"At least three times, Elmer," came the quick reply. "And every time after he had made some note he'd nod his head and grin like he was just tickled to death over something."
Elmer whistled, and Mark, turning, saw him wave a hand. Apparently the catcher must have said a hasty good-by to the pretty little miss in the pony cart, for she whipped up her steed and Mark started toward his chum.
"Oh, what can you do, Elmer?" exclaimed Jasper. "He's gone off now with Bob Harris, and pretty soon it'll be too late."
"Too late for what, Jasper?" asked the pitcher.
"Why, I thought, you see, that perhaps a lot of us might get hold of him and make him give up that notebook," explained Jasper.
"You don't say!" laughed Elmer. "What particular good would that do us, tell me, when he's sure got everything down pat in his mind, just the same? And we can't lock a Fairfield fellow up, even for stealing signs."
"Then he'll get away with it!" burst forth Jasper, with almost a wail.
"I reckon he will, my boy; but that isn't saying the knowledge he's stolen will do him, or any of his mates, any good," chuckled Elmer.
"But how can you help it?" demanded the smaller boy, dubiously observing the face of his comrade and wondering why he did not seem to detect any uneasiness there.
"How? Oh, by switching the signals, I suppose. I'll put it up to Mark, here. We can mix things around so that every sign stands for something different than it did just now. And if the Fairfield fellows expect to gain anything from thinking they're onto our signals, they're going to be badly surprised. You'll see some bally old batting until they understand that fact."