“What?” cried the man.
“Put up your money,” said the Yale man quietly, “or close up your countenance. Here is a gentleman who will hold the stakes. It is Robert Harding, of New Haven, known to everybody. You cannot object to him as a stakeholder.”
The man with the dog hesitated, frowning blackly. The dog barked again.
“All right, Nero,” said the fellow. “It seems a shame to rob this tender young lamb of his boodle, but he wants to give it away, and I need it. Mr. Harding, here is my money.”
“Ah-ha!” cried the man with the dog. “A fine job? See them bump the kid now!”
Just then Dick Merriwell sent the first ball over, and it seemed slow enough for the batter to hit it easily. Packard missed it clean, however, and Jack Ready cried:
“Why, it’s just as easy, Richard! You’ll keep that lad swatting the ozone all day, my boy.”
“Give him another, Dick,” urged Carson from right field.
“That’s pitching ’em some,” rumbled Browning.
“He has hu-hu-hu-holes in his bat!” came from Gamp. “Don’t be afraid of him.”