“Wh—what!” gasped Dick, staring hard at the tramp. “Am I dreaming? Is it you?” A second later Dick shouted to his companions. “Come here, boys—come here! Take a look at our tramp! It’s Bart Hodge, or I’m daffy!” “Thought you’d tumble to me long before this,” smiled Hodge, as he shook Dick’s hand. “It was Frank’s suggestion that I play this little trick. You can blame him. He sent me down here to see how you were getting along. Couldn’t come himself.” “Well, I’m ashamed to be fooled in such a manner,” confessed Dick. “If I’d ever looked you over closely in daylight I would have recognized you for all of your rags and dirt. Hodge, you’re a dandy.” Then the watching crowd was amazed to see Dick Merriwell hug the ragged catcher. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII BRAD LEARNS THE TRUTH. “What’s this—what’s this, boys?” cried Dick, as they were passing the office of the Rockford _Star_, on their way to the hotel. “Just look at that bulletin board. Maplewood defeated Seaslope! Take a look at the standing of the teams! Did you ever before see anything like that?” No wonder the boys uttered exclamations of surprise and astonishment as they stood in front of the bulletin board, for by the record there it was seen that every team in the Trolley League was tied. The four clubs had played forty games each, and all had won twenty and lost twenty. “Now for the race to the finish!” exclaimed Merriwell. “It will be good and hot!” No wonder the Fairhaven crowd was enthusiastic and delighted. Bart Hodge was the hero of the day. Still wearing his ragged clothes, he marched at Dick’s side with the ball players, his dark eyes gleaming and a smile on his face. “Frank will enjoy the letter I’ll write him,” he declared. “I’ll tell him how his plan worked. I didn’t think I could fool you, Dick. It wasn’t so difficult last night, for we met in the dark and you could not get a good look at me. To-day you were somewhat excited and wrought up over the game, which kept you from inspecting me closely.” “I thought you acted mighty queer,” laughed Dick. “You kept that old hat on all the time and had it pulled down over your eyes. Besides that, you seemed disinclined to talk with me after we agreed on the signals we would use. Whenever I spoke you turned your head away and did not answer. Besides, I never dreamed of seeing Bart Hodge in rags and with his face and hands dirt-begrimed.” “It’s good, clean dirt, Dick,” retorted Hodge. “Still I confess I’m rather anxious to wash it off now. Hear that big chap whoop! He nearly broke his neck by falling off the bleachers when you struck out the last Rockford batter.” “That’s McLane,” said Dick. “He’s one of our most enthusiastic supporters.” The big lobsterman was marching down the street, waving his hat in the air and occasionally letting out a yell that sounded like a steam calliope.