“We got an awful tough team to go up against,” he said, tugging at his goatee. “I’d like to bet on the Clippers myself, but durned if I don’t think we’ll get beat.”
Bully had caught that look.
“Yes, they got a feller named Merriwell,” he said dolefully. “I dunno’s I’ll be much good against him, either.”
“Oh, Merriwell! I’ve heard of him often,” exclaimed the stranger. “By Jove, I’d like to get a bet down on his team, whatever it is! I suppose I could see the two teams at work, couldn’t I?”
“Sure, I’ll take care o’ you, Mr. Smith,” volunteered Bully.
He went off arm in arm with the stranger, and Colonel Carson turned to his teller.
“There’s an easy mark! When Bully gets through with him, he’ll be ready to put up some real coin on them Clippings, mind my words!”
Colonel Carson’s confidence in his son was well placed. Indeed, Bully had no easy task, for not a soul in Carsonville had any great belief that the Clippers would be defeated the next day.
The stranger went out to the park with them, and was pleasantly astonished by the concrete stands and excellent diamond.
“You have quite a place here, eh,” he observed. “Go ahead, boys, don’t mind me.”