CHAPTER XXVIII.
LAYING THE WIRES.
It was commonly reported around Carsonville that the estimable Colonel Carson could tug more Satanic inspiration out of his yellow-gray goatee than Satan himself. At the present moment he seemed to be highly satisfied with himself.
He was sitting in his study at Carsonville, and with him was his son. Bully Carson’s face was decorated with a large black eye, over which he wore an eye patch.
He was clad in a loud checked suit, flaming-red necktie, and green waistcoat. From one corner of his mouth drooped a negligent cigarette. His face looked pasty and unwholesome, and reflected the same hard, unscrupulous look that shone in his father’s eyes.
“Son, here’s where we even up with them Merriwells for good and all.”
Colonel Carson tugged at his goatee again, and glanced down at Merry’s telegram of acceptance. He used the Clippers as a means to win money by gambling. And when he did gamble, it was usually a sure thing. This he proceeded to prove in his next words.
“Bully, I’m going to clean up a lot on this here Fardale game,” he stated reflectively. “I got word to-night that Southpaw Diggs will come.”
“Whew!” Bully peered at his father in admiration. “Pop, you’re a slick one! Ain’t you afraid they’ll recognize him?”
“Not at Fardale. He’ll take a fictitious name and shave off his mustache. I’m going to pay him well for it. Also, I’ve got a semipro catcher to take the place of Squint Fletcher, whom some of the town boys trounced. Squint was always insolent, anyhow.”