late, and there was only time for a last wave of the hand before the train began to move, then drew away into the night.
“I wish you fellows wouldn’t go to the hotel,” said Billy, as the three friends started toward town. “We’ve all kinds of room at home.”
Chip flung his arm over the other’s shoulder, smiling.
“Cheer up, Billy! Clan and I haven’t had much chance to get together since he came home from the West, you know. We’ll have an old-time gabfest, and will get acquainted again before we come up to the house to-morrow. By gracious, these streets are dark!”
“I’m sorry now we didn’t come down in the Hornet,” said Clancy regretfully. “We could have piled into her somehow.”
Late Saturday night in Carsonville was, indeed, a dark time, especially for the Carsonville Clippers!
Quite naturally, Colonel Carson and his son had not taken their beating with a good grace. Bully Carson was an excellent pitcher, but so far did Chip outclass him, that he and his father were furious over the disgrace of being beaten by a pick-up nine from their own home town.
No sooner was the game over, than they put their heads together in order to concoct a plan which would assist them both in humiliating the Merriwells and in winning a few side bets upon the Franklin game. Colonel Carson was fond of gambling, but he usually liked to know beforehand which way the game was going to come out.