“This is Mr. Merriwell, isn’t it?”
Merry flung him a look, and started.
“Hello! It’s Green—or I should say Diggs!”
“Yes, Southpaw Diggs,” and the other smiled as he held out his hand. “I just want to congratulate you on winning a remarkably fine game, Merriwell—one of the best I ever saw, in fact. If you’d only consider big-league work and——”
“No, thanks,” said Merry. “I’ve had a sample of professional ethics this afternoon, when you and your friends masqueraded as amateurs. That’s one reason, though I don’t blame you as I do Colonel Carson.”
“What can a fellow do when he needs the money?” and Diggs shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.
“He can get busy and make it cleanly,” retorted Chip, watching the other. With a quick impulse he added: “And if he’d cut out the booze, Diggs.”
Diggs flushed and his eyes kindled. Then he smiled again and nodded.
“Right you are, Merriwell, and I know you mean me. Well, I’m only twenty-four, and if I brace up I’d have a few years ahead of me of baseball. I’ve been thinking it over, and, to tell you the truth, I’ve not had a drink for a good while. I was testing my nerves out on you fellows to-day, for one thing.”
“I hope they suited you?” said Merry.