“You always were good at supposing,” said Chip. “This time you hit it dead right.”
“That shows how much you know! I got a thousand dollars in cash, right here in my pocket, and I’m goin’ to meet a feller now and bet on the Clippers, see?”
Chip was somewhat amazed at this intelligence, though he gave no sign of it. He knew that Colonel Carson himself was a heavy plunger, but from what he had seen of Bully he had not thought that the latter was exactly flush with money.
“You must have bet on Fardale during that Franklin game,” he murmured gently. “Or has your respected father become generous?”
“None o’ your business,” said Bully, with a growl, finding the subject abruptly distasteful. “Whew! I’m certainly het up. I guess I’ll run along and place that bet, then come back here and find Bob.”
“Suit yourself,” chirped Merry. “If you’re warm, take a glass of water. When you get outside, light that cigarette. Then you’ll get nice and warm again, and it’ll fur up your tongue.”
Bully merely grunted at this sarcasm. He seemed to decide that part of the advice was good, however, for he caught up the other glass that Randall had filled and carried it across the table to his lips.
“I suppose you’ll pitch to-day?” he inquired, pausing.
“Once more your suppositions are correct,” returned Chip ironically.
Bully grunted and gulped down the water, replacing the glass on the table with a deep sigh, then threw his sleeve across his lips.