"Not a rap," nodded Rackliff.
"That's just it. Now this is my home, and I've got to be careful about some things. I don't want to get everybody down on me."
"I haven't observed," said Rackliff unfeelingly, "that you're particularly popular with the fellows of this benighted burg."
"I'll make myself a blame sight more unpopular if they ever get onto it that I bet against my own school team. You can do it, for you say you don't expect to stay here more than one term, anyhow. Then if my folks should know, they'd raise the merry dickens."
"And that would break the monotony of a severely humdrum existence. I've had more than one stormy session with the head of my family. How much money did you scrape together?"
"I haven't counted it yet," answered Roy, thrusting his hand into his pocket and looking around, as if apprehensive that they were being watched. "I say, Herb, are you really dead sure that Barville will win this afternoon?"
Rackliff sighed. "As sure as one can be of anything in this old world. Hook, you've got cold feet."
"Well, I wouldn't want to lose this money. I can't afford to lose it. I can't lose it."
"You won't, old chap—you won't. I'm getting you in on this out of pure friendliness, nothing else; and you must remember what I agreed to do yesterday—if you lose, I'll stand for the loss."
"That's generous; that's all right. Perhaps you can't get any bets, anyhow. The fellows around here aren't given to betting real money on baseball." Roy produced a closely folded little wad of bills and some loose change. "Here's all I have," he went on. "I'm going to let you take it and bet it on Barville, if you can." There was a two dollar bill, two ones, and eighty-five cents in change.