“I’ll wager a hundred dollars even with any man that you can’t defeat Merriwell’s team in another game.”
Seymour Whittaker pricked up his ears.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Your money would feel good in my pocket.”
“Do you take my bet?”
Lawrence turned quickly to Whittaker.
“No use to bet,” he said. “We can’t give them another game. They’ll have to swallow their defeat and make the best of it.”
“The best of it, or the worst of it,” laughed Wolfers. “Too bad they feel so sore. They were outclassed, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry I can’t win that hundred off you, sir,” said Whittaker to Raybold. “It would be easy money for me.”
Lawrence then inquired if Sprowl was in his room at the hotel, and, being told at the desk that he was, he proceeded upstairs, followed by Wolfers and Whittaker.
“It’s unfortunate that these fellows will give you no chance to get even, Mr. Merriwell,” said Raybold. “They must be afraid of you.”