"If that's right," said Phil, "Newbert can't be trusted. Why, he might have thrown the game away."
"Oh, he reckoned Crowell was good enough for the Porters, that's all. The result proved his judgment correct."
"Still a fellow who'll tut-take such chances is liable to do anything. He cuc-can't have any real loyal interest in his team. If he took a notion, he'd throw a game."
"You must remember," reminded Rackliff, "that Newbert doesn't belong in Wyndham, and it really doesn't make any great difference to him whether that team wins or not. Of course, if he's pitching, ordinarily he'll do as well as he can on his own account. And let me tell you, Spring, old fel, he's a lulu; there's nothing down in this neck of the woods that can pitch with him. I'm betting that he makes the Oakdale batters look like monkeys."
"You haven't had very good lul-luck betting, have you?"
"Might have done better," admitted Herbert, shrugging. "I'll even it all up next Saturday, though, if these pikers around here have sand enough to give me another show."
"Perhaps you will, and, then again, perhaps——"
"I'll bet you five or ten, even money, that Wyndham wins."
"Thought you went bub-broke last Saturday."
"I'll have some more money by to-morrow."