Followed two sheets on which were drawn, rather neatly, three football plays, among them Number 14. There were one or two minor inaccuracies, but any one familiar with such matters could easily have fathomed the diagrams. Chick handed the documents back, looking questioningly at Mr. Cade. “What are you going to do, sir?” he asked anxiously.
“We’re going to use the plays; that is, that 14; the others are already discarded, you know. The whole business is a bluff, just as we suspected. You can read that in every line.”
“Gee, I hope so!” muttered Chick. “Aren’t you going to do anything to Devore, sir?”
“N-no, not exactly.” Mr. Cade smiled. “It may comfort you to know, however, that Joe Manter—I mentioned Joe, didn’t I?—has covered the money put up by Mr. Devore’s—er—syndicate. About two hundred dollars, I believe. Joe got odds of four to five.”
“You mean he’s bet two hundred dollars that we’ll win?” asked Chick incredulously.
The coach nodded. “About a hundred and seventy, I believe. I don’t know how much of the two hundred belongs to Devore, but if Kenly loses he’s bound to be unpopular around town for awhile!”
“A hundred and seventy’s a good deal of money for a newspaper reporter to have,” observed Bert. Mr. Cade met his gaze and nodded gravely.
“He didn’t put it all up himself, Hollins. I understand that three or four others went into it. Personally I don’t approve of betting. In the present case, however, as a means of applying punishment where it’s richly deserved—well, I find justification for it!”
“But—but, gosh,” exclaimed Chick. “If we don’t win the game Manter loses his money!”
“Undeniably, Burton,” replied the coach cheerfully. “There is generally an element of uncertainty in betting.”