“I had to put up a hundred against the money of that cowboy chap,” he said, “and that nearly cleaned me out. I thought you would pay me as soon as I told you what I had done. I’m your friend, Arthur, and I ran a great risk for you in getting into Merriwell’s room. If I’d been caught——”
“The hundred dollars I offered was some inducement, I take it,” said Huntley. “Of course I know you are my friend, Holl, and I appreciate it; but I notice that money always makes you much more willing to do a friendly turn.”
“You wrong me, sir—indeed, you do!” protested the rascally trainer. “However, it is all right. Only I expect you to have the honor to pay me, even if something happens that you do not win after Merriwell is barred.”
“Don’t let that worry you. We’ll have another drink.”
“It’s a shame you was in such a great hurry about engaging them two sandbaggers,” muttered Hollingsworth, as they stood with their glasses lifted. “Too bad they got money they never can earn.”
“I’ll not regret it if I win that trophy. Better take too many precautions than not enough.”
“I suppose that’s right; but just think of fifty good American dollars spent for nothing!”
This seemed to worry the trainer far more than it did Huntley, who, in the slang of the day, which he had acquired in Buffalo, advised him to forget it.
In truth, Huntley, rascal though he was, was ashamed of Hollingsworth, whom he was inclined to use simply as a tool. The trainer’s protestations of friendship annoyed him.
Between them, however, there was little choice. At heart one was quite as bad as the other.