"I don't see but one way."
"How is that?"
"Make it worth something to the Yale team to throw the game to Harvard. I can afford to do that, I reckon; but I've got to find the right man to do the trick."
Frank's jaws seemed to grow square and hard, and there was a dangerous fire in his eyes. The stranger did not appear to discern this, however, for he went on:
"It rather strikes me that the pitcher has the best chance to do the little turn I want done, and that's why I've come to you. Now, don't go off half-cocked! Hold hard, and hear me chirp. Every young fellow at college needs money, and they need a right good bit
of it, too. I don't allow that you are any exception. Now, I reckon I can show you how you can make a smart bit of a pile and do it dead easy. Nobody but you and me will ever know you did it at all, and there isn't any danger that we'll preach about it—none whatever."
"Make a square statement as to what you want," commanded Frank, finding it difficult to keep his voice from quivering, and feeling that his cheeks were burning with the angry blood that had surged into them.
"That's what I'll do, youngster. If you will pitch that game so Harvard will win, I'll give you a thousand dollars in cold cash. Now I reckon you understand me."
"I think I do," came icily from Frank. "You want me to sell the game for a thousand dollars! You put a small price on my honor, sir!"
"A small price! You talk as if a thousand were nothing! Hang me if I ever saw a youngster of your caliber! Perhaps you think I'm fooling? Perhaps you think I won't pay? Look here! I'll make it two thousand dollars, and I'll give you a thousand in advance. That is a square deal, as you must allow."