“Suppose they find out we did it, and take the game from us even after we win?” suggested Cadmus, who was the Tuckerton Freshman catcher.
“They’ll never discover it,” boasted Borden. “They’ll lay it to some of the Sophs or Juniors at Westfield, and Bill will never recognize us for we’ll wear masks.”
“All right, we’re with you,” decided his chums. “Now for the details.”
These were soon settled. It was agreed that Bill should be captured the night before the game, when there would be little chance that he could be rescued in time to play.
“But how will we get hold of him,” asked Cadmus.
“I’ll send him some sort of a message,” replied Borden. “I’ll write a note, in a disguised hand, and ask him to call at a certain place in the village. We’ll be on the lookout and when he goes past that lonely stretch of woods, on the main road we’ll grab him, run him off in my car to a place I know of, and leave him there.”
“Suppose some of his brothers or friends come with him?” Swain wanted to know.
“Oh, well, we can get away with Bill before they realize what’s up. You fellows want everything too easy.”
When, on the night before the game with Tuckerton, Bill Smith received a note, asking him to call at a certain hotel in the village, there to talk over baseball matters, the pitcher showed the missive to his brothers.
“Looks sort of fishy,” decided Cap.