The “gentleman pugilist” was keenly interested in the game, for he confessed that he had bet money on the Outcasts, regarding the chance as a “snap.”
“I’ve seen the most of Merriwell’s bunch,” he told his companions, “and they won’t be in it for a minute. If you can find any marks who are willing to back Merriwell, bet every dollar you have. It will be just the same as finding money.”
Frost and Necker had taken this advice. As they watched the beginning of the game they commented on the amateurish practice of Frank’s team.
“I told you what to expect,” chuckled Manton. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t have more ready money to wager. I’ve bet every dollar I could get together.”
“Then,” said Necker, “if you should happen to lose, you would go broke.”
“I wouldn’t have a whole dollar left,” acknowledged Merriwell’s enemy. “But there is not one chance in a thousand that I will lose. I can’t lose. It will give me some satisfaction to see the great Merriwell properly beaten, but I’m sorry that I’ll have no hand in the beating.”
“You didn’t give him much of a beating the last time you met him,” said Necker, with a grin.
“All on account of that confounded slob, Grafter!” growled Manton. “If he hadn’t seen us and brought the coppers we’d fixed Merriwell so he would be in the hospital to-day, instead of playing baseball.”
“And only for me,” reminded Necker, “we might be in the jug, instead of here to witness the game. I saw the cops coming and gave you the alarm.”
“We have something to settle with Grafter,” hissed Frost, in his chilling way. “He’s doing his level best to get us kicked out of Eagle Heights.”