“That sure was queer,” mused Tom, as he slipped from the gymnasium, and went back at his shot putting. “I wonder what sort of a hold that fellow had on Shambler, to get money out of him? It looks bad, and yet I can’t say anything.”
“I didn’t mean to listen, but, since I did, I can’t tell anyone that I did. But it sure is queer. I wonder how he expects to make any money off the games, unless he bets on Randall? Of course, that’s legitimate enough, if one believes in betting.”
Tom shook his head. It was too much for him. And, as he thought of how Shambler had, of late, crossed his path in more ways than one, the tall pitcher was more and more puzzled over the growing mystery.
“I wish I could tell the fellows, and talk it over with them,” he went on, as he made an extraordinary good put. “But it’s out of the question. I’ll have to puzzle it out by myself. But I’ll keep my eyes open for that shabby looking man.”
The fellow was not in sight when Tom came out of the gymnasium, and Shambler had resumed his training, while Tom went back to the seven foot circle.
“Well, I guess we’ve had enough for to-day,” called Holly Cross to the various contestants, a little later. “No use overdoing the thing, and going stale. Knock off, everybody!”
“And glad enough we are to do it, too!” gasped Dutch, who was in a perspiration from his efforts. Everyone was in a healthy glow, and as Holly and Kindlings looked at the notes of some of the records made that day there was a look of satisfaction between them.
“If this keeps up we’ll be all right,” remarked Holly.
“That’s right. Everything seems to be going well, but, of course, we want all the points we can get. I think the new hurdles are an improvement. There’s no danger of a fellow getting hurt, and it gives him more confidence as he approaches them. We must insist on them in the games.”
“Think the others will agree to ’em.”