Bearover fibbed, for, although he had finally hit upon the truth, it was an afterthought conjured up by the laughter of the spectators.
"Do yer mean to say the horse didn't spake?" demanded the Irishman. "I heard it meself—I tell ye I heard it meself!"
"That's all right, McCann!" rasped the big man. "Perhaps you've never seen a good ventriloquist do a turn, but I have. That horse can't talk any more than a cow or a dog or any other dumb creature can."
"Vale," observed Hans Dunnerwurst, who stood Bear, with his hands thrust deep into his trousers pocket, "it took it a long time to found you oudt. Dot hoss peen a good 'rithmeticker uf he coot talk or not. Yah!"
"You've had your fun with me, Mr. Merriwell," said Bearover, ignoring the Dutchman; "but I hope to have a little sport with you later. I've driven over from Wellsburg this morning for the express purpose of seeing you."
"What can I do for you, sir?" asked Merry.
"I understand you have a baseball team here."
"Do you mean my Farnham Hall team?"
"I don't know what you call it."
"Well, I have a ball team made up of youngsters. They are able to put up quite a game."