“Well, we can take care of him easily enough,” announced Colonel Carson, with great complacence. “Your goin’ to Orton will come in jest right, too.”
“Me? Not on your life!” exclaimed Bully fervently. “You don’t get me mixed in no more doings with that kid, Merriwell, pop. Not much! I’m done.”
“Oh, no you’re not!” said the other easily. “I’ll get over to Fardale for that game, and I’ll get a good bunch o’ money down on Franklin. That cussed fool Merriwell done me out o’ the McQuade mortgage, and I’m goin’ to make him and his kid sweat for it, you bet!”
“I guess he wasn’t so much of a fool if he did you out o’ anything,” muttered Bully, under his breath.
“Yep, it’s a good scheme, a mighty good scheme,” mused his father reflectively. “I’ll give you a rake-off on them bets, Bully. Ain’t the kid got an uncle named Dick Merriwell?”
“Sure. What’s the idea?”
Bully began to take a keener interest in the subject. He knew that the wily Colonel Carson was rarely bested at such an encounter as this, and hope sprang anew that his father could succeed where he himself had failed.
“You wait, son. I ain’t got the precise details figgered out, but they’re a-comin’. Yes, they’re on the way, all right.”
Colonel Carson fell to tugging thoughtfully at his goatee. An instant later there came a soft whistle below the windows.
“There’s Ironton now,” exclaimed Bully.