“How far must we go?”
“Oh, just out beyond the town a short distance.”
“How many miles?”
“Something over two, perhaps.”
Frank looked at his watch.
“All right,” he said. “Fellows, I’ll have to leave you for a short time, but I won’t be gone much over an hour.”
Then without further explanation he motioned for Cunningham to lead the way.
Roland Ditson chuckled when he saw Frank follow the ruffian out round the station to the place where the team was watched by a colored man.
“He’s going into the trap!” muttered Roland. “And I’ll make a big pot on the ball-game to-day, besides getting even with Merriwell to some extent. My fifty dollars to that big whelp Cunningham will be well spent, for I’ll make more than five hundred if U. V. beats Yale to-day. And I can get more bets, too, with plenty of odds, for it seems the general impression that Yale is bound to win, for all of Paragon’s skill as a pitcher.”
He had taken pains not to explain to his hired tool his full reason for wishing to get Merriwell out of the way, well knowing Cunningham would strike him for more money if he knew he was to win a large sum if Yale met with defeat.