"I suppose you think he can play the whole game," scoffed Phil Springer. "A friend of yours, eh? Well, if he knows as much about baseball as you do, he'll be of great assistance to Barville!"
"I'm backing my knowledge with cash, if I can find anybody who has sand enough to bet with me," said Herbert.
"I'll bet you a dollar," shouted Phil.
"Only a dollar? Dear me! Can't you do any better than that? I've got fifteen long green chromos that I'd like to wager on Barville."
For a few moments this seemed to stagger the group that had gathered about him. Fifteen dollars was a lot of money, and it seemed doubtful if any other individual in the crowd, with the possible exception of Eliot, could raise as much—and Eliot would not bet.
"Wish I had fifteen dollars," muttered Crane. "I'd go him. It would be jest like findin' money."
Two or three of the boys drew aside and whispered together. Springer was one of these, and in a moment he called some others from the gathering near Herbert. There was more whispering and not a little nodding of heads, and then of a sudden Phil turned and walked back toward the city youth.
"Rackliff," he said, "if you really mean business, if you've got fifteen dollars you want to bet on Barville, meet me at the post office at noon, and I'll have the money to go you."
"Excellent," murmured Herbert, breathing forth a little thin blue smoke. "I'll be there with my money. Don't forget the appointment, Springer."