“Well, he’s got a bigger pull now. He seems to be the only pebble.”
“His advice is taken in everything,” complained the sophomore bitterly. “He actually seems king of the sporting field here. They seem to regard him as authority on the subjects of football, baseball, rowing, hockey, and everything else. If he was like other fellows and simply made a specialty of something! But he goes into everything and leads at whatever he tries.”
Arnold took out a pair of gloves and put them on.
“What’s that for?” asked Snodgrass curiously.
“Precaution,” grinned Orson wisely.
“Precaution against what?”
“Cig tracks. You know how they stain a fellow’s fingers. Well, Merriwell would be sure to see the yellow. He has the cursedest, sharpest eyes I ever knew a man to have! Don’t seem to look at you so hard, but he sees everything. Not a blamed thing escapes his notice. If he saw yellow on my fingers—well, that would be my finish.”
“Then look out if you want to square that debt with me. It’s a great chance for you, Arnold. You must help me out by doing what I say, or I shall have to have the money.”
Arnold turned somewhat pale.
“Don’t threaten, Snodgrass!” he exclaimed. “You know I can’t pay the money back now. I’ve told you so.”