“They are a lot of easy marks, anyhow!” snarled Fernald. “I don’t see that you’re called on to worry about them. The principal thing you care about is to come out on top, isn’t it?” “I certain should like to see Fairhaven come out on top,” confessed Brad. “Still I am some afraid you’re inclined to fool me. Without a witness to our agreement I can’t be satisfied that you will stand by the whole of it. That being the case,” he added, walking toward the door that opened into the adjoining room, “I will just call in a witness or two.” Having said this, he suddenly flung the door wide open. Into the room stepped Dick Merriwell, followed by Ray Garrett. “These yere gents are my witnesses,” said the Texan. “They’ve heard our little agreement at my invitation.” Then he paused, for Uriah Blackington followed Dick and Ray into the room, with Chip Jolliby at his heels. The face of Blackington was like a thundercloud. He pointed an accusing finger at Fernald as he cried: “So this is the kind of a man you are! I’ve always been inclined to think you a crook, although you’ve escaped detection until now!” Fernald had turned pale, and for a moment or two he stood quite still, apparently thunderstruck and overcome. Suddenly he wheeled toward Buckhart, his fist clinched, and his teeth gleaming between his back-drawn lips. With the intention of striking the Texan, he made a single step. In a twinkling Dick and Ray Garrett were between Brad and Fernald. “Let him come! Let him come!” palpitated the Western lad. “I’ll give him his medicine good and plenty.” “Better not raise a disturbance, Mr. Fernald,” said Dick quietly. “It’ll be a bad thing for you. A row here will cause this whole matter to come out, and if you’re not ridden on a rail and tarred and feathered after that, it will surprise me.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III A WORTHY PAIR. “That’s right,” nodded Uriah Blackington. “If this thing gets out, you’ll be driven out of Rockford, Fernald. There’s only one thing for you to do.” “I hope you’re not chump enough,” said Fernald, “to think I meant it when I offered to throw the final games this season. I did that in order to lead this fellow into the bargain with me about the game to-morrow.” “I wouldn’t believe you under oath!” retorted Blackington. “You’re a thoroughly untrustworthy scoundrel! As president of this league, I demand your instant resignation from the position you hold.” “Oh, do you?” “Yes, sir.” “I suppose you intend to become manager again?” “Perhaps I do. You forced me out of it by your trickery, and if I’m asked to take the position again I may consent.” “Consent!” snarled Fernald. “You’ll jump at it!” “Sit down right here and now,” commanded the president of the league sternly, “and write your resignation. I’ll furnish the pen.”