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"Then Frank Merriwell doesn't countenance betting?" questioned Bearover. "He's plumb sot agin' it," answered Ephraim. "He don't believe in any sort of gambling." "But evidently some of his friends are inclined to take a chance." "Oh, yeou git some of the fellers stirred up, and they kinder fergit Frank's prejudice. Rub 'em agin' the fur, and they'll chuck up their last dollar."
"If you can win this game squarely, Bearover, you'll win it," said Frank; "but you'll never win it through intimidation and bulldozing. Now don't bother me any more. Better keep on your own side and let your men play the game. They'll have to play the best game they know if they want to win." All this was quite unexpected by the "big bear" and his companions.
"Waugh!" exploded Badger. "You can bank on the whole bunch of us, Frank. That's whatever!" "But what inducement have we to come here?" demanded Bearover. "This is a little dried-up country town, and we couldn't turn out a hundred and fifty people to see that game. We've gut to make expenses somehow."
"We don't have to steal games," returned Merry, quick as a flash. "We can win them." Silence smiled scornfully as he breathed forth a whiff of smoke. "That may have been your experience in the past," he observed, "but you're up against a different proposition to-day, young man." "Will you give your batting order to our scorer?" asked Bearover. "You'll find our scorer sitting yonder," said Merry.
"I told you how it would be, Bearover," he said, with a slight drawl. "Merriwell has made his reputation by defeating second-class amateur teams. I didn't think he'd have the sand to play a nine like the Rovers." "Who is this gentleman?" asked Frank. "This is Casper Silence, the backer of the Rovers," explained Bearover. "Mr. Silence, Mr. Merriwell."
In the billiard room they found a number of young men playing pool or looking on. Several of these proved to be members of the Rovers baseball nine, and Bearover introduced them to Gallup. The bar opened off the billiard room, and Ephraim was finally led to it, but he persisted in his resolution to drink nothing intoxicating. A seltzer lemonade satisfied him, while his companion took whisky.
I happen to know how you done the trick. You're a ventriloquist. The horse didn't talk. I was jest testing you to see if you would try to soak me by selling the critter to me." Bearover fibbed, for, although he had finally hit upon the truth, it was an afterthought conjured up by the laughter of the spectators. "Do yer mean to say the horse didn't spake?" demanded the Irishman.
It could only be produced by a mighty effort, and the most natural thing in the world would be for the creature to relapse into dumbness if transferred to another owner." Bearover looked disappointed as he slipped the pocketbook back into its resting place.
"Perhaps we'd better make a rule that such a throw will give the base runner the privilege of advancing one base and no more," suggested Frank. "That's satisfactory to us," nodded Bearover. "Do you think you can keep the crowd off the outfields?" "I have six officers here for the purpose of handling this crowd.
If we take seven from fourteen, how many will be left?" Seven times Dick pawed the ground. "There you are, Mr. Bearover," nodded Merriwell. "Are you satisfied that even horses have brains?" "I'm satisfied that you've trained that critter to do a few tricks," was the answer. "You must think I'm purty dull witted. Why, you begun with an example that made the horse paw the ground four times.
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