“And he was so bub-bub-blamed mad over it that there’s no tut-tut-telling wh-what he might do,” stuttered Chatterton. “I ru-ruther think you’ve got a right to tut-try somebody else in his pup-pup-pup-position, Sterndale.”
“I’ve had my eye on Carter for some time,” the hidden lad plainly heard the captain of the eleven declare. “He doesn’t mingle with our crowd much, but he’s a strong, hearty fellow, and he may prove to be a good man.”
They passed on and proceeded straight to the gate of the fenced-in grounds. A moment later the sound of their voices told they had entered by the gate and were within the grounds, upon which Don rose from his place of concealment, reached the road and hastened toward home.
“They were talking about me!” he grated. “So they’re going to put Harry Carter in my place! He’s a fellow who never seemed to take much interest in baseball or anything else of the sort, yet they think he’ll be as good a man as I am!”
From the disconnected and incomplete bit of conversation that had reached his ears, he reasoned that the boys must have been speaking of him; but just why they were visiting the ball ground at that hour was a question he could not answer. He had permitted all the suspicion, selfishness and jealousy of his nature to be aroused, and he fancied his erstwhile companions were ready to do anything to “spite” him.
His nerves were far from steady, which was not at all strange, taking into consideration the unexpected and violent struggle from which he had recently emerged. The mystery of that encounter continued to bewilder him, but he decided that the unknown must have been a common thief who had entered the dressing-room for the purpose of securing whatever plunder he could discover there.
Under any condition, Don thanked his lucky stars that he had escaped with his life, for the fellow had been fierce in his final efforts to strike with the open knife, having found the athletic boy was more than a master for him. Up to that time it appeared that his sole desire was to break from Don’s grasp and escape; but, on being thrown down and choked, he had used the knife.
Don wondered when the unknown had drawn and opened the knife. It seemed that the rascal had scarcely been given time to accomplish such an action after Don’s entrance, for the boy had kept him busy, and he had struggled madly to free himself and escape.
“I believe he had that open knife in his hand when I came in on him,” Don finally decided.
So busy was he with his thoughts that he did not observe his handkerchief had slipped from his wounded fingers. He was nearly home when he made the discovery, finding his hand was wet and sticky with blood.