“Well, you needn’t holler so about it,” retorted his son. “I want some coin, hear that? I’m tired o’ lollin’ around without any money to go on, and I’m goin’ to have some.”
“Get out and rustle for it, then, like I did,” retorted his father grimly.
Bully grunted with contempt. He had the same keen love for dollars that his father had, but he did not possess the elder Carson’s aptitude to pick up cents. However, he fully intended to get hold of some money to bet on the Fardale game.
There was no doubt that the Clippers would win, none at all. With Diggs on the mound the academy team would be helpless, to say nothing of the other professionals who would masquerade as amateurs for the occasion. It was a “raw deal,” but Colonel Carson was famed in sporting circles for his ability to put raw deals over successfully.
“This is the surest kind of a good thing,” he mused reflectively. “If Diggs shows up in good shape, Bully, I’ll get down about a thousand that we shut them out without a run.”
“You’d better go easy on them fancy bets,” growled Bully. “That Merriwell kid is liable to connect with a streak of luck and jab out a homer, like he done against Franklin. You thought that was a sure thing, too.”
Colonel Carson winced. Merriwell’s homer on that occasion had cost him more money than he liked to think about.
“You may be right, Bully,” he said slowly. “But he would be helpless before Southpaw Diggs.”
“He’s got the durndest luck you ever seen,” insisted Bully doggedly.
Colonel Carson began to pull at his goatee once more, frowning at the floor. He knew that Merriwell’s success was not so much due to good luck as it was to pluck, skill, and honesty. He could not blind himself to this, but the knowledge only swerved his mind toward vindictiveness.