"I confess I haven't."
"Well, you'd better read it. If you'll look in the second column on the first page you'll find something about a great ten-thousand-dollar baseball game that's going to take place in Bloomfield to-day."
"A ten-thousand-dollar game?"
"Yes, sir. Don't you know anything about it?"
"Well, I'm aware that there's to be a baseball game here this afternoon. I was not aware it was to be a ten-thousand-dollar game."
"Well, look at that—look right there!" snapped Crabtree, holding up the paper and pointing a long bony finger at an article in the second column. "Notice the heading in big black type. Notice it says that Frank Merriwell's own baseball team will play the Rovers, the champion independent team of the country, for ten thousand dollars."
Merry smiled.
"I think that's an exaggeration," he said. "I think that's simply an advertising dodge, Mr. Crabtree."
"Do you mean to say you ain't made no arrangement to play this team for a sum of money? Do you mean to say there ain't been no betting on the game? This article distinctly states that one of your friends, and a player on your team, has made a wager of ten thousand dollars that you'll beat the Rovers."
"I mean to say I know nothing whatever of such a wager, and I do not believe that a bet of that sort has been made. I was in Wellsburg yesterday and gave the Herald certain information to be used in advertising this game, but I assure you I gave them no information concerning a wager of that sort. On the face of it the yarn appears decidedly preposterous. I think Bloomfield citizens are generally aware of the fact that I am opposed to betting in any form."